This wooden crate is empty
Unless you count the splinters.
This wooden crate is empty
Unless you count the splinters.
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,
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,
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
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.
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.
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.
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?
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,
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
My sister is an art curator
And one of the first things she taught me,
We are all art galleries
Every person is a collection of experience and memories
Positioned in a way that we wish to be perceived
And those who like what they see will linger in our presence
Those who truly appreciate our unique and wistful essence
And so we structure ourselves in this way
And we are all museum curators
Interior designers of our very own conjectures
There is no understanding without proper presentation
And that’s the point of all of it
To want love and feel acceptance
And what you realise is that there is no single identity
No independent factor contributing to reality
We are all composed of fragments that originate from another
Ever-changing elements that react to those of others
The way we are is altered by the way the world is turning
And the exhibit always shifts according to what we are learning
The artist inside strives and strives to transcend new creations
Novel pieces of soul occurring with each
The white curdling anger I feel
When I drink some milk
The sloppy goo of yogurt stains
On my trousers
Ruins my clothes.
Extracted from female cows
Not mine to claim
But in the devil’s name?
I had some cheese today
My sins consume my Camembert
I want to feel the hurt they feel
Mooing in wretched caged green fields
I fail to realise it’s in my hands
An industry of pain.
So removed from reality
This beverage, liquid purity
Fed lies by nutritious entities
Forgotten lies the calf and steed
Heifers weep oh so silently
While I sit here, drinking some tea
Fermenting life energy
Equips my sandwich,
There’s guilt in a Celebration box
Each sweet enthralled with mischief
I’m tempted just by gluttony
But then I remember thusly:
Stolen right from the udder’s tip
Compelled by awful corporate whips
Screaming cattle, losing battles
I no longer can commit
They imminent evil
But custard creams?
So soft and sweet,
Made with malice?
I want to eat.
While debating on some civil rights
Eating pizza‘s now my single plight
The choice is bad
Dairy’s the devil
But sinfully delicious.