Tumor

I was trying to write something poetic but all I could come up with are words as bitter as the day you left me.

They asked me if I'd missed you, if I'd been thinking about us; "You cannot miss something that is forgotten," I told them. I looked at the picture I found in my wallet from our first date, at the boy I'd been telling I love you's to; when did we stop, where did it all go wrong? How could an angel break my heart?

I wish I knew but it hurt too much to remember. The pain flowed through every place inside me like blood in my veins, tearing my heart from flesh to dust; the alcohol in my system could no longer numb it. I wish I could hide it like my deepest, darkest secret but the ache was so hard to bear.

I was trying to write something poetic but all I could come up with are words as traumatic as cancer because I couldn't help but think, honey, you've always been my favorite tumor.

In Memory of Our Little Sunflower

The roar of the flaming gas in the air
burned eight strands of my dark hair,
just as the number of brown petals still
left hanging on the dying flower on the window sill.

The sunflower seeds I held tight in my hand
(what we desperately tried to plant)
took me one more wistful month than to be
the part-time mother of our child in me.

If one single petal fell off each month,
there would have been eight more months
to anticipate the only antidote for
both our fragmented hearts at war.

I once had carried in me a fire torch as our light
to shine through our darkest path of fright,
but by mistake, we ended up setting fire
to the flower that grew on a pot of mire.

There is Thunder in Our Hearts

Summer is coming,
bring on the thunder and the rain,
feel the tunes it is humming
while your torso is soaked in my pain.

Hear my heartbeat echo to
your million-mile deep hollow chest.
The ruthlessness in you
puts me in this endless lonely mess.

Last Summer, the memory of us,
reckless and young at heart,
love, love, love and lust,
fell in love but fell apart.

We'll live again in this wonderland
To be the closest we can ever be,
and when Summer comes to an end,
this time, I will be ready to leave.

Unrequited

Trees with pink flowers and
A land of white fallen petals -
Stepped on but stay chaste.
Clear blue exists only in the dreams
Where we wake up feeling
Weightless.
A field of sakura under a sky of purple,
Heaven had once been real
But hell is right where our mind roams.
Purple sky, as if the bruises you left
On my heart,
Holds the red clouds together.
Is it the sky I am staring at
Or my wounded wrists,
Bled so painful like tears gushing out
As rainfall that watered the field of pink?
I adore flowers like I adore the
Stars I see with my eyes shut tight;
Fairylights at the back of my eyelids
Dancing weightlessly
Just like the floating lantern I put to
The purple sky back when
My front teeth were missing.
I got these burn marks from holding onto
My floating lantern for too long.
Purplish blackened hands -
The only color on my palms
That reminds me, now and then, of the
Sting from being headstrong;
The only color in my heart that tells me
It is time to
Let
You

Go.

Neil Hilborn - "The Future"

8 Kg of Weight Loss

I have lost 8kg this week,
With approximately 3% of it is
The weight of my heart,
20% my laughter,
20% the memories of us,
Another 20% of it is my faith in   you,
And the rest is just
Me myself that I've lost.
And yet, the fact that I could
Write a goddamn poem out of it
Made me feel pathetic enough
To still believe in love.

Hurricane - Parachute

Too vulnerable to write.

Heartstrings

I woke up to my sister's calling this morning,
breathing out her amusement into my ear,
as she excitedly led me into her room
and showed me this bumblebee that was
caught in a cobweb.

I watched as it struggled,
kicking and flapping, fighting
its hardest to untangle itself from the web -
only weaker each passing moment - as if
hope was draining its life away.

The little bee stopped moving, then, exhausted.
My heart pounded recklessly, hoping
it could break free
as the spider approached its prey.

It reminded me of the time when I went fishing with Dad.
The fish was caught by
the hooks on our fish net. It wagged its tail to break free; only
to swim back to the ocean with
broken scales
and fins.

And then I thought of you.
The way your velvet touch was caught in the tangles of my long hair,
the way your tongue was tied in knots with mine,
the way your words were always stuck with the loops inside my head;
and I thought of the way you fought hard
to escape when you were trapped by my heartstrings.

The bumblebee flapped once again with a sharp buzz,
fell to the ground with
torn wings, parts of them still being stuck to the spiderweb.
The bee was left there to rot
and the cobweb was left with

a big hole.

Lip Balm

I hope she still hasn't forgotten
how adorable she is,
even though it's been hella a long time
since he last looked her in the eye,
held her face in his hands
and brushed his lips across hers
before breathing out his broken promises,
like the way he breathed out the
secondhand smoke in his lungs that
he had been trying to get rid of.

Between her booze-stained teeth and
peeled crimson lips is often
where she holds the ancient grudges
and puffs of smoke that always seem
as heavy as the anchor weighing her
deep down
in the ocean
of
unspoken sorrow and
forgotten
pain.

The way she always finishes a cigarette completely
says so much about how it annoys her to
handle unfinished business in her life.
But the life she has made belief for -
the one that he had crossed his heart, hoping
to give her, is one
BIG IRONY:
the adventure of two is never finished toge-
ther.
She says he is toxic like cigarettes.
Each puff she inhales, she imagines
taking
him
all
in,
breath
by
breath.
She has learned,
that, is the closest they'll ever be;
that, is the safest distance for love.

Last Christmas, the cold weather has
peeled off the skins of her lips
layer
by
layer,
as if the way he peeled off her skin
with his                         knife-like tongue,
exposing her empty-chested torso.

There is no remedy for a ripped-off
heart,
but there is cure for dry lips.
This year, before she kisses a better stranger,
she'll remember to replace
the cigarette
she holds between her moist lips
with words of love,
and she'll be reminded of
how adorable she still is.