All of my fires
have been put out now,
from the pyre of my heart
to the ember of my eye.
Once, dangerous flames
travelled in my wake
but all are subdued now.
And I think:
what use is a beacon
without a reason to burn?
Empty roomsIn empty rooms
vast quantities of nothing exists
where no naked eye
can observe the nothingness within.
When lounging in another room
or when a door just clicks closed
silent as a cacophony
in those empty rooms beyond.
And when a head peeks round a door
(like a feather
slowly drifting back down from a great height)
there really is just nothing
nothing happening in those empty rooms
nothing happening within.
MelancholicAfter my father died, life continued. Still, I was always taken aback by his terrible absence, marked so bitterly by the thick layer of dust that settled about the house. It lay in every corner, in deep slopes, and no amount of cleaning could unsettle it.
And in a similar way, every time I listened to a piece of music he would have admired, or a book he would have recommended, he passed across my memory, and then I would simply think, Oh.
When I slept, he told me things. In my dreams he whispered secrets, but they were soundless for there were no more secrets.
Sometimes, when at work or while shoe shopping or between mouthfuls at dinner, I would be bowled over by a surge of plaintive emotion. One that has no true name but one that is cruel and ruinous.
I always told myself: Things will get better. But they never did.
ZenithThere is a cerulean skyline
that I look to
when I wake up sad,
with no one to explain
this feeling to.
There is something out there,
between the dreams,
that I need to understand.
That outer limit,
I don't ever reach it,
but I want to.
This won't last forever.
I'm on my way.
RecallI hold my head in my hands
and begin to think,
attempt to recollect,
memory of you.
with your body
still close to mine.
to be asleep
when I know that you
are watching me.
through your hair
for your happy-cat smile.
All of them
are decent thoughts,
but nothing sparks.
Nothing reminds me
of that painful love
that went away
some time ago.
I can only remember
your excuses falling,
against my head
and arguments burning,
aching my failing love,
memory of you.
HindsightRegret is hindsight's backbone,
self-pity his creeping heart,
and bone fingers that scratch
as they work into your mind.
Leering lips, empty eyes
and crooked skeletal legs.
He shadows behind
waiting until he is needed
until a moment of nostalgia
pushes you back.
Paranoia over past happenings
is the poison that he seeps into you.
And when he's finished
he steps away again
but only for a moment.
WomanismAfter only so many days,
An ache creeps into me.
It is a balloon of pity,
But simply for myself, mind.
Such a furore stirs
That in the time between,
I am just a little girl,
No need for rights here.
I'll make you tea,
I'll wear clenching dresses,
I'll beg, cherish, plead.
When we meet again,
After only so many days,
You'd be searching long
To find these thoughts.
OrisonAlways look towards that
giant blind horizon.
Claw at it, keep going even
when you are raw.
Behind you lies every mistake
you ever made, even the
ones you hid.
Hold onto that desire burning
a chasm in your heart.
Never pity your
escape from the past.
Never forget it either.
Little BirdI feel your sure heart in my hands;
There is a terror over you.
One small squeeze
And paradise awaits.
I cocoon you between these two walls
And wait for your shrill howl
Are you not afraid?
You do not know that I am benign.
But your quivering silence
Is sound enough for me.
I never meant you any harm;
Fly like I will never know how.
Dear Moon:Dear Moon:
How could I forget you?
Your man and I
Have spoken for years,
I've been too busy to talk.
We worked our way
Through every utterance,
We wept and shouted in delight.
But a wedge grew,
And slowly our hands separated,
Until only fingertips
I need him most.
Please pass a message on:
Let's talk again.
LesbianGod loved the two girls at the end of my street.
Everywhere they went, they went together,
hand-in-hand so they didn't get lost,
laughing at everything and nothing
all at once.
He was so proud of them.
They never stole, they never swore,
they brushed their teeth twice a day
and always said their prayers.
It was a gift, said the townspeople,
that two girls as perfect as they were
were born in the same place.
an even greater gift, said they,
that those two were the best of friends.
Long nights spent giggling in rooms with closed doors
was a good thing, back then.
halfway between their houses
and in the middle of the street,
they realized that they loved each other.
A gaze lingered a moment too long,
a heart beat a little too fast...
They kissed for the first time on a park bench,
hidden from the rest of the world.
God doesn't love them anymore.
He stands before the adoring crowd,
Basking in their cheers and standing ovation.
But he has already been dishonoured -
By means of his perverse innovation.
For none could know of the dark secret;
About the art that he claims to be his own.
It is naught but an illusion, smoke and mirrors -
A theft for which he must atone...
But this disgusting creature, this worthless abhuman;
So desperate for the glory which he sees upon the stage!
Will quietly don the skin of another;
An urge he must assuage...
Biting his nails, a cracked smile upon his lips, he whispers:
"No one will know, no one will find it and I am great..."
-Chen Yuan Wen, 24th October 2012
I've Changed (Yeah right)I've Changed (Yeah right):
You know, I tell myself everday,
That I'm going to change - that I'll be different.
'This isn't the same; I'm not the same,' that's what I tell myself...
As I sit in front of the computer, praying time doesn't move.
Coward, you're weak and you'll always be weak! You bloody disgrace...
I pick up some new magazine, get inspired,
'I want to be like that guy,' is what I think to myself.
I give it a try for two or three days - I quit.
Same old shit again...
Making up excuses? It's what you always do, you gutless wonder...
I try to reach out with my hands,
Seeking something, anything that I can find to help myself hold on...
But I don't find it - I just find myself,
Sinking back down into the same black swamp - I'm drowning.
Awww, what's the matter? You gonna cry, you gonna cry?
Yeah, I've hit rock bottom,
And you know what? It feels pretty damn good down here.
Nice, warm, comfortable, familiar.
No pressure, no problems - just like everb
goddamn homosexualMy mom took a trip to Mexico
And stopped by a church to attend mass.
It was quaint, small and brightly colored,
So she went inside.
(She is Catholic and I am not.)
She knows Spanish, is practically fluent in it.
She knew, sitting in her pew, what the priest was saying
About those goddamn homosexuals
And their sin,
And how even the flames of hell
Were too good for them.
That there would be no tolerance from The Heavenly Father
Of their kind.
I had just come out to my mom less than a month before
"Yes I like girls."
My hands had been shaking and my throat was tight,
Like my heart was stuck in it.
For a moment I wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball
And simply fade away.
But mom smiled, pulled me into a hug, and said it was okay
And I knew it was.
Yet even if I hadn't confessed
Even if I weren't able to gather the strength,
I know she still would have walked out
Left behind those judgmental words,
Spewing from that judgmental man's lips.
It makes me wonder a
Dear mother, dear father
Dear brother, dear sister
Don't worry, you still have each other
And without me you're all so much stronger
Leave me behind and let me go, I promise the days will get brighter
Dear teachers, dear counselors
Dear therapists, dear doctors
You have my gratitude for what you all did
But I hit rock bottom too many times, and this last one was it
The end of the road again, as if no one could have kept me from a coffin
I was not fit to live life
I failed at everything, every time
I sincerely did my very best, I really tried
I just could no longer stand feeling so powerless inside
I lay wide awake every night
I prayed and prayed and asked "why?"
I was always silently drowning in the tears I cried
I am done with suffering, so this is where I draw the line
This is the end
One with a resentful beginning
It all came crashing down to nothing
It's what's only right, so I know what I'm doing
Dear friends, dear betrayers
Dear relatives, dear des
The PoetThe Poet:
He smiles as he sees her sleeping
& gently covers her with a blanket.
He goes to the window and looks out
watching snow fall, ever so slowly...
He sees people in the streets,
Chatting, walking. Some happy,
Others sad. Hearts beating,
Hearts broken; some warm, some cold.
He looks back at her, as she stirs in bed.
A yawn from her, brings another smile to him:
"How cute," he chuckles as he strokes her head.
He runs his fingers through her hair and is content.
Yet, even if he is happy here, again -
He is drawn to that window and finds himself
Staring out at the street and watching;
Marveling at the disparity and wondering -
Isn't there something that I can do?
Isn't there a better way for us all?
He looks back at her, sleeping peacefully;
He thinks about the future and sighs.
He wants a better world for her,
One where she would always be safe,
But unfortunately, he has no power.
He is just one man with little to his name.
He picks up a piece of paper, one found lyin
I can't write poetry for dead girls.there are too
many pills in this
world and too
much misery in
the human heart
but that didn't mean
that you could just
up and leave when
we both know it
could have gotten better
and i miss you like
a wolf misses her pack
or a goddamn dragon misses
her fire and i'm sorry
that i can't give you
a bouquet of jasmines
(they were your
favorite, after all,
because that was
the only princess
with a pet tiger)
because poppies are
too cliche and i'm
sorry i wasn't there
when all you needed
was a hug and for someone
to whisper "it's okay,
you're perfect enough
for me, don't listen
to that junkie bitch
who just happened to
give birth to you" and did
you know that i'm still waiting
for a reply to that one
email about the world's
best puns because fuck,
there's a stubborn part
of me that still refuses to
believe that you're gone.