[Other Original] Never To Be Published

door
you were the key to my lock
helping me find a way to
escape the dark confines
and you were the first
to embrace me for who i was
when i fell out of the closet

with you by my side
i could face the doors
that slammed in my face
i could go on breaking walls
i could go on knocking and trying

but the only door i could not knock
was the one that opened to your heart

​

Ten Word Stories
Of course, I like you. I could never love you.

I once wished upon a star; it no longer twinkles.

Some say read rhymes with lead; some do not agree.

"Hmm, Caesar or sesame?" The salad gazed at her wardrobe.

(A/N: Tried a hand at this as a little break from working on poems for a publication.)​

poets
minds destroyed before they created
works of art from anguish, turning
trash to treasure, an ugly beauty.
publishing their scarlet letters
turning a badge of shame into a badge of honour
sewn into the sleeves of books
that opened their hearts up to souls
who will read their epitaphs and
the autopsies of their psyches before
the pen euthanised them and
the ink immortalised them.​

drink
alcohol seeps through the cracks of my body
as i cruise through the sea of swaying bodies
like a glass of liquor passing through the hands
of strangers wanting a sip, their fingers caressing the fissures
where I have been glued back together
but this vessel of mine is as fragile
as a bottle in a drunken brawl
so do not break me
but leave me alone on the dance floor
where you found me​

flame
yet another moth
turns to ashes
and still, not a butterfly in sight
as i flicker alone
wondering how much wax
i have left
​

gift wrap
walking down aisles
scanning shelves
jingle bells plays overhead

what should i get
what should i get
the deadline draws near

would they like it
would they like it
the thought consumes me

the festive spirit is just
cold sterile air of stores
gift wrapping me
this season of bought joy
​

cup
i am an empty cup
that yearns to be filled
to feel the kiss of lips
against the rim

but i am afraid of
the weight of water
but more so
the cracks that might surface

as everything leaks out
and i no longer feel warm lips
against my cold porcelain
and i no longer feel whole​

Do I Do You
Does you matter to you
like how you matter to me
And do I matter to you

Are you in your mind
like how I am out of my mind
when you are in my mind

Does you inspire you
like how you inspire me
to inspire you

Do you want you
like how I want me to
want you to want me

And do I need you
like how you need you before
you can begin to need me

And do I want to say
I do I do I do
and do I want to know
If you do you do you do

Do you?
​

sandcastles
a quiet cove
by the beach
far from the crowd

a little girl builds sandcastles
that are claimed by the waves
for their viewing pleasure only

she grows up to be a poet
writing in a corner of the library
where only ghosts can read her words​

Missing

Scrolling down an endless timeline
of digital events that flicker
like buttons on a control panel,
you notice a small bubble of help:
"Old man missing. Last seen Monday. Please help."
With a quick click, a mental check of your do-good list,
you share that one message and move on,
hoping that somewhere, someone
trawling through the same ocean of information,
will chance upon the message - of 140 characters - in a bottle,
and do something about it.
But it's not something so pressing at the moment. Not like the
last seen receipt you received from a friend a second ago,
or the elusive four digit figure on your Instagram photo
that was uploaded just under an hour ago.
The rat race towards the finish-line of virtual numbers,
all for the grand pixelated prize and 8-bit laurel.
The unending stream of pictures that everyone looks at through a microscope,
never once absorbing the big picture.
The curation of joy and luxury is a tedious necessity,
that is worked on 24/7,
manicuring every pixel to ensure that they do not
fall out of place in the immaculate image.
One unfortunate glitch, an unexpected HTTP 404,
and the whole world - no, the entire universe - knows
that your humanity is missing.
​

mixed signals
say something
I'm waiting
give me a hint
something that I can use
to move on with
something that I can use
to reassure reason rationalise
this illogical imagined infatuation
I'm at the crossroads and I don't know
which direction I should go
My heart says left but my mind says right
You are the traffic light
flashing red and green at the same time
do I go do I stop I no longer know which gear I'm in
If I move I'll crash and burn
But if I wait I'll be hit and ran over
by people holding hands, doing things in pairs
because good things come in pairs as they say
And here I am thinking about you on a Sunday night
sleeping single queen​

Honey
A million drones buzzing in aerospace
A million workers shedding blood and sweat
Grazing their knees against anthers
Carrying buckets of golden grains
Mixing it with the flowers' ambrosia
Storing the brew in hexagonal vats
A million cogs turning in the machine
every gear of the chain rotating as they should
The meticulous Process, a tedious necessity
to create the magnum opus of the hive mind:
the sweet sugary ichor, the art form of nature.​

tempestry of the stormstress
I like walking in the rain
waiting for a stray thread from the sky
to tie around me with a dead knot
tangling me with the thunder
and the frayed clouds
weaving me in between the eye
of the stormy needle that knits
me closer and closer to heaven–
the cosmic looms above me.
Loops within loops, seams over seams
stitching beginnings into ends and ends into beginnings
endlessly embroidering enigmas
into the grand arras I'm not a part of.​

heart attack
you are under arrest
incarcerated in cardiac cells
caged behind my ribs
that you pound your fists on
inescapable, unbreakable,
like peptide chains intertwined
in the endless helix of life

the brain has judged you
worthy of a life sentence
imprisoned by impulses,
neural wardens in synaptic patrols
monitoring your every movement,
every angle, every of image of you captured
by the cameras of my cerebral Panopticon
feedback loops sending adrenaline
dopamine oxytocin hormones
rushing to the heart which pounds and
poundsandpoundsandpounds
until it bursts​