growing apart

so this one just came out of thin air today. It took me by surprise because I didn't even think of the words as I wrote them and this is what it turned out to be. It's freaking me out a little.:


Oh, if you saw the joy of a recent purchase
that lit up the features she rested.
If only they also glowed for the verses,
desolately he'd written but vested

With charms and allusions too cryptic,
in words his being was invested.
Time's too precious to decipher a lyric
singled out, still his mind's congested

With charms and allusions that adorn
her body, physical to emphasize.
Admiration turned to gradual scorn
for never the other to recognize.

They've grown too apart to comply.
For she loves her shoes and he, the sky.

I've had this one for well over a year now whoops

I'm noticing some unintentional rhyming in this one.


I can't throw flowers away. Leaves turn crusty and colours go dusty; scents fade but I still can't throw them away. They sit on my dresser and lurk on the window sill and they'll sit there until my mum secretly sneaks them into the trash.

I think she's forgotten that she was the one who'd pluck me jasmines on cold, damp October mornings when I, a then snot-nosed, whimpering four foot tall creature, clung to her legs and begged her to let me stay home.

The tiny white petals would end up on the Kindergarten teacher's desk and when I'd reluctantly return the next day with another flower in my little fist, the dead remains from the previous day would still be sitting there in a wilted state, awaiting their replacement.

Maybe that's the origin then, of this strange affinity for flowers. It's not so much a fondness as it is a calming familiarity.

For a long time they served as 5-petaled, doodled additions to the end of my name in primary school notebooks, a signature of sorts, until I decided somewhere around 5th grade,in my haste, that I was too much of a grown up to continue the tradition.

 a few months old

Now I just watch them die, but they somehow become more beautiful as time goes by.
Kind of like the past.

Staring at... Not-strangers?

If you sit really very still, the world seems to revolve around you.

Which, I mean, it technically does. Not that it makes you any more notable because the world revolves around everything and anything and also around nothing at all.

Hey, what do you and your toothbrush have in common? You're both insignificant objects that the world does and does not revolve around. Hur-hur.

But sometimes these somewhat dejecting thoughts render themselves a comforting kind of ambiguity and it's nice to give some credit to what we perceive as ordinary.

We're sat across from each other.

#rebellious

Bright flowers, names I forget,
bloom to replace winters of regret,
call for attention in a place of neglect;
live off the care of those who used to reject.

But those hands have since been replaced
by caresses on petals, misplaced.
The soil has since been displaced
by roots shaken from an unexpected turn.

When you realize there's little at stake,
rules are easy to break.

Hopeless Romantic Chemist

I have a pH of seven.

Neutral, like H2O.

Sometimes a drifting cloud

waiting for the wind to blow.

Sometimes cold as solid ice

when times and temperatures are low.

But mostly I flow

in a liquid state,

sliding around in disorder, I await

you. You’re Potassium.

Await your methodical extraction,

dreaming of what textbooks describe your touch as an ‘explosive reaction’.

I’ve lost some of my Hydrogen, so desperate to bond.

But you leave me for Chlorine, of whom you’re so fond.

Blind to her greenness, her electro-negative ways,

though she knows what she wants, stability she craves.

And I am a compound, ever-changing-

my surroundings ranging

from the formula of tears that wash away sorrow,

to the predicted happy summer showers of tomorrow.

Let's romanticize hair

7th June 2015
My bathroom: 2AM

I'm stood in front of my dimly illuminated reflection. On the stark-white sink counter sits a pair of the most intimidating scissors I could find at this hour, next to a couple of hair ties and my vibrating phone.

I've separated my hair into two silky, black tails that fall stick-straight to my waist. They're like two ropes I can hold onto; they'll pull me back on deck if I drift too far at sea. Their airy presence has blanketed my back and sides, shielded the nape of my neck from the tingling of perceived stares.

Tonight I've decided I'm done with comforting attachments.

Staring at Strangers

We've all had that special moment with an oblivious stranger, haven't we?

He smiles to himself for a fleeting moment, his chin resting on his fist and eyes wandering. I wonder what he’s just thought about. Then he’s distracted by his phone vibrating on the table top and goes to pick it up. I wait for him to check it and return to his original trance-like state, but instead he moves on and rests his gaze on the notes spread in front of him.

This annoys me. Severely.