Fill my heart
with white daisies
And I know
the sunlight
will heal me
Just like the pouring rain
who cried for
the tears I couldn't let out

I will grow jasmines
and white frangipanis
in front of my window
And I will talk to the ghosts
And they will tell me
what I see when I am
asleep ---

Fill my heart with white lilies
So in the nights when
I can't bear
moonlight
I know
what lets it is just my sun
And I will mend
And I know
morning will come
soon

if
i'm beautiful
enough

maybe i
'd be forgiven

for being
such a weird
creature

maybe
my mind won't
matter anymore

or
the way i

stutter
would be

cute
or may-

be it will be
okay
to joke in

every ways no
one (in the

room) could
get
maybe

it won't matter
if i'm
not smart

enough
maybe i

can have more
scars and
still

be called
beautiful

I'll soon graduate,
yet I cannot read one book
without reader's blocks.

You are the sweet taste of the meaningless
Sweet as a rose, you have thorns sting as a bee

You are the darkness desired by all bats
Next day you wake up crying a farewell
Kiss your bye to that bright light you once had on your well

Don't you worry
She still fakes ******* 'til the bleedings fade

Don't you worry
Tonight on her dream you two kissed
Not for real, at least nor last

She still misses you like you did
And I am sorry
I am sorry

I am sorry

A *** of chrysanthemum tea
And a roll of toilet paper
The sheer long black skirt
As if God is hanging around my waist
The black, waving, my ocean depth sweetness God
I will not confuse you, no more
Jesus was dead, Jesus is dead
You will not die, never
But i am going to ruin it by saying
at least not now

No one could **** you
Not even yourself
I am your tombstone
No one would ever find me
The dull little mermaid's knife
You know she chose to come back home
She is now all over the world
One drop of tear in one great ocean
You are one big fish in my cute aquarium soul
Do not worry, do not fear
for you are with me
You are safe and this afternoon we will have tea with Friedrich
The nails the cross the skull of Golgota
I promised to not confuse you with him, no more

Another country's flag printed on your boxer
Your silky silk skin
Your cold touch
The freshness of your tears you gulp every bath
The lampshade color calm as your rose blood
Sticks and stones, you break them with your bones

Will you ever forget me?
I found you on particles
I found you playing the guitar
on the song they say is Satan's
The wood panels
The cursed tabernacle glowing red light
Cemeteries to cemeteries
your dimming jeté
Butterfly gestured hand
You fly, but can you float instead?
Vanilla ice cream and false cherries
The no smoking sign is laughing
You will not die

You may open your cage and set yourself free
Unfortunately aquarium has no key
It has no key
It has no key
Break it and they will find me
They will find me
Your tombstone, me
You are never free
You are never free

I keep thinking i haven't washed my hair
My head seems to not be able to forget the grease
Maybe deep down i just want it to stay
(I washed my hair this morning
In the sink)

I keep thinking i'm doing great
That's what my therapist said too
But sometimes i wish i was dying more visibly
Sometimes i wish i made more signs
Sometimes i wish i hadn't gotten better

I don't want to stop
I want to want to stop
I don't want to stop

What?
I got nothing to show you
I got none to tell you

Remission is a weird state
Everything partial makes me uncomfortable
I just want to cling to whatever i had
Don't ****** away my ghosts
Don't ****** away
They come back anyway
Befriending me again

A Randy is not enough
so I've been gifted two.
I have two Randies.
One on my left eye,
the other on the right.

Their colors are dark brown.
So dark, so close to black
you would not be able to tell.
But I know them,
my two Randies.

They are older than me
but I was here first.
Even I knew it when
God was born.
Just like how the bible says it,
God is an
illegitimate child.
God was thrown away
by the Mother of God
and the Father of God
didn't really care about
anything.

Heaven was a warm orphanage
but then God felt so lonely
and the angels were way too boring.

God had such a hard time
practicing to create Adam.
But God was happy.
And God created Eve.
But God made them leave.

God was happy.
Not anymore.

So God created two Randies
to be put on my eyes.
God hoped that the Randies
would help me to see
what I am going to create;
would it make me happy or sad?
But God forgot
to grant me
the power of creation.

So here I am.
With two Randies on my eyes,
dark brown, so dark, so close to black
you would not be able to tell.
But I know them,
my two Randies.

They are the ones
who block my view.
I once did see but now am blind.
My two Randies.

Get them off of me.
Get them off of me.

But I am too scared
to
let them go.
They would die
when they are separated from me.
My two Randies
are God's gift.
God would be angry
if I throw away such a thoughtful gift.
God would be angry
and I am scared of it
even though I existed first.

Seniority
doesn't really work here.

there shall be no sleep/today is irregular/heartbeats glide and choke//

It begins when a
butterfly dies. My stomach
is an insect grave.

I cannot eat without a friend
and I haven't showered in days.
That is why I write, I guess.

I do not brush my teeth anymore but
when we were staying over
I brushed them two times a day.
That is how I write;
so human.

My tongue tastes stale and my scalp
feels like a bathroom rug.
I've never listened to music this much before.
I did not like sounds. Still don't.
I hope my ears would bleed so I could write about it.

Oh I only can write;
so human.

I do not read. Do not speak nor hear.
That is why I write.

There were days when I could not write.
There will be more.
More. More. I hope it's not today.

I only can write!

Magnificent dragon
Its fire burns from within
Black, so black
Threatening smell spreads on the ground

Hidden and cool
Breathe so calm
A one, a two, a three
I have became another statue

But I am only human
Brash heart should beat more
I should sweat more, wet and flood
Let it be, let the dragon know I fear it

when i look at my profile picture on social media

i know what ugly
looks like, at least better than
this disgusting face

that's why i never use my own face for more than 2 days

it isn't my fault
that i am repulsed by my
own body and mind

what else do you expect?

i am a sinner;
this is how i should be, how
i atone my crimes

i have an appearance matching my very soul**

it is written all
over my skin, ev'ry sin
and condemnation

I want to erase you
along with myself

So when the question
hits again

Where are you?

I wouldn't be able
to answer

God- aren't you
tired
pretending to be something you
are not?* she whispers in a quiet
voice, popping the air, gently, like
soap bubbles. "You churn
my stomach
everytime I try to talk."
She thinks it's quite unfair
because she feels the same way.
You are trying
to change the subject
into something it wasn't.
"No, I
am not. Everything
has been the same from
the very first beginning."
Now, now, now look at you.
Look at what you've been. Look at you!
she cries, maybe
a little too loud for someone who's been so
close
to anything airtight.
The other person sighs.
(If sighs have color, this one'd be pale gray,
with no transparency in it.)
"I have been like this
all this time
from the very
first, the very
first
beginning."
Of course she has no idea
when the hell was that.
There's no concept of such
in her head, in her life,
if that's what you say to address a being.
I'm tired.
"You said it." I did.
She did?! Her eyes widen. Her face reddens.
The other person can hear her heartbeats.
I am not! I am not! I'm! I'm! I'm not!
"Pretending to be something you are not?"
That's not what she was saying.
That's not what I was saying-
Yeah, I mean, no. Not like that.
"You haven't changed."
She did. You just don't know.
"Nope. Not even a bit."
She blushes.
You knew.
The other person.
The other person smiles,
"I did." The other
person
did.

who i am, even what i am,
i couldn't care less.
every time the answer comes,
it soon becomes trash.
am i me or am i not me?
who is this me? what is this me?
who i am, even what i am,
i never know.
i never find the answer.
i've had enough of questioning.
let me be a speck of dust blown by the wind
or a dead fish following the stream.
i am not conscious.
i cannot be.
i am an object.
i am not living.
i am dead.
whoever i am, whatever i am,
it's not important ---
*anymore.

this little girl
has grown, you know.

not in a cute way, though.
she has grown
like a gross building, soon
abandoned, but never to be haunted.

this girl carries no mystery,
even with her eyes
she stares blankly like a puddle.

she still dreams about the sea sometimes.

this little girl
is still a little girl, only now
her body is inflated and
the pure thing is a bit spoiled.

this little girl has never been
fine anyway.

Waking up
To the sound of ticking clock

Who likes that sound?
That sound of you aging
That sound of nightmares
Sound of pain being drilled to your chest

A-ha! Boiled egg and HCN(l) as breakfast
Hey, hey, tell me what do you have,
What do you have? Heartache? Heartache?
Heartache?

Recall those nights you woke up
With massive headache
And forgotten nightmare

Humans are like flowers
Beautiful yet easily wither

Then I'd like to be dried
Between the pages of your favorite book

Forget me not
Remember
Remember me as the one
Who lived.

Tonight i can't write any sad poem, let alone the saddest one. But, typing this makes me realize, how sad this font is. Oh, Eliot, why did you? It looks like it needs a warm hug despite its fear of touch. Oh, oh my, you didn't know it is scared of being touched? It never told you? How insensitive of you. It has told you all, but you refused to listen to the silences. Ah. Why at times like this i remember Dave Pelzer.

I once read a story about this boy. No, not Dave Pelzer. I don't remember his name. But i remember him. He didn't like to be touched. His dad respected it and didn't ever hug him. Instead they spread their fingers out in a fan and connected them to show their love. Slight touch was okay. And enough. The boy knew he was loved.

Um, so, you know, i couldn't find this font's fingers. Can you please tell it that it is loved?

But. But this font is too sad. It will not believe you. Not now. Not later. Not ever. Knowing this makes me sad. But i can't write it out. I am not Pablo Neruda. Tonight i just can't write any poem, let alone a sad one, let alone the saddest one.

Let this font speak it all.

thank you control for leaving me instead of life, should i be grateful for something that doesn't leave me even when i don't know anymore how to fight for it? at least something stays with me. though everything within is withering & i'm like a hollow shell only that i can move freely according to society. thank you society for giving me free will and free air. my lungs are tired by laughing at your jokes, now they are the jokes themselves. the only thing healthy in my body is social construction or else i can't walk in peace. i still hide when i eat. do you have anything else to say? i'm writing notes

The freshness of youth
hits my face like sweet sea tides.
Wake up, girl! Just be younger today.
Your dying soul -- it is not rotten
yet.

We do not have summer nor winter,
girl, you decide your own season.

Eat well, sleep enough, brush your teeth, wash your hair, go to shower!
And clean laundry, honeybee, as important as cheery selfie.

Small thing by small thing,
I know you can do it.
Never again let your books cry at night, pretty.
Read them, all of them.

Go to school
to make friends.
Do your silly homeworks.
Don't listen to your teachers,
just read. Read your books,
read them, all of them.
Don't change major. You know where you
are
going to.

Small thing by
small thing. Easy! You are bigger than those
small things.

Your time being old is over,
daisy, now you may
be
young
forever.

there's this chaos inside my chest
i've been astray from peace before
tonight marks the initial
there's this space i would like to fill
this line i would like to cross

i've been building emotional dam
i couldn't care less
whether it breaks or no

all my life i've been away from light
every sorrow, each void that follows
it always feels like the first time

leave me hanging
questions i don't even know is allowed
every epiphany a shooting star
it dies so soon
so soon
the hope is intellectually hopeless

i've been trying to sing the siren's lament
my throat chokes on my vocal cord
beauty
is in the eye of the beholder
but i've got none by my side
i've got none to witness my fight

Don't call her darkness.
Don't call her what she wasn't.
Don't call her tragic.

I remember somewhere
in the depth of your lake-like eyes:
fresh ropes, high places, warm walls.

Everything I've tried to recall
from the comfy, tender-looking voice
still floating like clouds below the scorching sun.

I imagine so: you
are more than a metaphor of poetry,
more than a life in your body, you

are a son lost in your own prophecy.
I now know how a mother must feel,
how a mother must feel about the fruit of the womb.

These blue-green petals of your existence
softly wrapping my fingers and sloppy neck;
it is almost as if my skin is precious.

my entrail doesn't speak
she's the quietest in my body
some say i'm just too shy
some didn't know what was just happening

my stomach sharp and confused
when i ******* own i taste sour
some say i'm just a little bit ill
some doesn't know what has been happening

when i'm weak i can buy junk food all i want
i can walk in the streets and face the boys in the stalls
still, my entrail doesn't speak
she's the quietest in my body

so forget the sweat, forget the spit
i'm saving my eyes for the street
i'm harming my earth for my heart
i feel the most calm when i drive fast

my eyes become a black hole as i speed
i swallow traffic accidents like religious scientist
across my window a drive thru fast-food restaurant
my entrail doesn't speak

she's the quietest in my body
my eyes become a black hole as i speed
to a secret cult i must be guided
i swallow traffic accidents like religious scientist

Your blinks were the morning way i say hello
to the trees, nailed and pretentiously painted yellow,
slightly being a song about going home
slightly being mild wrinkles in your hand
holding a thing called a lung
warm and black, full of cancer
in july
of school holidays and false anxiety

muting an eye by an eye,
you only have two, oh, me too.
And another song in september
where i put my ears in a bank
near the tiny window smells like plastic
in my drink,
melting like meisjes in the fingers
of whatever meaning she had or hadn't grown up
in a ***
belonged to mary jane

a best friend of many
in a windy country full of
strangers'
hearts and appropriations
dancing like smokes
around the neck of a
heaty dragon,
dreamy sore throat and psychologist's smile.

Sweaty face bright purple and greasy
I used to hide my body between the pages
But he told me to not read any more

Itchy head heated enough to make tea
My eyes are now how the trees say my name
My eyes are now the leeches I put in empty tampons

Sweaty neck I only want some traces of lips
Sweaty palms I only want some other fingers
Sweaty thighs I only want to walk well

******* sad wrapped in plastic
Cranky child trapped in old wrinkling skin
It may well be irrational excuses

Womb nervous and not worthy
Cerebral excuses, hormonal excuses
Highly sensitive person excuses

Delayed maturity excuses
Premenstrual syndrome excuses
Premature menopause excuses

Abusive motherhood at 5
Traumatic childhood at 18
What happens in between stays in between

Moss-covered voice I've
forgotten long time ago.
I am not my ears.

I am heartbroken.
My breath is lagging it seems
I can't continue

Another name that is not mine
you mention in a prayer.
Another voice that is not mine
makes your body shiver.
Another smile that is not mine
brings back the child in you, a dreamer.
It feels like sword. Like cyanide acid. Like fire.
Typical, typical destroyer.

The air tastes like apple. Like God's anger.
And, somehow, somehow, it hurts.

I'd like to meet you
tomorrow. Sunday morning
in a dying church

I escaped the warmth
so that I could see. Your eyes
are looking at mine

I would like to wash
your face. With my tears that soon
would turn into blood

i breathe. salt in my lungs, heavy
red in the back of my throat. my
mouth is an ocean, the river
flows from a mountain eye right
through a cracked lip. you bet
some used to grow in there
now it's just another grave
like a town full of ghosts
haunting each empty body
they can't ever have. how
frustrating. my mouth is
an ocean, the bottom lip is
its beach, where you have to
pay to play on, and. i told
you, it's not worth it

Leak
Hear the toilet cries
Escape from her, the heart knows
But the ship has sunk

Whirlpool
Choked with saltwater
Corrosives in tropic lungs
Breathe the sun, be fine

Float**
Ice cream on soda
We were born waterlilies
Can we swim? Can we?

The heart splattered -- split in two is better
It's no longer of menstrual moods
It's no longer of cyclical downfall
It becomes a fate, an already finished piece
The said hidden new beginning
The said some who can't make it to the sequel

The back aches where wings used to be
It's another world issues
Political pain and illnesses
One doesn't remember any
The first cry carefully saved
Woman, behold, your son!

Look, here is your mother
Softened hands and tell you'll never let go
Look, here is your mother
The eyes you blend with ours
The body I dried to keep yours moisty enough ---
Just how much love can your heart take?

dear nurses
dress me
in a hospital
gown, i want
to admit
myself to a
cold cleanliness
hygiene in the air
filling my lungs
fine,fine,fine
i'm floating on the bed
it's so bright here
i'm gonna lay forever

dear nurses feed me
meals as bland as eyes
when i see
colorful
i get bored
just watching
them, so lively
i don't have anyone to
talk to

it's amazing how
different
each voice
becomes an identity
i wanna hear too
mine,but i don't
have anyone to
talk to

dear nurses
draw my blood
tell me what is
wrong with me
dear nurses change my
underwear
sorry i dirtied
the bed sheets
dear nurses i
dear nurses why
dear nurses take me
to the garden
downstairs
i'm getting bored
just breathing
so much work
tiring
no wonder i
don't have anyone
to talk to

My heart bleeds
for the fire
in your arms
W*here it rains
non-stop
from my face

My stomach wasn't like this before.
My stomach was the neutral thing.
My stomach wasn't this much of a lake creature.
My stomach was a soft, balanced thing.
My stomach wasn't this sharp before.
My stomach didn't cut me open.
My stomach didn't make me hurt.
My stomach was the one keeping me yellow.
My stomach now loves too much of red thing.
My stomach now loves too much of sour and spicy thing.
My stomach now, I cannot blame her.
My stomach now, is all my fault.
My stomach will not understand my evil intention.
My stomach will cry in joy.
My stomach will end up having party in my mouth.
She loves pinkish shade, like a tongue.

coffee and words and sylvia.

they are all dead,
i buried them
with my corpse.

in a same hole.

with a same nameless headstone,
but only my skull
would remain.
and someday someone would find
the teeth i left and think;
"she wanted storms."

actually i am one.
with the eye named sylvia,
but coffee makes her blind,
like a love.

"love is a verb,"
you said.

keep coughing up
butterflies;
i only have
dead ones.

resurrection out of date.

funny ideas.
betrayed reality.
i made you up inside my head.

I do a lot of
bad solos at stage corner
so you won't notice.

i'm sorry i forgot to not trust you
it's my fault

So there was a time when I felt so calm I couldn't hear anything but the sound of God working. Even the angels didn't make any sound. It was so divine and the holiness melted me down along with my bed and my blanket.

Right before I closed my eyes, I saw the sun and the moon smiling to each other. It made a gentle thunder and if I could hear it, I believed it would be the sweetest music I would ever hear and I would put it on a music box so that later you could hear it too. But, trust me, (I knew that) you must hear it live. It's a must. It was so grand, (I knew) it was like a greatly underrated orchestra held in a excessively busy, ****** town.

You know, I was already half asleep when I knew the little mice were there. Their tiny legs tickled but I didn't want to move. And then I felt a cold circle pressed against my stomach. Ah. A metal bowl trapped them. It was heated later so the mice would soon panic. They struggled to run like crazy as they panicked, panicked so much they were starting to dig in my stomach. It was too hectic I couldn't even dream of you. And then they dug deeper, deeper, and deeper, but they were moving slower and slower as the guilt they felt growing bigger and bigger.

And here comes the most important part of all. If you read this, please, please tell them what I thought at the moment. I had repeated it on my mind for several times, hoped that the mice would understand, but in the worst case, please:

(Ahem.)

I know, my little friends. I know how you feel. I will let you escape. It's okay. Go on. Go ruin me and be free.

And let them know, please let them know that if I could, I would still go thinking the same as ever.

Poetry is a joke
thrown to a cold and stale, small audience
in a theater with filthy curtains
and fishy red seats

No one knows that they are
supposed to laugh

No one cries
Neither one chatters
No one blinks nor sees
They are all silent and blind and dead and
We keep telling jokes they would never hear
*Over and over and over again

My arms just died, they
cannot hold you.
These legs, too

old and tired, I
cannot use them.
Don't drown, I cannot

swim. Don't
fall, I cannot
catch. Don't

leave, I cannot
say a thing.
Only this

poor letter.

everyone else is so done with 2016
but *******, it's only the 17th monday

and today's not the last day, i suppose
so would you come back, would you stay some other time?

you're the one who makes breathing bearable
and life possible to be content with

though it tastes sour on the tongue
each word i gulp back is sweet in the throat

so i try to hold a secret deep in the deepest forest
and soon enough you catch my eyes like wildfire

i had hoped today actually was not the last day
but if it's not, would it have been different?

every time i remember your voice, your gaze
it was apocalypse

"Where's my psychiatrist?"
"You don't need them."

And she breaks down and she picks her pieces all by herself.

"As if!"

She's waiting at the gate.
She's balanced.
She doesn't need anything external.
She's got it all.
She's got all her pieces complete.

"But that's not that."
"Your thinking is the consequence."

Only once.
She only wants once.

My father is tied
Around my yellowish neck
To make it more white

1.
Earrings pierced on my skin. Hand me some pain, it does not hurt like I wished.

2.
I'm breaking my bones for your brother to toy with. How could I be hurt?

3.
Appearance of that krankenschwester makes us, the children, run real fast.

4.
We are holding a camp! I brought the meals but the milk has expired.

5.
Have you ever heard the story of The Blue Beard? Do it. Stain the key.

6.
I am waiting at the Night. Evening is not that bad, I promise.

7.
The twelve swans and you. I wish it were a ballet. Now, what do you wish?

1/

you stink like ***.
your throat attracts flies.

your belly sounds like toilet.
you talk like the flush--the best thing, actually.

just nothing beautiful about being alive, you said, you were so sure.

you never liked anything beautiful.
you never really liked yourself.

2/

morning. you wake up knowing exactly how it is to be ****.
you brush your teeth only for politeness.

you make friends but you make sure they smell what's inside.
day passes. optical illusion frustrates you.
your mirror frustrates you. pretend not to care.
you eat like a moth. quiet and frightened.
kindness and affection frustrate you.

3/

night. stomach, empty. you eat sadness.
at least what you can't feel, you can taste.

when it rains today
i will save some drops
and tomorrow and every day it falls
i will keep the raindrops
so carefully, so dearly
give my heart, all my life
keep them pure and liquid
for the sake of the raindrops
for the sake of the raindrops, that's it
yet
i still can't claim this
as true love

The head losing itself
A rainforest
Lake in the heart

Hundred tombstones
Named Narcissus
They Echo

Icy, bluish lungs
Pallid violet nails
Lips still yet loving

Salty bamboos
Necrophilic whistles
Siren's footsteps

Illegal loggers
Burying selves alive
Love, love that is

I **** my grandma
with love i don't even own.
And she kills me back.