Control

If I were a puppet master,
if we were all puppet masters,
we would make us dance.
I tug and he jerks to the left.
You tug and she jumps to the right.
So much fun until you find out that
you have no say in yourself
and that is called
destiny.

My strings are cut.
I stare down at me helplessly.

Our tension broke

We fought
and, man, did I fight back.
A single comment and
guns were blazing, armors on,
teeth guard in and earrings off.
Nails sharpened, hair tied up,
swords drawn,
the battle starts.

A huge clash between two giant armies.
It was an explosion of the highest state.
Bullets shot and wounds salted.
A treaty within reach but none bothered.

I thought I was winning.
I didn't stop.
I stabbed and slashed and stabbed
and stabbed and stabbed and...
I couldn't breathe.

The blood on my hands were mine
and I felt pain.

But pain wasn't a feeling.
Pain wasn't an emotion.
Pain is emptiness; pain is hollow.
Pain is a black hole that sucks you in and the more you struggle, the more power it gains.
Pain is a snake that swallows you whole - legs first while your paralyzed consciousness spectate.
Pain is your slow disintegration that modifies time so that it never and will never let. you. pause.

I cut the phone line.
Our tension broke.
Pearls scattered down so gracefully.

Uuuhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!!!!

I was queen kong.

I would have tore down buildings,
smash the apartment you were in,
bring you to the top of Tokyo's skyline,
and make you watch me fall.

Make you see me break my skull.
Make you hear me break my bones.
Make you feel me break my heart.

I swore to God I wouldn't beg.
I'm sorry God.

Words shot out like arrows with poison,
which recipe I got from the evil queen.
Alakazam! Alakazoom!
A kiss of life! Specks of sparkles! Puffs of smoke!
We were alive!
But you are not
you.

So innocent like a new born
but your heart from the dead.
And my heart?
My heart...

My heart is pain.

Failing

It was just an alphabet and a symbol.
Font size 10. Un-bold. Un-italicised.
It was just an alphabet and a symbol
so why does it feels like the
hot curling iron on my skin,
the razor on my face, the
scalding wax on my body, the
blusher in my eyes, the
cuticle scissors across my breasts.
Why does everything in my attempt to be pretty hurt?

It was like the universe was playing a game
out of me.
It made me the girl who won the crown but
my outfit strategically chosen to hide
all the scars from its constant assault;
my makeup so flawless and thick to hide
all the shame and to fill all the emptiness.

I took a blade.
Wine dripped out of me.
Release.

Another.
I was brought to the clouds. Counted ten of them.

One more.
I was just an arm's length from Him.
I have never been so close to such a stranger.
I reached out so desperately. I needed comfort only he could ration.
But he stood there and hugged me with his eyes.
It was pure connection between the shameless and
the shameless.

My heart beating, hitting, slamming. Bang!
So much pain. How could there be so much pain.
There was no fall but I'm lying on the ground.
It was just an alphabet and a symbol.
Font size 10. Un-bold. Now red.

My Lovely Boyfriend

My lovely boyfriend.

I’m going to kill him.

Maybe a cup of tea first –

just for old times’ sake.

No sugar. His metabolism makes him really hot.

If he plays his cards right,

maybe I’ll let him play with my cat

or stroke my hair

or even a kiss or two.

I love my boyfriend.

Maybe I’ll kill him tomorrow instead.

He does so much for me.

He cooks, he cleans, and he kisses

everywhere.

He thinks of me; not too clingy.

He hugs me; sometimes too tight.

He makes me laugh, then laughs at me.

He lets me do weird faces of his face.

And thus, remains why, I need to kill him.

He is great at balancing

between being the perfect man and a complete douche.

He makes me want to smash his head with a slash hammer.

He makes me want to smash my head with a slash hammer.

I am so confused, I’m going bonkers.

Maybe I’ll save the mushrooms till the end of the week.

But his eyes –

His eyes just make everything disappear.

I could just stare at them all day.

And his hair and his lips and his scent…

I got to get ready.

He is coming for tea!

Washing my hands of you

I could punch a wall right now!
Oh, how I want my hands to fill up with blood.
Broken nails. Broken bones.

I want to muff up my ears. Cover them
away from your critique.

I want to kick a glass ball.
Let it crash! BOOM!
Let it pierce my feet.
Let it bleed.

Let me bleed.
Let me juggle knives. Let me fail. Fall on to me
like rain; like autumn leaves; like shuriken.

I want to scream!
Ahhhhhhhhhhhh.........
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh................
I want to hit that high
high G, then A, then ultrasound.

Let glass break.
Let plastic crack.
Let wood rot.

I want to skinny dip in acid and radioactive waste.
Make me melt.
Make me glow.
I want to do all that
if I could just remove the ink you tattooed inside me.

Horrid Pie

I probably bite off more than I could chew.

Hungry once but now sick in the tummy

by that horrid pie that was

just so delicious.

Baked with 6 core ingredients

the pie was formed,

with only a tiny dash off pepper for the kick

in my face.

The oven was grinding my teeth down

and churning my gut as I waited.

Waited.

Got to eat it while it’s hot.

It should have been a sign when a drop of saliva

sizzled into nothingness on the pan.

But I dug in so deep so fast as if I used a shovel.

Burned my fingers. Burned my tongue.

And now I’m sick.

I thought you were the doctor but you were a

“Phoney!” in disguise.

I vomited and all you did was inch away

as slow as the winds in a hurricane

and didn’t even bother saying goodbye.

I am your prisoner

Chit chat chit chat…

Maybe I’ve talked too much.

Maybe you’ve talked too little.

Maybe you don’t want to speak at all.

Sing. Louder. Higher.

I hate that cord.

Let’s redefine it.

“No, it was meant to be written this way.”

Look at me.

My eyes are red with your tears and anger that hide the

jealousy that doesn’t exist.

I imprison you with chains that are my hands and they clutch

tightly to your face.

Look at me.

I’m sorry.

“I’m sorry.”

Echo is a verbal exchange of a dance

that we know by heart.

We have spoken too much

but it is never enough.

I Love you.

“I Love you.”

Our foreheads pressed against the other

but I feel beyond the physical.

I was sure, there and then,

I am your prisoner.

Drink Up!

Never been happier for color vision;

never been happier for coloring in a bowl

for it represents regaining life or the lack thereof.

And I've never been so glad for pain.

A day ago, sight was depressing

The moon mocked, the stars gossiped, the

bed disapproved, the table reminded, the food

stung, the drinks smug, the pen whispered,

the paper scorn, the people bled.

And I wept.

And I wept

because I needed fluids that sweat won’t cut.

I wept because of the act that I did, that I

consciously did, that was common and normal and

perfect in almost every other context than what I was in.

I need a drink.

My lips were cracking but I couldn’t care less.

My pair seemed to be fissuring as I was careless.

So hydrated before with his drink yet now so desiccated.

Thank god for water.

Yes, thank God.

I have no religion but I prayed.

Desperate? Yes.

The only things that got me through was his faith with me

and my faith in Him.

I pled for my ancestors to look over me and I saw no angels

with wings but I’m glad they did.

Of course, this could all be in my head.

But if anyone is up there, here is a toast.

Love you, thank you and let’s drink up!

Oh yes, make it red wine please.

My Heart

My heart flutters.

Not like a dainty butterfly,

but like a buzzing humming bird.

It’s so obsessive it’s irritating.

Yet it keeps me afloat as I taste the sweet

bitterness of life,

as I wonder beyond the blue openness

and set my sights nowhere.

My heart pounds.

Not like acts of pent up emotions,

but like a covetous husband with the rhythm of ardor.

It’s so possessive it bruises me.

Yet it keeps me grounded as I taste the passionate

acidity of love,

as I wonder beyond the red openness

and set my soul nowhere else.

My heart skips.

Not like the rational lady I try to show,

but like the silly child he brings out.

My heart bares.

Not like the insecure girl I try to hide,

but like the brave woman he sees.

My heart loves

because of him.

My heart loves

because of what he is.

My heart loves

because of what he does.

My heart loves

because of how he loves me.

Pushing buttons

Stop pushing my button-

my belly button.

It belongs to me.

Have you forgotten?

You remember the time when

it once connected us.

We shared a cord that

wrapped and strangled as I gasp.

It was snipped and we cried;

You, tears of joy.

I, tears of loss.

And to the womb I waved goodbye.

For a good decade, you held my hand

and it connected us.

We shared a bond that

made us smile and laugh and smile again.

It was relaxed and we were unaware;

You, busy with life.

I, busy planning life.

And out of your protection, the dangers I bare.

Twenty years went by so soon; too soon.

and it alerted us.

But we shared a tie that

remains even if either one was on the moon.

It was invisible and we lost sight;

You, fear of loss.

I, fear of captivity.

And I struggle hard from the restrains you hold tight.

You there! Hey! Stop pushing my button!

My belly button.

Proof of our relations.

On common ground we stand, all is forgiven.