25/08/2024

11:12 p.m.

25/08/2024, Sunday

-

there's a pretty dress I've been eyeing.

but it's got a shiny price tag, and for this, i rue.

I wish I could afford it; 

maybe then I'd be pretty too.

it's a dress that I've been vying for

but when I look around, my shock is heavy.

my only competition is myself

for everyone around me has got it already.

so I decide to try it on, just for fun.

I find the closest size, and change into it.

but I look into the mirror

and of course, it doesn't fit.

it hangs off my shoulder; I look like a mess.

it pulls at my stomach, and sags at my chest.

my heart sinks, and I feel embarrassed.

but then again, what else did I expect?

disappointed, I put it back on the shelf

and step out of the shop.

sure, maybe a shirt and jeans are drab

but that's all that I've got.

yeah, maybe nobody gives me a second glance

as I walk past them on the street.

but maybe that's just better suited 

for someone undeserving like me.

fin~

2/7/2024

2/7/2024, Tuesday

9:10 p.m.

-

the trees – they cut them down yesterday. i woke up to the sound of so, so many birds chirping incessantly today morning. they cried out for hours and hours, as though mourning a loss. i came outside to see what happened. some ten, fifteen birds were perched on the compound wall. my mum said they'd been there for over an hour by then. i looked at the emptiness beyond the few trees that remained – i could see an office in the distance, and more buildings. to the right, a high rise apartment was being constructed. i could see the distant sky, yet somehow it did not comfort my heart as it usually would; it felt desolate, hollow. and i realized why those birds cried out so terribly; where timber had been chopped down to build houses for others elsewhere, here, a family had lost its home. there was a mother, staring at her broken, empty nest, grieving her babies. and there were so many such birds, all crying their little hearts out.

i recalled a superstition from the villagers at my hometown. they said that horrible luck always befell a man in the lumber business. perhaps I wouldn't have believed that hogwash on any other day. but tonight, as i am met with stark emptiness, in place of the lilting chirp of an Indian nightjar and so, so many others, i think their words may have had some merit to them.

7/6/2024

 1:25 a.m.

7/6/2024, Friday

-

there are faded hearts scribbled in the corner of my desk - my pencil scratches at the worn wood, absently colouring them in. the fan whirs up-head, churning out warm air. outside, the the sky is clear, with not a cloud in sight. somewhere, a chorus of cicadas chirp in the distance. i lean forward, my head resting on the desk, cradled by my arms. i fight it, but unknowingly drift off into slumber. i dream of something warm, something sweet. something so wonderfully reminiscent of sunny skies, apple orchards, and flower fields; reminiscent of warm smiles, tanned skin, and honeyed eyes. i am blissfully content in this dreamscape, with my heart full. i reach out - hand in calloused hand - and am filled with an all-encompassing warmth, so warm that it scorches my palms. the invisible flames seem to spread through my veins, every inch of skin tingling with the heat. finally, it reaches my eyes, and they prickle and burn. orange fades to black, and back to orange again. i blink my eyes open, looking around dazedly. the classroom is empty, and the sun shines right in my face, more orange than white. i scramble to gather my things, and rush out of the room. the fan whirs on and on, all but forgotten. 

14/5/2024

 11:15am

14/5/2024, Tuesday
-

when i was much, much younger, my parents once took me to a cabin in the woods. the sun shone down brightly, but was obscured by the dense roof of trees above, just speckled beams of sunlight shining down in a few spots. the leaves crunched under my shoes, and i collected random sticks i thought looked cool. it is a memory of simpler times, when my biggest fear was getting caught in quicksand. now a lot has changed, and the girl who shrieked in laughter when her dad spun her in the air is gone, but I still think of her, of myself, of who I was, and who I lost. all of them are the same person, yet so vastly different. i wish i could return to the girl I was back then, or simply relive that memory, one more time. now I'm far too big for my dad to lift, and his back gives out sometimes when he does something strenuous. i wish i could go back to then, a time and life far, far more simple.

4/5/2024

 1:45 a.m.

4/5/2024, Saturday

-

i clutch at my heart by pushing past my lungs and rip it out, hands bloodied. my throat burns raw, my chest empty. i wash my hands of the blood that drenches them, trickling down my wrist. speckles of ruby remain, but I pay no heed. i decorate the living, undeniable proof of my love for you, with layers of a red rose's skin. it blends in with my heart; seperate, but part of it. i cup my palms, delicately holding this very essence of myself, offering it up to you. though away from its home, it never ceases to beat- the thrum, thrum, thrum, a litany chanted throughout my head. i tremble, with the sheer weight of my love for you weighing my arms down. i kneel- waiting, waiting, waiting for you to look at me, to accept my adoration for you. i wait for you to gently cradle my heart in your hands, to keep it safe. but you cannot. you touch it, you poke at it, but never love it. it trembles and writhes with the burn of your skin, your presence. i clutch at it harder and harder, so as to not let it fall. i feel my nails dig into the tender flesh, gripping harder, harder. blood stains my fingers once more, a sinful trickle down my skin. my chest is empty, yet it cries out with pain, the pain of a phantom heart in place of my own – beating, yet still; mine, yet not. the image of my blood dripping, in rivulets of pure, tangible agony, is in front of your eyes. yet I fear you must be blind, for you seem to never see it. i grip at my heart harder, feel its thump more desperate than ever before. blood oozes out more, drenching me in crimson. with each cry for your love, it beats a bit faster, with more force. the colour drains from the tissue, greying in death. it is wrung out dry, just as my ribs collapse in on themselves, a towers of cards falling to the ground. that what remains of my heart, has long come to a still. not a movement to be seen, a beat felt. a void takes its place, sucking me in, my soul, my heart. my decaying hands, still upturned in offering, hold no more than rotten flesh, far past salvation. i feel you brush past, seemingly unaware of all that has passed. withered petals, nearly unrecognisable, gently float down, swaying in the heavy air. it is all that remains, of the traces of my heart. it is all that remains, of the unfathomable love i held. in your eyes, it was a brief moment of curiosity. in mine, it was my life. to you, it was of none such relevance. to me, it was dedicatedly yours.

24/2/2024

 12:30am, Saturday

24/2/2024

-
when they ask me,
'would i ever love?'
with disdain, i reply,
"i could never, oh no.
an act so sinful? i shan't
spiral into such depravity."
(when the final flickers
of light are blown out,
i clutch at my heart, pained.
the longing within my bereaved heart
bubbles up in my lungs.)

when they ask me,
'what does love mean to you?'
i scoff, and answer,
"hah, an act as foolish as that?
it is nothing but a joke
uttered in the midst
of cans of soda in the twilight shine-
nothing short of make-believe."
(i lie in the grass,
feeling it prickle at my back.
my mind bleeds and blends
with the thorns that my futile obsession
has sprung up and nurtured.
and something bitter, salty
pricks at the crow's feet
who sits on my shoulder.)

when they ask me,
'is there someone you love?'
i chortle, and say,
"my, i couldn't ever,
what use are such trivial feelings
directed to someone
who doesn't deserve the least of them?"
(i clutch a faded, yellowed picture
nearly crumpling it in my grasp;
furiously, gently, muttering
garbled 'thank you's' and 'sorry's'.
i pluck a few young sprouts
of cedar leaves from my fingertips,
and press them between
fragrant, worn pages,
hands trembling yet gentle,
as though caressing a prayer.)

"my heart knows no love."
(yet it aches with the burn of it.)

15/2/2024

 15/2/2024, Thursday.

10:27 a.m.
-

I sip at my second cup of tea
this evening.
Lounging in the backyard,
I feel familiarity settle in
as the tendrils of my old skin
creep up and wrap around my fingers.
Suddenly, I am thrust into
an onslaught of visions-
Saccharine sips of cooled lemonade,
Trampled grass, bruised knees,
The whoosh of a bicycle rushing past
only to be greeted
by the summer-scorched asphalt.
Voices, now unintelligible
seek out this decoy of myself.
The telling pitter-patter of tiny footsteps
rings louder in my ears.
Louder, louder, louder,
it does not cease, till my mind is in a spin.
I cannot discern whether or not
that thumping sound blooms from my own heart.
Just as I am certain
my heart shall burst open,
I jolt awake from my reverie-
The alarm rings out, loud and clear.
The sun has gone to rest,
and its place take the burning stars.
I look down, at the creaking floorboard-
the cup has shattered.
I gather the broken shards
and head back inside.