1. she holds her pencil in the air
like a cigarette.
breathing in the poisonous lead and
breathing out a years worth of pain.
“god, it’s hard to quit”
she sputters as ink starts to dribble down her chin
2. “I hate what you’ve done with the place”
the girl was huddled in the corner, coughing up cobwebs
why are you here?
” You needed me.”
i don’t need anyone except for him
“Not even yourself?”
i’m not ready for you
“It’s no fun being a badass in your dreams. How about we try it in real life?”
that’s not who i am
“You’re a sad heartbroken girl. I’m going to show you what a woman looks like.
And with that, the girl started to fade into the wallpaper of her heart, watching the mayhem unfold.
3. we search for ourselves in others
without searching in ourselves first.
it’s a lot like looking for change on the road
rather than checking your own pockets first
((((((I promise something’s there. I promise someone’s there))))))
4. To Pro-Anorexia Blogs:
How does it feel to push another
helpless teen under the influence
of a mental disorder?
How does it feel to bring toxicity
into young people’s mind in order
to make your ideals some sort of
Do not tell me that it’s a life style
Or a diet plan,
it’s a mental illness.
Don’t take innocent and healthy
people and make them victims.
Pick up a fucking therapist card
instead of writing on your piteous
Maybe what will help you be
content is flushing out all that
bullshit and not planting sick ideas
in 10 year olds that they need
to start dieting.
and one more thing,
to promote anorexia isn’t pretty
pretty is pretty,
and i’ve never seen uglier people
5. what are you staring at?
is it the curve of my crisscrossed
legs that intertwine like butterfly
is it my eyes that reflect light
sprinkled with dust and flakes of the
literature in front of me?
maybe it’s my lips that are tainted
with kisses and ink
that have got your attention?
or can you see my intergalactic
mind cascading onto the journal
placed in the core of my wings?
(((((it’s a beautiful thing, isn’t it)))))
6. I like how discreet you think you’re being.
as if I haven’t noticed how much
you’ve been scrutinizing me.
there’s no point in picking up the
book, if you’re not going to read it
(((((((take it or leave it, my time is precious)))))
7. how I hate my own
it’s as if the type writer in my brain
is jammed and the part of me that
cares has suffocated under the
weight of my own mundanity!
8. I lounge upon a dusty divan
and count the curves of my body,
loving every swerve and soft edge,
“disgusting pig,” the cobwebbed girl spits from the wallpaper
I blow gently upon the wall and she crumbles a little more.
” it hurts doesn’t it? to still be hungry after licking up all that venom. ”
9. there is no heartbreak more
painful than the heartbreak of
learning that you don’t love
that underneath the show that you
put on for other people is a way to
look in the mirror and love a
stranger that runs down your face
after it touches water.
self love should not be so fragile nor
do not let the cobwebbed monster
break your heart again and again.
find a new love within yourself, that
isn’t shrunken and littered with
(((((((((maybe one’s soulmate is just below their heart and right in front of them))))))))
10. you wouldn’t let your ex or the current president speak to you like that,
so why speak to yourself like that?
(((((you’re more important than you think)))))))
11. dear big boys,
I am so sorry that you are pressured to look like a
Greek statue for you are already Atlas, carrying society’s expectations
upon your broad shoulders.
I see you ,big boys, with empty stomachs and rejected hearts, and you are worth more
than a three digit number, worth more than a girl/boy who can’t appreciate your velvety loveliness.
I want to remind you that just because you take up more of the world’s space with your magnificence doesn’t make you less worthy to be human.
a girl who loves beautiful boys
12. dear skinny boys,
it always amazes me with how much charisma your important bodies capture,
how much power you harvest underneath your skin that makes your movements so elegant.
your arms lift in the air and resemble bird wings as society pushes it’s bitter wind towards you, trying to make you fall over or thrust you into a pit of self-loathing.
though, you stay planted, growing lovelier rather than bigger.
for there is enough in that capsule of yours to fill galaxies.
a girl who loves beautiful boys
13. “living life for the sake of living,”
he says to me.
I glance at all the dead girls and empty gun shells from a bad game of russian roulette around me,
” god forbid I end up like them.”
14. he takes a huff of his cigarette,
“who does your heart belong to?”
” you don’t know him.”
he shakes his head with a chuckle,
“if I don’t know him then he’s not fashionable enough.”
he offers me a huff of his cigarette,
” and what about your soul, dear? who does that belong to?”
I accept his offer and breathe in,
” the Devil.”
he begins to smirk with a slight twitch in his eye,
” ah yes, now him, him I know.”
I breathe out and the smoke begins to spell out my name as he laughs and collects the letters on his tongue. he’s always had a taste for the unruly.
15. at 7 I learned to put on my big girl shoes and start acting like an adult,
at 10 I learned to tighten the laces because my journey to womanhood was just a couple of years away,
at 3 days from 16, I’ve learned that no matter how big my shoes are, I will always be measured by the distance between my moth bitten socks and the toe of my shoe
(((((((the space between a girl and a woman:empty))))))))
16. my father left me with so much love with no place to go;
which is why I spoon feed it to anyone who goes near,
hoping they don’t mind the taste and that they won’t disappear
((((((((what else can a girl do with so much love?)))))))
17. hands at my side, I sit and wait
for age to grip me and time to inflate,
since it is too late for my youth and to early for my fate
and all I really want is a new day
18. it’s funny how it took three women to replace one man
three mothers to replace one father
three souls to mend the hole he singed into my heart with a cigarette.
I’ve never felt so loved
–for v.d, a.o, and p.h.
19. there is not a season I adore more than fall,
for it is a constant reminder of how I fell and got
like the way leaves descend from their branches
and become something new in the dirt
((((decomposition and rebirth))))
20. in autumn, I seem to see the beauty in everyone;
the decayed, leaves writhing in the grass
the lost, newspapers drifting in the wind
the vulnerable, branches in the clouds
the warm, colors of the earth.
october has always been the most romantic time of the year
21. little girls like to think they’re all
grown up by wrapping their little fingers
around the stem of a wine bottle
but those little fingers, dear, can only reach so far around the romance you’ve associsated to destroying yourself
((((((maybe when your older))))))
22. there is a boy that I love.
but not like the mad poetry boy, no.
I love this boy in a different way that makes me happy in a different kind of way and the best part is-
he is not afraid of me, rather he has looked into my deranged eyes and held my hand, out of danger’s way.
I wish I could thank this boy with a million forget-me-nots all tied in a bow because I sure hope you don’t when you show the world your great big heart
and know that whenever your wings get tired or bruised that my nest is always open,
23. I stare at the wallpaper and pick
at the residue left from my secret love affair.
who knew that a bullet could travel so fast
and words splattered so easily
24. I look at the girls with half empty plates and half empty caskets
the girls with bruised lips from kissing too hard or not hard enough
the girls who were reborn as boys but are still treated like they’ve died
the girls who are a little too much for everyone or just not enough
~protect my girls
25.) oh! do not tell me stories of
great heartbreak and of regretful
do not spill your pity into my glass as we cheers for joie de vivre!
do not stand in front of the sun depriving my flowers of light and do not dare blind me by shining in front of my reflection!
I’m much too busy admiring the ones in front of me to look back and pick you off my shadow.
(((((((depression and her mistress))))
26. it was the best of times,
it was the worst of times,
it was the age of judgement,
it was the age of enlightenment,
it was the epoch of individuality,
it was the epoch of constraint,
it was the season where men sat honourably reflected in the vulnerability of their White wine hidden in their Black coats,
it was the season where men delved in their pleasures and sat comfortable in shades of Gray.
26. as I take the short cut home the
wind crashes into me and I
and I think, “this is how he leaves me”
27. he loved me like a pomegranate:
peeling away my thin, transparent,
veiny skin and devouring the
bitter seeds of my protruding insecurities,
leaving me jarred and sticky with regret.
28.him and I, we’re time travellers, you see?
whenever I look at him I see the
and when we are together,
he takes me to another world
29. so we cut off our palms and
pinned them to the wall
and sat, painting road maps in the
30. I think I’m going crazy.
seeing things that aren’t there.
like your love for me, and the
sliding of an empty chair
31. we hold our flashlights in the air and send each other messages.
that’s how we communicate;
through sparks of light
how will I know that your flashlight died?
or have you gotten used to the dark?
32. and there she lay
wearing a crystal foam dress,
bathing in rose water,
listening to amurado;
god she was so beautiful,
and much more than he deserved
33. you had my hands tied behind my back
except now you’re tongue tied,
and my fingers extend past my bones, interlocking with my mothers and friends.
34. isn’t it funny how it snowed the day after I burst
candor falling from my lips as
the snow drifted from the sky.
I wonder how long the clouds were bearing the snow,
as I was bearing the truth.
35. yes, I was blinded by his charm,
however, I was not unaware of the consequences and my actions.
it makes sense, really,
I was able to reach out into the darkness and feel those factors in the air,
but like depressed, blind woman I identified the gun, but still put it in my mouth like a spoon.
35. dear grey girl
you were right all along, about him,
except you were much smarter
and I look up to you in many ways for being able to see through his lies and soft words whereas I ate them up.
I’m sorry for the tension between us, for I wasn’t doing my duty to you as a fellow woman,
for when I look at you, I see all the strength I didn’t have to say “no”
a girl adorned in crow feathers and poetry
36.I will forever be grateful for what has happened,
for you were the droplet of water that almost extinguished my flame.
but I have made it out alive, ready to burn the next man who decides to feed my fire with lies.
((((candle in the wind)))
37. do you miss me or the thrill,
do you miss me or what I gave you?
38. I asked my mother why she keeps all her expensive jewelry in locked drawers.
((((((like how you hid me)))))))
I said, “it’s a shame isn’t it? all that beauty hidden away.”
she shook her head, ” they are too nice to wear out. what if they get stolen, lost, or broken?”
((((I’m too good to be kept low key))))
“but if you’re not going to wear them then what’s the point of having them?”
“It’s just jewelry, love, it doesn’t care whether you wear it or not.
39. dear, I want you to grow from this.
I want you to blossom,
and help yourself.
please,this gift is better than love,
and everything I once gave you.
trust me, this may not be farewell
for I hope that a better me can meet a better you
all because of some distance.
40. from now on I am no longer the
light emitted from the lighthouse
but the structure itself,
I hope you find your way through the fog,
((((a push in the right direction))))
41. I’ve been massaging the knots in my tongue
trying to figure out a way to say
what is clogged up in my brain
without bleeding out
and choking on the clots
of all my built up thoughts.
42. I got lost in the road map creases of your palms,
and the stromatic streets of your irises,
and the bar needle, compass cracks of your lips,
and as I looked for shelter, I found myself walking in circles; wrapped around your
43. I hope that your little pursuit of
breaking into people’s hearts when their
doors are wide open is done.
I hope you’re finally satisfied with yourself and
I hope that every single time you look at my paintings
and my words
and my success,
maybe then I can forgive you.
44. I take back my sympathy
that I sang like a symphony,
I take back my support
that I sacrificed for your salvation,
all the sculptures I slaved over for you,
I take it all back for it was meant for the man
I thought I knew,
not the satyr that you are.
45. my patience is running as thin
as the ice surrounding the Arctic,
the heat of my wrath warms and
melts the very shard I stand on,
and I see you paddling with cupped hands,
away from the consequences anchored to the icebergs.
I see you’d rather drown than face them.
46. black eyed boys
carrying black fried hearts
from black speckled spots on their
too young brains,
and with their black dyed toys
splattering young bright brains on
cold white floors as the
governments close their doors
to protect their stupid shooting
47. my body; an instrument
unlimited to one note,
a symphony of string
falling against my shoulders,
woodwind in my wind wipe
blowing low chords and
brass in my belly taking
place of my lungs and
percussion against my chest as
my heart thu thumps, and
keyboards for hands,
each finger representing a
not many know how to play
me right, in the right octave,
in the right tempo,
and sometimes their intonation
so off I go swaying to the city,
being my own musician,
singing my own song.
it’s awfully nice, too,
not having to be tuned
all the damn time; and
I’m left to write my own
48. my tongue is not razor edged;
it is blunt like the steel used for
sharping knives, sparks flying
off my teeth,
burning everything to the
49. people have started to
notice that I’ve been acting
I promise I haven’t shed
slipped into another;
I have simply stopped
playing dress up:
no more pearls for my
corsets for my
silks for my
I am different because
I have found freedom
in my innate
identity, while others simply see
an impoverished soul.
how could they understand
I’ve always known that I would
only be judged by my attire.
49. someone spectacular
has caught my eye;
50. how is silence easier than
in fact, it’s two letters more.
51. butterflies in my stomach,
butterflies in my eyes,
butterflies in my palms.
52. he likes sunrises more than
radiates tranquility and
he likes sunrises more than
brings colour to my
previously grey world.
53. i like you because
you make me nervous.
not in the way he did,
where I was scared,
but in a way that makes
my eyes widen and heart
flutter and I feel
54. at the end of the day,
all I needed was
55. the coast is clear,
the boats are in,
the salt water air cycles
round my lungs,
the sand molds to fit
my figure, and the
sirens have lost their
although I am shipwrecked,
I am at peace.
56. I do not cry in front
of people I
always hiding under covers or
behind stall doors.
I do not cry when I am sad.
only when I need to cool off from
the fire in my blood,
or when my faucet eyes
leak from the effervescence clogged
within my funny bone,
or when my dam(n) heart cracks and
creates river streams in my chest,
but when I am sad, I become
to my surroundings.
too burnt to feel:
a river of tears is too
basic to repair me.
57. what you break,
you must restore.
that is love’s way.
58. heart of fire,
that is what I am.
it is known where the
frost comes from,
the fire, though, remains a
however, I shall reveal it to you:
it is internal.
when an organ is
punctured, and the
stringy crimson fluid
diffuses through the
sometimes, this is due to external forces,
but there are times when it is simply
I, however, have been
and I lay gasping,
smoldering from the
on my bathroom
and no one
can figure it out because it was so
not even ice baths can tame my
and I become a famished
59. mis. guided and
met in the bus window,
she pressed her palm against the
and he nearly tripped over
nothing as he shifted around her,
to see his own reflection.
60. I’m not much of an artist,
can I draw attention to
61. why am I so afraid to be here?
this is my domain,
I made this;
I am its mother.
but sometimes even parents
become weary of their children,
because to be young again is to be naive,
and that is a risk I am not willing to take
62. “I like it when you’re feisty.”
I would like it more if you were dead.
63. You need to put yourself together;
I am not adhesive.
You need to find yourself;
I am not a lost and found.
You need to give yourself a break;
I am not a vacation.
You need to find beauty in yourself;
I am not a mirror.
You need to make yourself whole,
because I will never love two people
64. dress me in heaps and heaps of fabric,
corsets, hoops, shawls, bonnets, and
make me the Marie Antoinette of the
place me on a pretty platter,
serve me to the dogs,
make the dilution of my
blood indicate the start of
65. you can break my heart,
but never my focus
66. lost in life,
found in literature;
guess you could say
I’m well-read but
too booked to study the
world around me.
67. make masterpieces out of
call it abstract.
68. It is 9:30 at night.
I am in the backseat of my friend’s old Toyota,
the windows are rolled down
so far that I am exposed to the
world without the smeared filter
of road trip glass.
We are blasting kpop,
and we can’t tell if nearby cars are
offended by the volume or by the
speeding half way across the
world in our little tin can on wheels,
you could say that we were
being unsafe or
but that wouldn’t be true:
I had my seatbelt on.