This piece was inspired by a girlfriend of mine who matched with a man who was somewhat lacklustre in person.

Baggy t-shirt and basketball shorts that can hide multiple children under them,
Eyes carrying bags more expensive than a Himalayan Birkin,
All while you avoid looking at me while I am seated at the table behind you.

An online presence suggests skin that gleams like bronze under sunlight,
You standing shoulder to shoulder with other members of the race of men,
Eyes obscured by shiny sunglasses whose shapes are honestly doing my head in.

Seated at the table by you is your handsome brother,
And boy does he deliver where you have shortcomings,
Penetrating my soul with a deep gaze,
I certainly know that my dalliance with you was certainly a phase.

Skin that shines like polished gold, and a face that can launch a thousand ships,
How is it that both of you have the same mother and father?
Dressed in a button-down that shows some level of decorum,
All while you have the look of a homeless man in a forum.

Your response to my DMs leaves wanting for another,
Calling me random when I have opportunities that can enrich your coffers,
Yet you refuse to look me in the eye despite my offer.

***, dusty, and musty come to mind,
Despite a profile that gleams and has lots of shine,
Sandals so worn that they make your bare feet look less ashy,
Hunched over your breakfast like you are some Siberian husky.

Your brother’s relationship status comes to mind,
Is he single, is he taken, and when will he be mine?
He was eyeing me like a prized possession,
Oh, do be a dear, and bring us the brother.

This piece is dedicated to the loves of my life. Thank you for being there through thick and thin.

When people talk about the loves of their lives, they often do so in a romantic context.
I dare say that this view is limiting, and I am vexed.

Sitting on her couch and talking about her wedding,
Going for sip and shop events and just plain old yapping,
Watching them wakeboard in the Mediterranean while the wind is blowing.

Scheduling phone calls that traverse time zones,
Sharing deep changes and new experiences over the telephone,
Being a shoulder for them to cry on when times are rough,

Sending reels and memes that are IJBOL coded,
Laughing over idiots who were just the absolute worst,
Making home-cooked meals full of love and joy,
Groaning at the jokes made and the puns that are loaded.

Cackling like witches on Calle Serrano,
While talking about how silly things used to be,
Eating near Retiro and perusing the delights of Notting Hill.

These things  show depth and intimacy,
My friends know me in a better way than my lovers,
They see me for me and hold my feet to the fire,
I do the same for them, but often to the tune of the lyre.
We talk about love, life, and everything in between.

My love is platonic and romantic,
It’s big enough to cover all of its aspects,
If anything, life has taught me that your friends are like stars, guiding you at night to where you have to be.
We are all part of a galaxy that makes us you and me.

Trigger warning: the following piece goes into detail about SA, Mental Health issues, and bullying. Reader discretion is advised.

It happened very quickly,
You saw me as prey,
You made my life a misery for an entire week,
So much so, I thought about removing myself from this earth when it was happening.

You started with bullying, and I thought I could take it,
It got worse and worse, and I couldn’t stop it,
I thought it was bad, but little did I know what would make things worse.

You then exposed yourself and forced yourself upon me,
You did it repeatedly within the space of 10 minutes,
I pushed away and tried to run away.
Instead, you tried and tried again to break me,
Make me some subservient creature that will bend to your will.

Fast forward to the next day,
I am crying on the beach,
Like a Lana del Ray song.
The facilitator came and asked me what is the matter was, did I miss my mum? Are you ok?
Such a sweet voice, but the road to hell is littered with good intentions.

Of course I do, but this goes beyond that.
If she were here, this would not have happened.
You would have been beaten black and blue, and I would have never been scarred.
Your name and your lineage would have been expunged from this very plane of existence.

The next few months were awful,
Your defenders said I made it up,
Or that I wanted it to happen,
Or that I deserved it.
All you got was a two-day suspension, of which one day was a public holiday.

You got made a prefect!
You were this golden child who went through this horrible experience, a poor thing that had a bump in the road.
I was ridiculed and ostracised. My friends didn’t understand, and my bullies took full advantage of this.

I was the subject of ridicule and gossip,
I was treated like Cassandra,
Vilified like Medusa!
I had an agenda, and that I was slur that sounds like maggot,
Who, depending on who you ask either made it up, enticed you, or wanted this to happen for attention.

I was told that I was too sensitive by teachers who wanted to “toughen me up”,
My own father didn’t understand what I had gone through and only asked what happened 15 years later.
I felt truly on my own and still do.

I was an island being consumed by a Tsunami from a Hokusai print,
The wave was relentless and never-ending,
I was broken down and was told that I would always be like this.
Water filled with jagged rocks and broken branches repeatedly crashed into me,
Struggling to breathe and gasping for air,
Feeling solace in the deep, cold darkness that became my mind,
Wanting to build walls higher than Asgard’s and more impenetrable than Troy’s.

For years, I wondered if this was what made me the way I am,
Was it because of your violation of my personhood?
Was it because you knew something that I did not?
Was there something in me that was reflected in you, and you wanted to remove that part from yourself?

It’s 16 years later and I met a friend of a friend,
A lovely woman, who is there for one I hold dear,
We got to talking and shared stories. Turns out she knows you.
She told me how lovely you were and what a great person you were,
I told her the truth, and she was shocked.

Your girlfriend believes that I deserved it wholeheartedly because I was being “annoying” for not following instructions.
So which one is it, you didn’t do it or you did it to teach me a lesson?
Funny how the story has changed according to your narrative?
You looked at my LinkedIn profile, and I know where you work,
I also know about the hoax you pulled online to let everyone know that you were accepted into Imperial.
Maybe I am not the only one whose existence is a tempest.

Let’s be real, you have messed up my life.
I am not going to say that this made me a better person.
It did not give me character, nor did it show me how life is.
I am about to enter my third decade around the sun, and you sought to destroy me.
Yet, I am still here. Just to be clear, what you did was despicable, and you deserve to rot.

I will never let go of what you did and the lack of justice that came after.
I was vengeance personified, and I felt the spirit of Kali enter me,
Crushing your impact will be my life’s bane.
Thank god I am everything that little boy wanted and more, and be lucky that I don’t seek further retribution and only want peace instead.

Ego.
Composed of only three letters, but the death knell of so many men,
And sometimes it can send you off a cliff face like those in Dover.

Ego.
One word that defines and motivates so many men,
To the bullied and vilified who have become vaudevillian villains themselves,
To the self-righteous who believe that their higher purpose is to lead the masses,
A fire that can burn its host and all of those around it

Ego.
A carnival mirror that exaggerates how important we are in this world,
A fun house mirror that reflects gross inaccuracies,
Portraying half-truths and distorting reality.

Ego.
A pillar that keeps us sane in a cruel world where powerful men who will expire before their decisions impact the rest of us,
A fire that powers a forceful drive for progress,
A mirror that shows us a comely figure despite our perceptions.

Ego.
A force that heals and poisons at the same time,
A power that can build and destroy,
An essence that has to be balanced for it to be an illuminating presence that does not blind.

It’s a thief that comes in the wee hours of the morning,
Magically opening doors and breaking through windows,
It cares not for your jewels or cash,
Or for other markers of luxury.

Instead, its presence wears you down,
It engages in a theft that leaves your body and mind weaker and weaker,
Leeching off your mind and the grey matter that houses it.

It leaves you incapable of remembering who is who,
It stays in the house until you leave in a body bag,
It doesn’t care for any other tags other than the ones seen at a mortuary.

It sits on your shoulders and eventually shrouds your entire body,
Constantly wearing you down like a small trickle on rock, until eventually you are nothing more than a channel for water.

It leaves you wanting release from such a miserable existence,
But keeps you alive long enough to keep you alive to watch your own suffering,
Unlike watching YouTube videos in the 2000s, it will not stop for any buffering.

It reduces you to leading an existence marked by subsistence,
It is a cruel thief for it knows your address and doesn’t give you a chance to change the locks,
It wields a knife that slow slits your throat and stabs the hearts of those that love you.

It changes you to a shade found in Hades,
Devoid of happiness and joy,
But when you exit, its reign is finally over,
But much like the rule of a tyrant, its scars are deep and take time to heal,
And it will come back for those who succeed you,
Lurking until it was allowed to show itself.

I am sorry for your loss, they say,
Not comprehending that it is more than a loss,
It is a removal.
Let me know if you need me, they say,
When they would have nothing to do with you and would speak ill of you otherwise.

Would it be ok if we did this or tell so and so?
As if they suddenly care for your opinion,
A video call from the morgue, a phone call expressing their grief while you are trying to keep your head above water,
Coming 45 minutes late to a funeral when the casket has been cremated,
And expecting us to engage in jovial conversation.

Dumping all of their energy onto you when you are trying to get through the day,
As if you haven’t just had a punch to the gut,
I am sorry for your loss, and my condolences.
Two separate phrases that mean nothing and everything at the same time,
Sympathy is coming in from those who would be the first to stab you in the back.

I am sorry for your loss, and my condolences.
Kind words that mask your true intentions and your venom.
I am keeping you in my prayers, as if god is listening to you on your purported hotline with Him.

They were always in my prayers, so this was your work?
I made sure to always thank the almighty for their presence, so you are claiming responsibility?
Oh, I am so grateful to have people like you, because at least I know who you are.

Keep in touch, you say, but I say our business is done.

Loneliness, solitude, keeping one’s own company,
The same feeling carries different labels depending on the taxonomy,
One almost feels burdened by a sense of monotony.

Cloistered in a mansion like Skully’s Landing,
Except that the mansion moved around regardless of one’s physical location,
It often leaves you unable to feel like you are in good standing, despite others’ persuasions.

Surrounded by swans and members of the factory,
Who knows you as a facsimile of a person, but are not interested in substance,
It feels as if you are surrounded by beauty, but your place as a spectator is firmly placed.

Not many people can understand the pathos present in this feeling,
The way the constant destruction and rebuilding feels like something more than just dharma or even karma at this point,
It reveals the truth but also blinds you to other vistas.

Nat King Cole once sang of a very strange and special boy, who was very rare, very rare,
This feeling goes beyond ennui and the lack of meaning,
Many often say that the gifted are cursed with being incorrigible, and that the curse of brilliance is isolation,
But pity the untalented who are marked with the sense of incorrigibility, and whose isolation stems from their dullness.

Classified as a form of pain by those who study the human mind,
It evolves and changes with our life stage,
Maybe it was a mage who was in charge of this process,
At least it would be something to write home about.

Silk screen paintings produced by the dozen,
Common in subject matter but hoarded like how Smaug hoards dwarven gold.
This is the feeling that goes by many names and changes one’s fate.