Ow.

This wooden crate is empty
Unless you count the splinters.

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Madame Butterfly / Let Me

Let me attempt a new style of prose

Let me shout echoes into the cocoon cavity I have used
Let me refuse access to those who abuse me.
Let me know that deep down inside I have cried enough tears to feed an elderflower tree
And now I’m no longer empty.

Let me acknowledge that I am stronger than anybody I have ever met
Because I can only know the depths of my mind
Grow wider than the grand skies that behold us every night.
And what a sight it is to finally be able to appreciate it.

Let me confront my own destiny head on,
Headstrong,
Refusing to resign to the path I’ve walked on
On this fine cobblestone I have talked defeated nonstop
Never again will I torture my feet I’ve used life long.

Let me sing my last pessimistic sad song
Let me destroy insecurity to which I’ve held on
Wrong that I am not capable of doing anything
My mind’s melodic, like a great vibrant gong

Allow me to show you my fiery wrath
Crafted from precious sand I’ve collected, in fact,
While I thunderously dictate my power with laughs
And show you the unbreakable empowered glass

While I may be crass
Take my incredible sass
I am an Asian chick, yes,
But a fiercesome young lass

I’ll remember it too,
My mantra everyday
While I gradually,
Gracefully
Flutter away.

Insomnia

I dream without dreaming
I sleep without sleeping
For slumber is hindered
By thoughts not worth keeping

Soft breeze in the evening
Leaf blades they are sweeping
I cannot help thinking
I cannot stop blinking

As much there is weeping
No tears from my eyes
Instead words flow out
And I cry and I cry

Hot teardrops are pouring
In the form of sad poetry
They are kind of soothing
The pure misery

I put on a smile
Most people beguiled
In the moonlight however
I’m put on a trial

Deep pockets remain
There below, orbs of sight
They may indicate
The slight state of my plight

The lack of sweet sweetness
May be my demise
In desperate need of sweetness
Please know I’m not fine

Angst is what consumes me
I know not of thee
Whisper sweet nothings to nothing
And futile pleas

Yet consider it thusly
The possibility
Hope will not kill me
At least, hopefully

Faultless you is remaining
Looks at me with such pity
I trick myself wishing
It’s pure sympathy

Wretched woeful wanting
Is simply not healthy
Containing strong urges
Lunging to be stealthy

And when you will see me
And when you arrive
I’ll tell you again
That I’m fine

I am fine.

Busy Pub

Bumping knees with strangers
Wet surfaces of expired ale and lager
Minor eye contact that grows stale
People look far away at something right in front of them
Recognition is lost in awkward moments

Do I acknowledge your existence?
We met that one time at a party
But I remember not your name nor your circumstance
So I’ll ask again
I’ll hold a drink in my hand as a security blanket
Swivel it coolly as I feign false confidence
I look away at something that’s not there
In deep contemplation.

I feel bored and am aware of it
God I need a cigarette
But I don’t need a cigarette
I need the head space that this venue doesn’t allow
I can’t feel my heart beat some how
The loud music drowns it out with funky tunes to amuse the crowd
All it is to me is headache pleas
I’m happy to see people leave
The claustrophobia dies down inside of me
I’m nervous like you wouldn’t believe

I’m lost in a booth of brief acquaintances
Add me to the list of forgotten names you’ve met at social occasions
I’m sure you are all lovely
But this place permits not the kind of interaction that helps me see
What a cool personality you might have

You are beautiful
And I’m afraid to tell you that
Scared you’ll see it as something creepy and out of place
Just like how I feel about my face in this sea of laughter

All I want is to tell you is that maybe we could hit it off
Yet I believe that this instance will stain your memory
Me, that person at that place that one time

As you glaze your eyes over when you see me on the street.
Because it’s too odd to say “hi”
Not intimate enough for a wave
Maybe you’re just shy…
But it’d be nice to make a friend tonight.

Yet I’m not one to fight in density
I feel the numbers add together and join forces to attack
my comfort’s esteem
Claustrophobia is a dear friend
Especially when there’s no one to take me to the panic room.

This is a different realm from mine,
I love to chatter but I’d rather have intimate gathers
and cups of tea to lather our tongues
as we talk into the night about our dreams.

Enjoy a cheeky bit of ice cream
While leaning over our chests watching horrible movies.

So please excuse me if I leave a bit early.
Surely you’ll not heed too much attention
My presence might not have retention in your mind
But that’s ok,

Destiny will define.

S/he

The man in the dress
Frolicked fabulously and freely
She is not a man
She is an expression
A representation of the breaking of social norms
She reigns like a storm
Roars in her cheetah print skirt
Her suggestions are curt.
She throws shade like she’s been doing it the day she was born
Which was the day she realised its okay to be a girl
Even when your a boy
Even when you’re not “normal”
But who the fuck wants to be normal?
She, a lioness in a pride of straight edges
Bending gender like a wrinkled straw
Growling with the repressed power of a thousand years of civil rights fights
She is no shade of beige
She explodes a swirl of rebellious colours that cannot be defined
Has a small glass of wine,
On stage she embodies the voluptuousness of divas of funky times past

This is the present

When a man can stand on stage with a wig and be cheered for instead of scorn
We are lucky that we can be this way.
Some people aren’t so lucky
Though plucky some queers are still treated like filth
So we must take the power of being called perverts and violate all things comfortable and thrive
To pave a new path for us.
So that one day parents of the meek won’t shriek at the idea that their child is in love with someone of the same sex
That love is not defined with an M or an F but with passion
Regardless of who you are
But for most of us who belong in that zone still have our scars
Of bullying or fear and self loathing
Too many tears about who we are
Starved of treatment that most take for granted
And she’s had it.

She,
struts on stage with a witty banter that can seduce anyone
She’ll win at the end of the day

Because you can’t look away.
She is a he,
But isn’t it wonderful when it doesn’t really matter?

Who?

Me

Identity.

It’s overrated.

Why label me?

Why create a profile?

Attempts to categorise, isolate, ostracize

Just so it’s easier to identify?

Who am I?

Get to know me.

Look into my eyes

Tell me your story.

You can read a summary of personality

But my face will tell you more than you’ll ever need

Observe the actions that I make

See the risks I choose to take

Remember what makes my eyes dilate

Keep in mind what keeps me awake

Grand sweeping generalisations

Cannot define who I am inside

My background only says so much

Of frameworks structures in my mind

And should magnification succeed

Microscopic details of my ways

Noted down in your trains of thought

Something that’s quite self-taught

Recall that my world’s seen differently

Through transmissions crafted uniquely

While communication still transmits

The clarity of signal can debate

Cast out a look

Hook back assumptions

A bunch of fictitious fickle fishes

I’m no sea creature

To be classified

Learn instead how waves pass my side

Glance past my guise

True selves arise

I am myself

Stamp yourself wise

But I am me

And nothing else

I am not a word you can look up,

I’m me.

Library Blues

Too many easy peelers
Make for such an awful headache
I'm in need of something sweeter
Or some kind of creamy bake

This essay prompt annoys me
The library destroys me
And so I surf the internet
And so I smoke a cigarette.

Sunday is a day of study shame
Just look around and see
Panicked faces enter quite rapidly
Come in for wishful thinking

To complete that horrific lit essay
To catch up on some reading
To check out a book for references
Pretending that we're learning

They try to make up for the days
Partying without pain
Then they wake up that next morning
Knowing here that they will stay

There are those who are to endure night
Desk stocked with good supplies
Cadbury, coffee, 
Sweeties too,
It's all a yummy lie

You'll eat it all within the hour
Stress equipped you with glutton power
And when saliva turns all sour
Bookshelves will make you cower

JK, that's just what I am seeing
In my own progress, it is steaming
Drunk with reluctance to actually work
I know I will go berserk