yesterday i loved you for the way your body grooved to the beat, lithe and steady and so goddamn alluring. your body cut the daintiest silhouettes against the bright lights and i wanted more of the way your hips pushed forward, gaze burning on me like a fire licking up my body, primal but intimate. i lusted for your attention, dreamed of being your close binary star so i could chase after your lips.
today i love you for the way your eyes crinkle when they’re tired and the way you look at everything like they mean the world. when you cradle a book in your arm my heart skips a beat because i never knew that this is what it means to love. love is embracing a book for the tune it hums and not for the name of its composer nor the suit it wears. when your fingers curl quietly around the plants you grow in your garden, the seedlings in my heart are sprouting. it’s enough watching you love, even if i’m not the object of your affection. i’m content with loving a soul as beautiful as yours.
tomorrow i will still love you. i don’t know exactly how i will do that, but i do know that my heart will always burst when i watch the way your lips quirk or the way your voice is a purr when you mumble through the haze of sleep. you are lighthouses beaming in the dark when the sea whirls up its pointed pines and i know that i will dock safely when i follow your trail. you do you, babe, and remember: the world is yours. i love you.
listen to the whirl of the wind: it’s kissing my cheek tonight
inspo: there is a mars for every venus
title: my heart is full again
it is of utmost importance that you rest as much as you work, drones the official clad in grey as she talks about how all work and no play makes jack a dull boy and jill a dull girl.
there are muted snores puffing from the hall of students, bags clutched tightly against chests. beside me, the top class drag their pens across chemistry practicals like weary oxes ploughing up and down the fields. my eye twitches as i remember how i haven’t opened my writing blog since forever (at least a monday has passed and the law of mondays still apply). there are so many instances when the depression spills up above my throat into my mouth spilling onto worktables like wave breaking on the seabed, but i have no time to spare when i am juggling a proposal, three
individual group projects, three tutorials and two lectures reading, all due yesterday. the number beside Write grows larger everyday, stuffed full with empty words (writing reflects your soul, and that’s true because i am just a hollow shell full of Pretentious Poetry that means absolutely nothing to my future in the tiny red dot of Science Field Careers. )
these days i feel like my skin is stretching across my flesh like a snake bursting out of its skin. every morsel of food tastes a little more bitter than the last and the calculator in my head is a lottery machine from how fast the numbers whizz. the irony weighs heavy on my tongue when i remember that i am time starved and running round the clock, one lap two laps three laps GO FASTER GO FASTER here in singapore we do 30 hours of work in 24.
i don’t recognize the man in the mirror. no amount of asking will change her ways my ways our ways. if you wanna make the world a Better Place, then look at yourself, and crawl to bed.
to wake up at 3am later to finish math.
drink and drown the pain away: slip your tongue in my mouth and lick away all my worries
house so empty, need a centrepiece, so i shove a whole goddamn furniture store down my throat.
- mondays are never really over until you’ve hit your daily quota of two anxiety attacks, one in the morning when the bile threatens to burn a hole up your throat, or somewhere at 1922 when one text is all it takes to release the floodgates that have been pounding against your eyes all day.
- mondays are never really over until the one minute between 2359 and 0000 steals away in silence.
- mondays are the antithesis of the paradise god placed on earth. on the contrary, mondays are wormholes to hell. move aside, teleporters, mondays exist.
- mondays are 48 hours long.
- mondays are designed to make me feel like the weight of the world lies on my shoulders. there is a gnawing emptiness in my heart, and no amount of whispered encouragement motivational quotes and black coffee can fill it up. who knew that the lack of existence would make me hypersensitive to the presence of unfair teachers unkind countrymen insensitive classmates?
monday medicine: press me against the wall and whisper ‘it’ll be fine’s into the shell of my ear
who decided that the duality of my tongue made me a hypocrisy of my identity?