Love Letter

i unfolded his letter,

his toddler handwriting

blind vigorous eyes,

those ink-blotted words

are like accidental pies.

they could’ve been better,

others would say.

⠀⠀⠀
to me,

his fingertips swooned

a little too tipsy

and his words trapped

an air full of perfume.

i love it all,

i want it all,

but i folded the letter anyway.

⠀⠀⠀
i created creases

to each edge, side and center

streaks of lines increases

when i made a paper plane.

after loads of papercuts,

off the plane, it goes.

soon, it will be gone,

but those folds

won’t go away.

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Juvenescence

i remember taking a stroll

to a lane for the brave and bold.

bashing what we crave, we have been told

to be careful and to never be alone.

the world out there grows,

gawky or stocky, six feet tall vines

or shorter in inches, a four-inch fall whine.

a late bloomer rose soon to blossom in cherry,

an early red’s bosom ripened with huge berries.

the capitulum of an excited dandelion

disperses their seeds for the wind to hold upon.

it lays still on the moist earth

to grow and grow to blanket over the dirt.

there was i, besides a plucked out weed,

a sudden flush of pink painted my nose,

while under the far-sighted cosmos;

an endless chalk dotted blackboard.

and there he was, besides a wildflower,

bounded by rules to never deflower.

so we slept through shooting stars,

we weren’t star-crossed nor far,

we sang to our conscience a lullaby

to let it fall asleep within our alibis.

i leant against cold shoulders,

aroused by lavender and flowers in burst.

the grass tickled me with trickles of its sweat.

oh, what is this throb that i have met?

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Dancing on Razor’s Edge

his words had me perform a pirouette

when golden skies slumber down.

stars for stairs, i carelessly step

when my youth came tumbling down.
⠀⠀⠀

how i want to caress his rubber hands

and turn on the radio to his filthy heart,

the sound of bliss will have us slow dance.

nothing will tear our dewy eyes apart.
⠀⠀⠀

but i don’t want it to go on.

crackling bones had rubbed the skin of my foot.

i’ve lost dignity in this bond,

and my foot felt numb like chunks of root.
⠀⠀⠀

what is he, though, what is he?

made of rubber, made of polystyrene

and i’m only a lithe nymph he see,

i need a plastic crown to be his queen.
⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀
still, it hurts, my foot urge to rip.

i’ll be swaying with a ragged gown.

climbing up stars, i’ll carelessly slip

and there goes my youth tumbling down.

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A Time to Dance

love is in the lair of cynic’s glass tube hair

with mushy chemicals of chocolate kisses

for the single ones to evenly share.

⠀⠀⠀
commotions of wrenching heart declines

and rumours of dancing toes intertwined

buzzing and blaring in youth playground.

audiences, the lady, her suitor, future crowns,

ruled the class, echoing through the hallway

with faces painted in delights and frowns.

⠀⠀⠀
a locker-filled boulevard played for doll games

enough to take a step back from a ball game.

forfeit roses flushed cheeks in rosy pink

and the beaus’ trickles of sweat, they’ll sink

into a conundrum of the wondering helpless

while sweethearts tried their petite dresses

for the dewy night of March to come

“when on earth will it be gone?”

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Seasick (A Response)

swimming through wicked girlhood lagoon,

rushing to stars, constellations and the moon.

into evening’s hour, i see you,

a lone sailor singing the blues.
⠀⠀⠀

shallow eyes, nearly an empty tin can,

each subtle glance and wrinkly hands

are destined to a prophecy of sinful bliss,

your island, a boat, i would surely not miss.
⠀⠀⠀

solitude’s wind blew your ship even further,

i tried to scream, but i don’t think you heard her,

gulping the salty sea water, i went quiet,

while you sail to directions with no ends met.
⠀⠀⠀

when will you throw your anchor to stop?

your heart desires north, to be the first, to be the top.

your melodies soaked in bubbles of stress

will drown me into the void of tangled seaweeds mess.
⠀⠀⠀

truth be told, i only care about my own,

my self-proclaimed wonders hidden beneath my bones.

i am selfish, self-absorbed, a fish in a shell,

when i cross your barriers, you wouldn’t tell.
⠀⠀⠀

the hazy, thick mist with flickering stars at gloom

blind our eyes until a taciturn noon.

a crescent, present in your sight of the horizon.

a half is missing and i have my assumptions.
⠀⠀⠀

the dulcet tides carry me to the land of “what might have been.”

among the rough waves and the peaceful wild blue,

at least to fish out your mellow beam

and when i know, i’ll do it too.

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Forbidden Fruit is the Sweetest

to the feisty eyes ripe with colourless flavours,

a honeydew heart ripening to your gaze,

what is enough of what you gave her,

it’s hard to taste without mellows’ grace.

⠀⠀⠀
flowers blossomed to how much she cares,

and the bees’ duty is to pick every life of woe

containing you, the honey she shares.

into the caged beehive, you ought to go.

⠀⠀⠀
when you can’t support her frail vines,

holding onto a batch of sweet or sour grapes

for your pleasure, for your wine,

crawling to you, where else can she escape?

⠀⠀⠀
knowing we’ll again be born,

she plants another seed to the dearest dirt,

stuck in fields of shrubs and thorns,

her bold and bravery which they were birth.

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Youth Sings

i do not want to dwell into this fantasy.

a wrenching, swollen heart

slowly diving into flames of “never meant to be.”

time creeps into our space, into our ark.

a gush of water drowning what i believe.

tuning veins, broken strings,

my roots can never reach the leaf,

sticking to sad melodies

and all those mushy things.

⠀⠀⠀
if only i can count your fingertips,

play with them like piano keys,

our hands will never rip,

glued together like honey and bees.

your back against my shoulder blades

and your finger shall twirl my hair braid.

when all i can see is solitude,

confined to me and you,

whispering claims of “never meant to be.”

which is what i believe.

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Language Barrier

i’ll carve our names on a tree bark

with long-twig runes of elder futhark.

dead language, ancient sweethearts

and no one would know it was us.

unless someone appeared out of the blue,

figuring out what to do

with those markings made blissfully,

decoding how we weren’t meant to be

and antiquity shall lay eyes on me

for our love is not too prominent to see.

⠀⠀⠀

i think we are hiding behind metaphors

when there is no reason for,

and neither one of us is good at hyperbole

when our hearts talk, it’s just a folly.

but we can speak with eloquence,

shower ourselves with big words

until to the point, we would not understand,

“why does this language sounded dead to me?”

maybe your shallow feelings can’t be freed

and mine, perhaps, was stuck in that tree.

⠀⠀⠀

still, i keep a library of what you would say,

composed of poetic remarks and terms of gold

i would want to collect and decode

every witty expression or sentence,

but it’s tough to comprehend.

all the time, i knew his phrases,

i’m just a dead language translator

going through phases.

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A Doughnut for Day Dunbar

I rose up from my deep nap.

I heard a slightly fierce knock on the door across the living room. It’s around two in the morning and I was muddled by how anyone would come over to my house at such a late hour. I wearily paced my way to the door and unlocked the latch without diving myself to the malicious possibilities of what awaits for me at the door. I honestly do not bother, my mind is exhausted from the voracious reading of essays that I have taken upon interest from my fellow classmates, all thanks to Mr Geoffrey, the English teacher, for compiling and neatly putting them in a brown envelope. I could have consumed my time devouring an archaic word-filled novel, but I rather amused myself with the grammatical mistakes and the erroneous language used, they often rushed their sentences, creating shortcuts. My classmates knew that I’m a literary freak and the thought of me having to read their written works is humiliating for them, but the consequence is granted and it was enough for me to be entertained.

When I turned the knob and merely opened the door, I was greeted by a child-like face with eyes of pure innocence, my nerves were calm and I felt secured on my spot. I recognised her, her name is Day Dunbar, we both took the same English class and she sat beside me in the front row, we rarely converse with one another, she wasn’t much at all shy, but a jovial creature; she is the heart of the universe and perishing her can disseminate malady. It was surprising to see her face-to-face, her nature was pale, but her crimson lipstick adds a layer of beauty to her. She was a lot inches shorter than me and she wore ebony clothing: black long sleeves and black skinny jeans, they almost camouflaged to the background of twilight. Whereas her fragrance was of cinnamon pumpkin-spiced cookies, which perfectly match her ponytailed auburn hair- she was like the season of autumn and the night is embracing her dearly.

“Miss Dunbar, how delightful seeing you,” I said with my monotonic voice. I even showed an effortless smile. Goodness, I was all worn out.

She intentionally ignored my greeting and my heavy-eyed face, “Let’s go to the nearby doughnut shop,” she said.

I raised an eyebrow at her, she has a handful of cronies that she spent her time with, mostly beings who convey bad influences to others, I can never comprehend why she chose to succumb to their circle of hell. She wasn’t at all gullible from what I see in her, she was just different from them, she displayed modesty and magnanimity, yet her companions are of the opposite, she seems to enjoy their comfort, so I wouldn’t complain much. However, I was curious to why she chose me, even if we’re barely acquainted. I was even more curious about what her intentions are because if it were a shenanigan- a typical high-school dare, it would be ludicrous, I doubt I’ll ever have the same impression of her. The sweet, humble ingénue turned into an ignoramus, I would lose all dignity.

She snapped me out, “So, what do you say?”

I thought it all thoroughly, I couldn’t reject the opportunity to get to know her, at the same time, I wouldn’t want to come out as a fool. But I simply took the risk because I am already a fool to the eyes that met me.

“Sure,” I replied.

“Would you like to change first?”

I looked down and realised that I have been wearing the same clothes since morning, I probably smell of sweat and saliva from my great evening nap. I wasn’t in the mood to change, so I shook my head. I never have a good proper hygiene anyway, and I wasn’t at all embarrassed by it. Then, we headed outside in the middle of the night.

Day walked hastily under the dimmed streetlights and I was lacking behind, fumbling my wallet. She wouldn’t ask me to hurry up and neither would she pause to wait for me, she continues to walk and I quickened my steps to catch up with her. When we reached a nearby doughnut shop, I opened the glass door like a gentleman, but she insisted on letting me go first. To not start any conflict, I entered the shop.

We were the only two customers in Uncle Marty’s Smarty Doughnuts, it isn’t a popular branch, it is a doughnut shop run by Nigel Walker’s uncle and his family. The shop hasn’t been renovated since they opened it, so the furniture was old and out of place, the edges of the couch were torn and the parts of the tiles on the floor were missing. At first, I was disgusted by the interior of the place, but Nigel introduced me to their doughnuts and I genuinely fell in love with them, they are freshly homemade, and it gave me a sentimental value for every bite I took. I guess it wasn’t publicly famous as people tend to underestimate the appearance of the shop.

I bought my typical plain glazed doughnut and an expresso while Day bought a smiley face doughnut with custard filling and a cup of hot chocolate, I liked how it reflected her personality too. We sat near the misty window pane and focused on our late night meal. Even though the setting was perfect for a one-to-one, neither of us was willing to strike up a colloquy, the silence was a wall between us. She wouldn’t even glance at me and would rather much bring all of her attention to her sweet treats while I quietly observed her as I munched on my dull-looking doughnut. She was a lovely nymph but was rather an ungraceful one, she would slightly knock over her hot chocolate and sometimes she pressed the doughnut in a rough manner that the custard filling was squeezed out of the other end. She once took a big bite and the icing painted a moustache right above her upper lips, I handed her a tissue and she doesn’t seem too embarrassed by it. Every action she made, clumsy or not, I adore them, those little moments make her look like a real thing, it’s ineffable for me to explain, my eloquence lost its utterance, it’s either my mind is in a disorganised mess or she, in front of me, had eaten my words as well.

By the time we finished consuming, I almost wished the night didn’t end. We stepped outside of Uncle Marty’s Smarty Doughnuts, and I finally got the courage to break the wall of silence.

“Would you like me to walk with you to your home?”

She took a glance at me and nodded profusely. Her eyes were big and hazel, it shimmers under the streetlight, making my ticker flutter.

~

After I drop by at her house, which is a street away from mine, I scurried my way home. I opened my front door and a pleasant welcome of the sweet sillage of Day’s scent still lingers around the entrance, arousing my nostrils. I took a deep inhalation and stroll towards the messy pile of essays scattered on the floor, I accumulate them and properly place the stack on top of the coffee table. Then, I grabbed my black-leathered ruled notebook and fountain pen sitting beside the papers and randomly turned to a page.

“October 9, 2016, two things I loved doing today: reading my classmates’ poorly written essays and Day Dunbar.”

 

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Chocolate Cake

the inside, i yearned.

the sweetness,

the mushy and soft side,

covered with skin

of the colour walnut.

bewitching me

as i devoured

and my heart pumped

when beauty is what i see!

never uttered a word,

silence mingled

with other ingredients,

yet warmth, i feel.

cold when aloof,

but a piece

will always be in me.

i envy those

who has more.

love turned me greedy.

the more i have,

the more i’m unclean,

i’ll have the whole,

and the tiny bits too.

none would be wasted,

it’ll all be in me.

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