Lady take my soul away, I would like to hear the things you'd like to say.

(A poem now revised for World Suicide Prevention Day 2017, read 10th September 2017)

I would like to go home,
I paced myself straight to your salivating mouth as it sleep talks of sweeter toothpaste dreams dotted in spearmint fresh fairy lights
I am fast food, I am junk, but here I come so easy to swallow without your fork and chew - despite how it's already past curfew
Each step wrinkles the skin faster the way things are meant to be, I am the mere salt of the earth,
I would like to go home.

She was in the salt of the oceans that tried to get through me

Such a beauty that everytime she's in
a car,
a plane,
or even on a 4 year old's tricycle -
she could take your breath away

She curls in you when vulnerable,
spreads her palms out to reach yours,
to grasp what is and isn't meant to be,
The wait in your pupils,
The watch on your wrist,
The warmth of the skin we have,
sometimes in a slow caress -
starting from each corner,
sometimes within a heart beat -
As many has gave in to fall for her

You would think that
She has your back when others didn't,
Will follow if you let her,
Waltz away
through the path you heart has cracked to,
Wake up close
enough for you to hear
the melodies of breathing and its wonders,
Whisper promises of forevers
And so with her, many has brushed shoulders

I've drowned in every single way possible,
She was in the salts of the oceans that tried to get through me,
Made of the tears she jerked,
Never knowing her comes as a perk,
Everyone was sad, just the way she'd like it,
For it reminds them of what is actually precious,
how they are fit, and supposedly in love
With questions regarding how things are above
But I felt nothing,
As I was only 8 back then when we first acquainted - and all I asked her was
"Why are they sad?"
Sleep well, with stories to pile up and later tell
Since she knows you're tired,
And pinky swears to put an end to all things bad.

I've always wanted to see for myself,
How pretty you are, as memories hung in shelves,
But what I fear more, my dear
is committing
& people crying
I fear that I don't know you enough
Except for their tear, to fear

So, I'd rather have you either surprise me like all that love and life does

or hug me from the back by the time you need me the most later on, I won't make a fuss

When we have all the time in the world

to finally grow old.

As you spill in your favourite color,
Drips for all to see,

Cries what all this is for,
As you churn and stir what we can't unsee,

I'm scared that you'll one day leave me,
To continue to thread your tales on your own instead,

Yet you simply left me be,
From the first day I offered to lie in your bed.

Sleepy Town

This sleepy town exhales as its hot springs' steam

Its mountains sleep with all of the blankets it has pulled

Its waves snore as it cradles our lunch in its dream

This sleepy town inhales the distant sirens, hums & chatters lulled

They lay side by side though too far to caress

Its mountains lost in the mist that clings endlessly hugging his forests

Its waves reflecting, waves to the sky as they meet in between

Lights up & blushes in each kiss, like what a first love does to a teen

In a breakdown, its sky anxiously stains the town in cries within hues of gray

Its mountains, a stand still, always fearing what he can't seem to see

Its waves taking it all in, turns it into a song that's frequently chanted by the bay

This sleepy town takes scolding baths after a long day best left be

When a rare dawn's wind pushes you out to see its actual glisten
     You're greeted by confetti whether from the trees,
                  the snow's harsh blow,
                             and the nods given
               By sleepy eyes and wrinkled smiles,
        as they cross streets,
  as one fixes a grandchild's mitten
 or sweeps the remaining of the midnight's laughter

       plug off your earphones and listen

To a routine of a child's crisp uniform,
                of wars between the season's bugs and the birds that ravenously swarm,
                           amidst the hiss of bus queues that snakes around to huddle in its worst storm
                    -- a girlfriend whines so that he'd give her his jacket or fetch her something warm.

This sleepy town karaokes questioning hearts out in its 11pm to 5am free flows for cheap thrills,
             As some wipes its cigarette butts, dishes, & tables for yet another turn to pay for their bills
                       The dark creeps in but the conbini gleams to guide
                             - bored hungry souls & drunken testosterones out of every party,
                                                                                                               out of every bar fight.

It would rather sleep

    and not be like the rest of its nagging neighbors despite it all  

- or at least try to pretend,

Since most nights sweet hormones are exchanged -

biting ears instead of candies by an alley's bend.

It would rather be with constellations,
witnessing each syllables    

that has been exchanged by the beach,

There lay cans and bottles of the two

repetitively counting the stars
that they would later realize
are too far to reach.

Instead like all else,
          they reach for the missing parts
                                  within one another
                                         - the gaps after each finger.

Like how

Its mountains have shouldered echoes
      of all those stranded and alone like he,
           come and whisper your sin.
                  Its waves, a light house of morse codes
         that he can never seem to get
 - washes feet that would never come as clean.

 This sleepy town, becomes a ground
       for those whose heads are hidden in clouds -
               whether of sugary fluffs or the cumulonimbus that would always linger.

It is a place for aching joints and bones to boil and rest,

A place where lemonades are spiked with youth to zest.

Stay if you may, or go ahead and run away anyway - 

This sleepy town's too silent and boring they'd always say.

But it shares a pillow with you, 

hands you a cup of tea with a view.

Of both mountains and waves frequently seen as one,

but the minute they touch 

alarms will sound

Sleepy town finally wakes up 

-- and by then

you'll be

 gone.

(別府)

I am that girl your mom has always warned you about.

I AM THAT GIRL YOUR MOM HAS ALWAYS WARNED YOU ABOUT.

Who’s not within your beliefs or any for that matter
Dresses up as if she’s ready to have a tea party with the mad hatter
She whom you heard would kiss and try anything, biting off more than she can chew
“Why would I ever want her to sleepover, travel, or go anywhere near you?”
She and her tarot and star mambo jumbos would put you in hell
But it was not my fault; your daughter wanted to know if he’s ever going to ring her cell
And the minute he does, fast forward to her heartbreak & frustration
Probably the start of every adolescent’s inevitable nicotine addiction

“SHE SMOKES, why are you friends with her?”

Well, mainly tante, because venting to me about rebelling from you folks 

Have encouraged her to secretly inhale, and 

– without me -

 pathetically fail.

Well, my cigs are there for free; 

it was either this or you paying for her therapy

Oh and she wanted me to teach her how to drink too, 

either this or her death’s all on you.

I am the boogie woman with a Mary Poppins bag, 

A lot of love, also a lot of heartbreaks

But always there after every time you start to nag, 

With the right ice cream flavor, & a repellent for snakes.

Boy problem survival kits 

Or whenever tired of being under your armpits

 –- I’m at your service you see. 

Well… most moms wouldn’t really want to look at me anyway.
I remembered the only time I’ve met my ex’s mom, I was in shorts.
We were 13; he was teaching me how to play the guitar on a bright sunny day
But their skin was way brighter… than mine; so I was dismissed with a snort.

At least he was the only one who ever dated me when the rest didn’t.
You see, again and again and again, it seems that I’m always against a religion.
And if not that, there’s always another reason.
Not just star signs & timelines, & how it wasn't the right season.
But Race, for I am never according to your collection of porcelain.
Another box I’m too fat to fit in.

Size that was always another thing. 

Lies when people claim that their minds are opening.

I am that girl your mom has always warned you about. 

Who knows how it feels to be free since I got pushed out of my trees too soon
She, though, still wants to keep you around, fix you, till it's six in the afternoon.

Too liberal.
"Probably the parents are too busy to see how their child has run feral."
But tante, they’re actually the best for actually giving me my... life.
Without expectations on me being their obedient pet or later an obedient wife.
Only for me to run; your sons’ interest in me is like wanting their own gun
Too illegal to be something he’d actually want to commit or admit
Hidden then ignored, an alter ego when bored.
Trash since I’ll die as scattered ash.
I’m the devil in her nightmares,
How I’m a self-proclaimed feminist scares,
And because of this – till now not many dares…

Can you simply point me which way do I go if I wish to be in a world that's finally fair...

Walk A Mile In My Blues - An Environmental Issues Homework

You were small back then

And for a second I thought that you were heaven sent

I watch you bloom in numbers, in fingers lesser than ten

Cradle you under a blanket of celestial bodies.

You did not realize how much to me you meant

But you swore that my insides you could mend

I keep myself from bursting to you, kept all the magma in its vent

As you grew with more mouths to feed, feet over my shoulder to burden

I close my eyes to rest, to later know what houses are instead of the wraps of caves and the crafts of your tent

You wanted to explore me, so you learned how to swim, walk, run, and fly from end to end

But I did not ask for your curiousity, I asked for you care,

The minute I turn I was in shades that were not of my own,

Your voices echoing my ears on how I wasn’t fair,

You’re now everywhere, and yet I’m somehow left alone.

It all started from a fire left lit for me to burn high and dry,

All the mess that I have become now, yet you’d still wonder why

My rain drenches day and night, or none at all to leave your sight,

But you did not recognize them as my cry

There were days where I once lulled you through these seashells,

And I swore that that was the day I fell,

Onto a tale that started with a spark that only the sun could ever retell

The comfort of my oceans,

You came out of to pick the stars above

Into the glitz and glamours,

Of electricity powered towers,

Gas heated long showers,

Roofs you crawl in to cower,

Industrial machinery that sprawls like flowers,

All you’ve grown to love.

My emerald hair now short, in spots burnt, my complexion gray,

To you I would honestly have nothing to say,

For you knew what we’ve been through,

And you’re aware of the things you do

You hear the distant wind only to ignore it as a clue,

Only few would try to heal these bruises,

I regret not loving the others as much as you,

For along side me, they can also feel the same cuts too

Walk a mile in my shoes and maybe by then you could feel my blues,

All my pools are dried up, but you sit there staring at my pain within each news,

The lush of my hair pulled,

The fruits that I bear picked,

My barriers drilled, and I slowly melt,

Cursing for you to drown

But you couldn’t hear my screams.

You boast about my beauty as if you’re somehow stuck in dreams

In delusions of the Eden we once knew that is no longer what it seems, Walk a mile in my blues, and perhaps the lack of oxygen when you drown would stop you from acting obtuse.

Reality TV - A Spoken Word Piece on Ancestry.

I’ve been told that home to me was a village where my ancestors are, 

Up north and far

Where the last time I was there, I was five ...& in pigtails

Ignored by actual pigs in our backyard for trying to teach dinner how to high-five.

Fast-forward, 

I’m almost 20; ugh being pale is apparently pretty. 

But being like this…

Increases difficulty in finding suitors to… marry?

You don't have anyone? Here meet my son... But anthropology? wait you're not studying to become a doctor? 

............................

At least I now have the recipe… on how to cook 

The pigs; I’ve now grown to miss.

--

Confession: 

From then, till now I have never really learned how to properly pray.

It’s always been me saying what’s up hear me out… I have a lot to say --

Too / to, whoever’s out there in charge of signs – can you at least help me figure out mine?

From then till now, every morning my mom who got it from her mom honors them a shot of coffee & I wonder if they would stir it with the beauty they choose to see instead of the far college life of this mutiny. 

I don’t know, if their surveillance camera is strictly here, or everywhere. If they actually would only see me for the cigs replacing incenses, the bad I do & wear, this Balinese’ missing river-like hair, 

Surely never for my proses though, they said that those things they wouldn’t care.

This concept of ancestry had me thinking that we’re like a reality TV in other dimensions. I mean, Mufasa told us anyway that the great kings of our past look down on us behind constellations.

And I try to look up at the skies consulting my “Why”s as if all its glitters are wise only to find myself frazzled, suddenly awake at AM hours by the beach. Maybe if I lay by these sands long enough stars would actually fall to prance around giving wishes & answers away - A camouflage! My go to excuse for this head of bleach…

Maybe if I fly, 

In which I finally did for I too was trying to figure out on my own what a home is, when you only go back to your country once a year… But I swear despite such annual fear, when I glued my face to the windows they finally greeted in what seemed like a rain of fairy dust. Answering nothing else aside questions on their presence. Though, It’s unfortunate how our mother tongue is now Negativity for when I mentioned this they said I was just too sleepy.

But perhaps they too are sleepy from a lifetime of all seeing or so it seems & all they'd want from us are pleasant dreams, so who are we to speak on such behalf. 

 I got it from my mom, who got it from her mom, who got it from all of our moms before – 

to never give in to conventions 

      and expectations 

           and oppressions 

since betcha' they too wouldn’t want any of us 

their tv 

to be such a bore.

Let us not forget the Shakti within one’s femininity.

Let us not forget the Shakti

Within one’s femininity

Yagnyaseni,

Of pyre and luminosity

Volcanic in sparks that lights up a city

She was born Draupadi,

Came unasked,

Left in the fated uncertainty

Having many however none

of the proudest of husbands and sons

In their splendor she never basked.

Yojanagandha,

Her presence was a waft smelled from afar,

Azure and assured

A royal lotus bloom

A fragrance that the jaundiced eyed wouldn’t dare to wrongly assume

A prize shared fairly amongst brothers

All five despite how her heart yearns for

Arjuna, in spite of his many lovers

Let us not forget the Shakti

Within one’s femininity

The ruins, that tells their own tales,

Our mothers, as they persist through silent prayers

To remind us how the slightest wrong against a flower

Dethrones a king with all his power

Dismantles towns to ash and rubble,

Witnesses a kingdom as it crumble

Like Ravana’s,

Over Sita’s abduction

Like Dusshasana’s,

After Draupadi’s humiliation

--She spun,

First with all that she could fathom,

Sarcasms that are thought of as cute instead –

As her husbands kneeled as mute as the dead.

She was a prize once won and now agiven to another, thrown onto a stranger’s lap

An object

For with her beauty and charm, was said to come her misery & harm

She spun,

A game of dice took all, and won all

Snickered as the Pandava’s fall

Whilst the Kuravas felt mighty and tall

And startled as they began to disrobe her saree,

She threw both hands in plea to He who has promised her security.

In Lord Krishna’s name she spun

She twirled like the blaze that she was made of, each layer followed by another

In Awe their eyes feasted on like no other

The mystery like wise of feminality that none can ravel as it leaves all souls baffled.

An object

To them that was all she was,

Not a boat that saved them sorrow, summoned tomorrow, and kept them afloat.

And in Dusshasana’s blood,

Draupadi swore her hair would one day be washed

Let us not forget the Shakti

Within one’s femininity  

At the sole of our feet there are seeds of many kingdoms to come, voids that wombs would have sincerely fed.

We women have been taught to please,

To have a future planted at ease,

Taught to manage,

Although he was taught to carry the burdens of a baggage

We might not be a Panchali, a Parsati, like her with the audacity we wish to embody; yet a saga of agony we hope to never endure.

But we are the earth itself

Like frogs, somehow stepping upon one another to leap,

Despite the pond of tears and muddy fears we’re able seep,

For higher apples and sunnier spots to reap

Blessed by the nature we forgot to kiss as mother,

With all the love that she has taught of to have, to spread, and smother.

In Draupadi’s name, I wish to not cower.

Happy International Women's Day.

19 on the 19th

*(( this piece is meant to represent the inner workings of my scattered and sporadic ways ))*

10. Capricorn is the tenth sign in the horoscope, 

and i have told many that these things 

were never the strings 

within the puppet show we star in 

but it is merely a treasure map 

that literally connects the dots 

that marks the spot 

and pins whatnots accordingly. 

It is a blanket set aside as they prepare the same nests 

for those born under the same reign.

1. Rain, nay, storm. 
That's how i got my name, 
the weather shall always be placed into blame on how as a person i am not (the) warm(est). 
All this prayer within a namesake does not only come 
from the Lion King, a taxi in South Asia, or the loyalty of the great Hanoman himself
 - as friends mockingly say that it means farts 
even though it's actually "comes the melody of the wind".

6. Fin. 

Even without, i can swim - pretty well - 

at this age i wanted to be a mermaid

but the heartaches made me write silly rhymes and notes to make everyone feel better instead, 

it made me write. 

A divorce is better than a dysfunctional marriage.

  

18. Baggage. 

Her weight that time was probably 50 kg, 

Her suitcase 20, 

mine 30 - our issues a ton, 

the years spent,

 the memories we had together... 

broke the scale, we had to pay extra - 

still couldn't believe that we landed safely here.

2.                        

             3.                                               

                                   4.                                                                      

 Fear and all of its galore. Death, confined spaces, rodents, and all of its gore.                                                                  I've counted, lost counted,  inhales, tiles within trails,  words that fails ; sent to avoid          

   to the void, along with a history of lost mails, people who've bailed, and clouds that are...                                                         shaped like whales.

8.  Tails and heads, along with fate 

were also my sticks and stones, and how mom said words can never break my bones. 

Words were frankly like the rubber bands shot at me, and both lasted quite awhile. 

Maybe it was written, but I'm glad that my mom stood for me against all the hurt inflicted in which she would never allow.

9. 7. 5.
How do you know the difference between friend or foe for these things don't show, 
and I've had a couple from long ago but as pretty as the concept is i assume that they melt like snow. 
Strawberry Shortcake sang "Like a flower friendship grows" but it also wilts as my head slowly tilts every time one fades, and crumbles the trust I've built,
have they no guilt? 
and in return, have i got none? 

14. Sun. 

If the sun tries to kiss the moon, albeit that we all wouldn't be humming the same tune. 

For heartaches - ice cream would always do the trick! 

all this might not make sense at the moment... 

which is why you should go get yourself some ice cream. 

I trust that it will help in letting it all slide.

12. Hide. 
The corners, 
squares, 
and gaps 
between lockers, 
toilet stalls, 
and stairs 
have become snug 
and comfy for me and my reading materials to be left be.

Please, leave me be.

14. Pretty. 

I've been told that the biggest flaw in my bane existence was my appetite - 

then again this porcelain was so skeletal, wait, petite that i bet 

she doesn't know that angels are actually large burritos with extra guacamole not Victoria's secrets. 

Some girls rather be the french fries 

- loved by many, sliced thin, and dipped in ketchup crimson ready to please - 

instead of actually munching ones in the dead of night while dwelling on recent series and media fascinations.

16. Infatuation. What is this word? Can i eat it?

19. It is now the 19th, and i am now a 19 year old, insignificant - 

with lists and speeches made to be heard by my  sink's mirror, 

tears in replacement of what was meant to be said, 

proses crumbled,

 always complaining in my mumbles, 

with nostalgic montages paused and replayed... 

slowly surging, 

burning, 

turning 

- drawing to a blank.

11. Sank. There goes my faith, 

it has never been there but I've always forced it even though the thought was square 

with exact sharp edges and i was round, 

lost despite the breadcrumb trails i followed, now waiting to be found. 

By this age, i was the only kid that believed in stars & stories, played with tarot cards instead of barbies, 

and maybe mom made me read too many Holocaust themed books but regardless... He's unfair - if he was even there.

17. Hair. Rocking a boy's haircut does not make me a dyke, in fact till now I am continuously scraping the labels that are placed on me for I would only accept the fact that i am female. I am not a can of tomato soup that you wake up to after a hangover or any other grocery objects placed on sale. A potato, maybe, yes. For the boys and the old ladies who have preferred it, throughout the seconds spent my hair continues to grow longer to please, and i hate it. I was not any less desirable nor lady-like ever since, at least not to you but i continued to keep my scissors hidden in my "what if"s, as dumb as the little mermaid, i've replaced it with a fork as a comb.

15. Home. 

These sturdy logs in midst of the all the fog shall always welcome

 those in need,i have not much to feed, 

those whom are lost without much to do, those whom are just passing through. 

But what if it required a little tending,

 perhaps the fire place, the dusty book case,

 a little mutual symbiosis from you, 

for houses like me don't walk, 

houses like me have tried to talk, 

but at the end of the day the lone ones shall remain still 

in its shade of dark blue.

13. You. 

"We chased each other with chocolate cake smudged on our face, and then he stole a peck that was my first kiss. 
My list of firsts started here, Done? i am nowhere near. These anecdotes that have broke the ice several times, added with my self-proclaimed charm of endless rhymes. To hell with the media, a little girl once cried, chivalry and serenades on white horses, i will never see ya! Later on - she adamantly scribbled - when you're in college live a life like a TV show's season finale, like the last pages of this mind-boggling book i didn't want to finish - where everything is in it's right place swooped and tidied up by the characters beloved that carries along the magic of answers." wrote my past.

Alas 8th grader, i now sit here with the same old nails, bitten, 
of my latest marathon? i am up to my last season,
Of actual running? in sweat your forehead still have never glistened,
From then till now, you're still sentimental with many screws missing.
Lists are written undone, as you still seek for the one since to the same sentence of how Jaime Gil de Biedma said "I believed that I wanted to be a poet, but deep down I just wanted to be a poem" - you're still sticking.

And with this last sentence 
of 

a rant, 
                                       a wish, 

                         a prose, 

                                                          a list, 

i cross my fingers to grant myself the ability to properly end a poetry, 
to seal the end of the year happily, and begin with a bliss of the reciprocating answers i've been asking - 
to questions in which my brain prolongs its refusal to let me in.

Happy Birthday, bitch.