If your hand could reach inside my heart,
What would you do with it?
I bet you would rip it out from my chest,
And stomp it into the carpet.
If you hands could reach all down my throat,
What would you do with them?
I’m sure you’d squeeze my windpipe so tight,
Till my mouth is full of phlegm.
If your hands could reach into my mind,
What would you do with it?
Twist my thoughts and mangle my words
...
Summer morning,
The melody of the birds,
Lyricism without words,
Before they take off, soaring.
Fresh breeze,
Summer wild flowers rustling,
Too warm for daily bustling,
Pollen makes the business man sneeze
But he doesn’t mind,
He’s grateful for the air,
He’s in love with the way the sun kisses his skin
On a summer morning, confined
To a desk, terribly unfair,
As the sun is just about to begin....
I finally felt free. Or at least a little bit more free, excited at the idea of living as me, but I could see the fear in her eyes and the hesitation in her lips.
“So” I start, before pausing, “uh so how do you feel about it?”
“Well” she paused in thought, which was uncharacteristic of my mum, “I’m just worried you’re doing this because you think changing yourself will make you happy”
“What if it ...
I tried to fight it but I can’t
Casting spells and saying chants
Pleading with the spirit
Begging for another chance
But you’re still gone
And I’m still here
You said that you were done
You are no longer near
And I cried and I cried
Yet still it seems to be
Everything is just as it is meant to be...
I never thought I’d end up here, trapped under the nighttime mirror and ruled by her currents. Powerless. I never thought I could fall so far, that so many plan b’s could fall through too. My skin crawls and my bones snap and break under the lunar light, transforming into a version of my self that I don’t recognise, bloodthirsty. New skin, more hair, new face, same brain- just wild and uninhibited...
Mr barrister, I knew you in a dream
In springs long gone
You were the one
That awoke a stirring within me.
The one that made me think
About who I might be,
Who made me see,
The vibrant colours on the brink
Of my own spring dawn,
Mr barrister, flat white no foam,
Warm my heart of stone,
To this day I’d fawn,
Your beauty never faded,
But I’d never say out loud, not once, not ever....
The process,
The rhythm,
Like a gentle caress,
Like a handmade algorithm,
Base first, then brows,
Eyes and lips last,
The power such a thing endows,
Like a purification after a fast,
You make me feel like me,
Programmed into my blood,
A focus on the symmetry,
I wouldn’t not even if I could,
Ground me into my self,
Pigment, flush and beauty wealth....
I hate my birthday,
And all the special days,
Because of the expectation
To have a happy day
I hate the cake and candles,
Stale before it’s eaten
And blown out with a wish
Poor thing, it’d already been beaten.
I hate the attention,
Despite that I usually spend it alone,
I hate the texts of wishing well,
When they know I’m not well at all.
Yet I do try every year-
To have a happy day,
To wish...
