I give my dying passions a warm goodbye,
Thank you for helping me.

They are loves I’m no longer fixated on,
unfinished stories with pens drying beside them
and movements I grew away from

In leaving them all I forged an extension of myself:
– an incomplete project is still worth commendation
for at one point it kept me company
and that’s all there is to it

I’m no longer frustrated at what I stopped doing,
lost interest in,
simply abandoned

For my heart knows when it meant a lack of effort
and that is a different story

But to the things that faded away with time,
I appreciate what you did for me.

And I look forward to what I’ll embrace in the future
While holding tight to my current loves
as if I’ll never let them go.

If it comes,…

I cannot write what I do not feel
But there’s something about you,
Whoever you are,
That keeps my attention.
You’re the kind of thing I’d wake from;
Too good to be true
Yet true in a realm somewhere,
Dwelling between awake and eternally away.
If we were to ever meet
That’s what I’d say to you –
I pray you’d be worthy of such praise
And that you’d live up
To the standards I am building,
Be the dream I want to remain in forever
And replace those that leave me
Fearful and confused in the morning.

What do you think?

I wish I could retain clearly all the things I’ve learnt.
Perhaps then I could make a change
or inspire butterflies to flap their wings.

I wish I could articulate
my perception of this world
without the blame game getting involved

But that’s not how it works.

I must accept that change may not happen in my lifetime,
that I may be the tiniest cog in the works,
making very little impact despite my efforts.

Do you ever put yourself in that position?

Is that which is inside of you truly stronger than the system you dwell within?
What about here, there, and everywhere?
And the things we’re not meant to forget?

Who will transfuse blood back into Congo,
and who will maintain the victory of Bolivia?
Who will end SARS for good,
and who will deliver Guinea?

What strength do you sense in your voice?
be true to yourself in answering.
Does there exist inside of you,
a pressure to do more than you currently are?

Do you want to move away
or are you yet to realise
that running is a crime in itself?

Do you recognise the boat we’re all in –
waterlogged wood with holes everywhere and a paddle that just snapped,
slowly sinking in the sea of power-hungry people, force, and genocide?

Have you opened your eyes and touched base with yourself yet?
Do you think you could confront the worst and contribute towards that change?

Dear heavy heart, / Sincerely, frustration

With all the daydreaming and migraines, all this waiting for something drove me insane. I only mind the rain when –

Quit ignoring your truth
and doing things for attention, deep down.
Take self-awareness past the overt knowledge of it
and shut up

Find rest in your imperfection
and accept that you don’t deserve anything
Take Panadol for your own headaches
and face your front

Think about who you are now
and if your younger self would be proud,
then consider if you even care about that
because you don’t have to

Be frustrated with your family
and lack of recognition
if that’s what matters to you

Wish that some things never happened
and curse the Butterfly Effect.
Hope for a better future
with seeds of doubt in your gut

Listen to good music
and hear something different each time…
Be still and remember what you should have

Embrace pessimism and the change of heart
Remember that life is short
then forget shortly afterwards

Cry yourself to sleep to slow songs
for the tides of tears
have been rising for a while now

Be sad that feelings weren’t reciprocated
And regret not handling potential love
better than you did

Overthink certain actions
and wish you did something different
Be disappointed in yourself
because you could’ve tried harder

Keep on living in oblivion
because that’s what waking up entails
Keep on living a life of mistakes
because that’s what it means to live

And keep hoping for your poetry to touch someone,
even though it won’t
Keep being a hypocrite,
you’re doing a great job.


consider what you’re turning into,
what you’ll speak about,
or if you’ll speak at all.

perhaps you’ll speak about
the inherent wholeness of timing;
how good and bad are perfectly aligned
even when they don’t feel so,
and how every occurrence comes
at the end of a countdown
hanging out there somewhere.

forces count down the time to when you’ll step on those blades of grass,
rotate your thumbs as you wait for sleep,
or drop a fork on the kitchen floor.
the start of silence as you wait for ideas,
the divine appointment of action and opposite and equal reaction,
and of deep sighs with residual emptiness after bad news…

perhaps you’ll speak about that.
or perhaps you won’t speak at all.


On 3 hours of disturbed rest,
where I fulfilled the need to be lateral
yet failed to enter the room

and turned 1440° in bed
like a disquieted girl in her grave,
legs wide, shut, foetal, straight, asymmetrical

I wondered,

did I ever just lie there with my eyes open, waiting for sleep to come?

(I) stare at cheap curtains
by the gate of a cloudy day
with the whole world in (my) mind,
behind (my) eyes,
on (my) shoulders.

After a day of inward seclusion
explanations for solitude had eluded me.

Now it just feels like a 48-hour workday
no break no rhyme no reason

and in short sporadic barely surreal dreamt-dreams
grows a decline of patience
in waiting for relief

The Blank Canvas and Me

i like pointillism
and prints, oil paintings
and landscapes.
so when change comes,
i’ll locate myself
and paste her onto
that canvas once and for all.
translate that onto what
was once plain for i’ve
finally grown into myself.
A Bloomed Canvas – that’s Me

2020 is a growing pain

2020 is a growing pain
as close to the climax of hope
life comes tumbling down.

Well, the year didn’t come
with a pain-free guarantee
Nor did it hear you say
“this year I’m focusing on me”

because years have no conscience,
nor do seconds, minutes or hours
It’s your job to handle the pressure
not the 366 time devours

In light of bad news,
rescind your “2020 be good to me”
simply because
it had no obligation to be

Yet luckily your conscience remains
so be good to yourself
At least, growing pain means growth

Sometimes there are only lessons
no loss or gain.
2020, what a teacher~
she’s no movie, just good pain


you must make yourself happy
as no morning is free of assurance.

open your eyes
past pessimism
and dead plants

sleep with windows open
as good music
flows out to the ears of
new friends you’ll make

for it’s not elusive
to place your hope
in higher things

to be happy,
choose to be happy.

Looking Up

After I claim 99% and reject 1,
I keep my head down
and focus on my labour

dream about fruition,
plan my future
break all inhibitions
pray when I wake up –
God is closer than ever

I stop deactivating good things
And start starving the bad,
contentment clears old desire.

in the back of my mind
I hear seeds burst
at the birth of roots,
soil opening at the rise of shoots

but then I take a chance and look up.

Looking Up is the problem;
I focused for so little time that
what I ran from wasn’t far behind

Looking Up is my problem.
for truly it’s not been long
since my seclusion
for incubated growth.

Reservations remain and I see just how long life is
Believe when I say there are enough minutes in a day
you feel that when you try to move up and away