what your heart says

4123116-broken-heart

I was asked to listen to
what my heart says, but
I didn’t know which heart
I was supposed to listen to.
so I unzipped my chest
and exposed the fleshy stuffs,
some made of daydreams and
some made of realistic absolutions
and I let the world choose as it pleased.

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Paper Heart

I disintegrate your expressions:

your nonchalant eyes, your pupils that

shine, perpetually, with a crystallized,

inexplicable anger—and your

dignified nose, freefalling

past your thin lips, trembling and

crumbling, and finally, flakes of your

Caribbean beach-tanned skin, shafts of

light that nobody can fight.

 

You are a burning paper mache;

pieces of you, caught in the iridescent

flickers, fly reluctantly into the

centre of my hand, forming into a

sun-blanched axe, which I then hold,

my fingers turning white. I shall

penetrate you with your own defiance,

shatter your diamond armour that blinds

anyone who tries to be near. I shall

dive into your ribcage and seize that

chainlocked heart, send the arrows of my

flaming love through and through

and through until I reach that barren,

destitute chamber of secrets, secrets

hidden in the origami of your soul, where

truth is carefully tugged under the wings

of a flightless crane and hope is buried

deep inside the curves of a dying rose.

 

And ruthlessly, I look into your eyes and

seize your beating paper heart

and I take hold, I unfold.

 Omgomgomgomg it’s 9:41 and I still haven’t read Spencer yet $*@#&)$*#&$*)&@# I’M GONNA DIE and I just ate 9 golden oreo cookies dipped in milk which were yum–no. FAT. FAT IS WHAT THEY ARE. PURE FAT. With 4% iron…that’s as healthy as it goes. GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

Anyway. Sorry for ruining the mood. I haven’t been able to write poetry these days because of school…I wish I have more time 😦 if only we have 30-hour days. That will make my life so much easier. How did we decide on the 24 hour per day and 7 days per week thingy again? We should totally revolt and start a new calender. Ha!

And I want more of those cookies…darn it, Kim. Stop being a slave to your tummy. D:

Degree

A piece of paper. Golden letters. A better name.

A piece of paper. Golden letters. A better game.

Give me a reason to stay where I am.

My heart is already there because

Anyone can get a degree and

I want something more and

I want something real because this is

A real world we live in.

This is a world where

Degrees don’t guarantee you a job  like they used to;

And most of the time all they can guarantee you is

A piece of paper. Golden letters. A better name.

An empty name.

So, give me a reason to stay where I am.

My heart is already there.

And now, my body.

Invasion

Emptiness sounds its battle horns.

Things start to get lost.

Collateral damage.

A thin layer of warmth lingers on the edge of the chair.

May have been someone you have loved.

An unfinished message dries up on the ghetto walls.

The red paint bleeds into oblivion.

The wind ignores the corner of a street.

The wind never looks back.

The bird gulps back its sweet melody.

Rips its own stomach. No regrets.

The car honks; the road shuts its melancholy ears.

Rush hours. It can’t take it anymore.

Greyness, seeps deep down into a man’s pores.

Bleaches the soul with painless acid.

A heart gives up living, but keeps on beating.

At night, it dreams of a quietly fading world.

Babam. Babam.

Emptiness sounds its battle horns.

Babam. Babam. Babam.

Babam.
.

By Kim T.

Game

My defeat consisted of exactly these things:

One nod, one broken heart, and

Sixty seven droplets of tears that burned my hand

When I covered my face

When I closed my eyes

When you became the missing number of my life

When your departure reduced my soul to half its size

.

Your victory also consisted of three things:

One smile, one plane ticket,

One other girl that took you across the world

In order to abandon me

Forever

When you look at me.

When you look at me,

The light bestowed in your eyes, that melting gem, shining in a way that makes me blind.

I have to close my eyes. Cover them with my tired hands

Those hands have been furiously writing all these years. They have been trying hard.

They have been building a dream.

They have been searching for words they have never owned.

Tearing at them, desperately trying to hold on,

I swoop with my meagre arms, hugging those words in front of my chest like a pillow,

Dying for more, fearing for less, and loss.

.

I will never be like you.

I will never have what you have.

.

As I kneel down, defeated, I release my arms

Those words run like rebellious water

Mingled with my soft, silent tears

Those sad little things gather themselves up

Stand before me, touching my cheek, my hair, the tip of my nose

Whispering to me

Shhhhhh. Shhhhhhhhhhh.

.

My words. They say they love me.

I whisper back. I tell them I love them, too.

.

But I will never have what you have.

I feel sorry for myself, sort of.

.

I remember those years when I still believed in who I am going to be.

Right now, I’m just a mess.

I remember what I had lost.

If I told you I used to live in another world,

Eight years ago, for thirteen years. And

After those thirteen years, I had to rebuild my dream,

Relearn the language of my future profession

Fight against monsters that ripped apart

Pages and pages of my poetry

My expression

My representation

My stories

My heart?

.

I remember what I had gained.

I remember those wars I fought, inside of me, with me.

Never known I could be capable of this feeling.

I feel like giving up. But I can’t, because I only get one shot at life.

I feel like crying out loud, to somebody, to the sky, to God

Help me.

.

I don’t know who I am anymore.

I don’t know what I want anymore.

I don’t know if I can still do this.

I don’t know if I’m good enough.

.

I will never have what you have.

.

This is PATHETIC.

.

When I put my hands in my hair

Clutching at my own scalp

If I pull hard enough, maybe I can pull it apart

Touch my skull.

Feel my brain.

Run my fingers through that neurotic maze.

Trace through those jagged lines.

Find the exit of my confusion.

.

I wish there are better words for my depression.

I know there are.

Just not with me.

.

I wish there’s a way

To lose myself.

Because I’m not worthy of my dream.

Not anymore.