When She Speaks

Cause'
you can hear the crickets chirp
and listen to the song of the rattlesnake,
the rush of the majestic waterfall
and the welts decorating your forehead.
You feel the drop of Fahrenheit
and the stillness of the wind.
You taste the sweetness of dawn
and the saltiness on your skin.

The world speaks to you with the ole' familiar tongue,
drawing its passionate energy from our one glorious sun.

From the smell of morning dew on each tiny blade of grass,
to chasing after dandelions dancing beside you fast,
from the trees that sway indulgently to the rhythm of your beat,
to the ground that twirl uninhibited to the music of your feet.

You see,

the flowers, they bloom, for just that sparkle in your eye;
exuding parallel magnificence as the milky way in our dark night sky.
The stars, they glow together, with the warmth oozing from your heart,
bringing soft serenity as the dreams begin to start.

And as our little earth falls quietly in slumber,
the glitter magic burns vibrant,
secretly,
silently,
under.

Fire

The fire cleanses and it destroys like Lucifer slays.
Maybe hell and the devil are one of the same,
residing on
every holy candle lit. It dances at the back
of every mind and laughs as
it consumes you like God.

It is described in many ways -
entrancingly green, glowing red,
furiously blue and dark like
the knight.
It chills as it burns and
suffocates
as it breathes.

Do you hear it cackle?

Calmly,
it envelopes and hugs my neck,
kissing with a fervor I've not felt before;
raising my hairs then razing them down;
hissing at my tears, preying with my fears;
blazing souless innocents and begging me-
begging me to fall on my knees,
bow my heart and feign mercy.

Hush.

The sky falls bland as I lay my head.
So I pray that when the light rekindles my face,
the sun would wring
from the anger within,
hipnotic evil that shall live and rise again.

Passionate fear

He came from round the blind corner.

Our eyes met briefly before going back to

the phone. His presence lingered beyond

the sockets. He knows.

The next day he was there with his surreptitious

smile which I knew to grow accustomed to. Shyly

shifted to check the time. He wore blue

without fail, conquering my heart, at Eight O' Six

sharp everyday. Not a peep from me. That is

not our language.

He started bringing me places in my mind I

never knew existed. So fascinated in his glory,

I breathe at his mercy and cry at his pleasure. I

take him everywhere, like pocket providence, and

he whispers bittersweet nothings in my ear.

By the devilry he possesses, the hex, like musty

roses, course through my veins, tearing me

from my bloodline, releasing. those. satisfying.

Endorphin.

He owns my soul; at every any hour of the year.

He slumbers mostly and let the electronics entertain

the little shell as he lay; gentle, sovereign and familiar.

He’ll tug on my heartstrings when it's time to feed.

Then, he consumes me whole.

Little Soul

We met yesterday as any other day, before dawn,

after dusk. You looked as how old would appear

in fatigue's silhouette. Scabs ripped and wounds

reopened by the fangs of another, permitted

to penetrate by your heart. I try my hand at the

bad sewing and offered five doses of a dozen sheep,

every one soaking up the congenial shame you bleed.

One, the words rerun.

Two, the cruel time spools.

Three, the flashbacks breathe.

Four, the story recalls.

Five, your jaded spirit dives
into every memory and with every memory, the
hallucinations come back with a new found volume of

sacrilegious vengeance.

Soon, what that did not once cause a tear will create

the downpour that drowns even the most defensive cactus.

Six minutes in and the girl who learned

to build her fortress of smiles is now the

same one cowering under the blanket.

Even teddy broke a sigh.

You, the luckless shattered soul, have no onus

to hear the cries I screech silent in my head.

Hush now, you are as young as I remembered;

as I pictured; as I find; as I think; as I dream.

You are as innocent as prison calls, as charming

as stars' glow at death. Hush now.

You know, the grand empires you conceive shall never truly

be safe and the majestic castles you raise shall never truly

protect when you are only hesitant to countenance
the entry of the unmelodious serpents.

Two Minds Rhyme Better Than One. Or Not.

Streets sparkling in the sun

My sweat dripping as I quietly run

Thinking.. How is this ever fun?

Paused and decided, "Okay, I'm done!"


By Judith Siegmund & Agnes Lee

Forgiving Yourself

You drown that voice out with white noise.

Pay close attention to the lady in the talk show

or the fat guy dancing. Beer in hand in belly in mind.

Do whatever it takes to drown her!

You fight her like a rebel in an uprising. You speak

speeches of battles and sing songs of war.

Don’t you know most revolutions are snuffed?

Let’s not get too ambitious, she mocks.

Listen to the silence around you. Hear how they scream.

The crickets rubbing their palms in evil laughter, the

frogs croaking for help. Hear the disapproval of the

lake as the light breeze disturbs its peace.

Hear the symphony of nature – the seamless blend

of untainted voices. Pure tones that work in

perfect dissonance. Their lyrics touch your heart

as they touch your skin.

She smiles loudest.

Look at yourself in the mirror. You witness her

critiques through your eyes. Your mouth shaped

wrong and your music’s fogging up the audience.

Do you see the conviction she has?

The conviction to succeed is the same one that

sees you as a non-entity because she does not recognize
failures. If the just world does not acknowledge

the tears on your pillows, Why should I?

You have to believe in salvation; the past should not

define you as much as she makes you think it does. It's not

easy to put so much faith in something so insubstantial but

Acceptance, they say, is the first step.

Arms for Change

For the albinos in Tanzania

What are elbows?

Elbows is the stump on my right as pure as my tears,

as innocent as my screams; a reminder of my darkest past.

My elbow is my hand and my fingers and my hatred.

The pearl-colored sheen reflects our glorious sun.

It represents my blacken spirit, the horrors of men who

denigrate my being with the charcoal in their souls.

My scarlet pains exchanged for their hearty gains,

and my ashy hugs for a couple of emerald bucks.

Why did you make me extraordinary?

Why did I have to be exceptional?

In this world, the uncommon are sold as common goods in the shadows.

I am worshiped as I am discounted.

Dishonor and worthiness are neighbors across a blurred line.

Like a broken snowflake in heat of summer,

my arm sits on a rotting table, waiting to create village legends

that would inspire the generation of more elbow broods.

Thoughtless superstitions.

Do they not know that our hurt is real?

My silver tip reflects the glorious son.

It hardens from the axe that took my agony.

It resolves from the bad that took my anguish.

My Lord, you created me. I burn like the phoenix you intended me to be.

My elbows signify the end of my persecution.

My elbows signify a new beginning for us all.

It is time to hack reckless superstitions off my home.

An Angel's Mirror

Buzzing air breathes spring,
Steaming through brusque bleeding rocks.

I stared down at me. 

The Living Progression - breathe live reflect touch

(the living progression sound)
Dm mm, dm mm, dm mm, dm mm –

the sound of her love.

Dm mm, dm mm, dm mm, dm mm,

red flashes in her face.

Dm mm, dm mm, dm mm, dm mm –

the sound of his passion,

red flashes on his face.

Dm mm, dm mm, dm mm, dm mm,

red flashes in my face.

Dm mm, dm mm, dm mm, dm mm –

the sound of my thoughts.

Dm mm, dm mm, dm mm, dm mm,

red flashes on your face,

the sound of your cries.

Purple Guitar

G chord for starters. Let me sing you a song today.

It’s about love, like how all good songs are, for you, of you.

It will tear you apart and touch your heart. You will beg

and plead and cry. May mercy be bestowed.

Maybe not.

E minor to spice things up. Let us go on a ride to space.

You shuffle amongst the stars. They burn so radiantly, like how all good stars do,
  for us.

You flush with the envy of success, wondering
the intensity of enduring pain they mask to feed the fire.

The molten stomachs that do not churn in the face of fear.

The evaporated veins that do not bleed emotions
but empty promises once made by self to self, aged twelve.

The crumbled bones, shrapnel from war, with nothing left to break,
leaves no trails of cracks.

Yet, a 7^th, you flush in the vacuum you stand, for the vacuum they are within.

You crave for the constellations, trophies of achievements displayed
in the palm of your hands, bright red and searing.
Your artist speaks for yourself.

You drink through your windows, savoring each sip,
never letting cherry lips taste a drop of iced gold.
Your masterpiece of failures built on failure speaks for you.

See, you feel. Feel, you hurt. Breathe, you live.

The ticking at the corner has no meaning to the girl dying inside.

Time stops only for the poor unfortunates to cherish regrets.

Hear, the critics, yourself, muted, so loudly.

Guts twisting to the scribbles pending pen.

Embrace the moon, reflection of your light, as time pauses.

Stars too brilliant implode to massive darkness.

Hold on to yourself, do not get lost in the cadence.

D major.

Music Makers

I closed my eyes and I
soared through the clouds and the mist and the
light of the man-made sun.

Streams; streams flowing from my eyes
as my gut clenches on every note and every
pause.

Steams flowing from my mouth
as I channel them to the house; full of listeners.

I am a performer.

Streams; streams flowing from my heart
as I opened myself to the individual critics.
Feel me. Feel my music. Feel my soul.

Streams flowing down my forehead,
coursing through my arms as my family channeled me.
Channel me. Feel so I can feel. Feel so they can feel.

We are performers.

Our hearts thumping as we stole- first, their ears,
then, their minds, and finally, their whole selves.
Manipulate them like we are puppet masters.
Make them excited, make them fear, make them cry
and feed off their cheers.

We are nothing without them.
They are nothing without us.

We are whole together as a musician and song.
We are whole together as a singer and the choir.
We are whole together as performers and audience.

We are whole together as friends and family.

Burnt

You and I, both volatile.
What were we thinking?
Something. There must have been something
that drew us together like a moth towards the light.
You were mesmerizing,
as long as I didn't look into your eyes,
and I'm sure I was too.

It was ecstasy with you,
as long as I didn't care for anything you.
Like giant fires of passion,
we gravitated towards each other.
You and I, by leaps and bounds.
It was like we were one body.

But that's just it.
We were one body and just the body.
Nothing more but we needed nothing more.

We were so close. So close we clashed so
ever uncomfortably.
Burning each other. Scalding our souls.
That was for questioning more.

Scarred, we dare not venture to further premises again.
All burnt out now, the smoke so suffocating and dark.
There is no more light to guide our way.
I can hardly look at myself.

Alone

The loneliness is driving me crazy.
Life has no color.
Hell, it's not even a silent movie.
Everything has just been reduced to nothing.

I stand in the middle and there is just nothing around me,
mirroring all the crazy thoughts and feelings inside.

I am not numb.
I feel empty.

My heart sinks and sinks and sinks.
I wonder what it would be like in the palm of my hand?
Could I speak to it? Is it still alive?
Could it listen?
I have been listening hard to it but it makes no sound.
The general of the army, that is the whole of me,
has gone down.

Every soldier lost. Gossips everywhere but
I hear nothing.
I stand in the middle and there is just too much going on,
mirroring all the crazy thoughts and feelings inside.

I am not empty.
I feel alone.

The mask dictates

"May I go out?" Stay in, bastard child.
Hide in the shadows. The light is not for you.
You will meet no one. No one.
No one will ever know you exist.
No one will ever hear your voice.
You are nothing.
Go back to your corner and cover your face.
You sicken me.
Move along now.

"Do you love me?" Of course I do.
You embarrass me. Move your ass else I'll kick you.
And shut your face.
Do not talk to me. Turn away.
Your eyes, so innocent, has seen more evil than
any putrid smiles. Trust no one.
Only I can protect you.
Now put on this veil.

"Why do I hide?" To save our face.
Think of what happens when people lay eyes on a bastard
like you? So useless. So unwanted. So incapable
of anything in this world.
This wonderful world is filled with laughter.
Are you happy? I thought so.
Bastards do not have a hint of bliss in them.
You do not belong.
Keep still now or I'll slap your cheek and chain you up.

"Do you want me?" Get down.
You need a whipping to learn your place.
Yes, you will learn like how you have been.
Every lash will let you grow.
It is your food. It is your water.
You crave it, don't you child? "Yes Mam."
Get down. Cover up those scars.
I don't want to see them.
They are disgusting.
You disgust me, love.

Back to the corner. Crawl, if you can.

Good girl. I'll put on your favorite song.
Melancholy, isn't it?
Hum it for me at the back of my head.
That's nice. You are a sweet little thing.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Deafening silence

From a mother's diary about her deaf child

Tick tock. Tick tock ring.
Ring. Riinng. Riiinnng!
Yawn. Splitting headache.
Riiiinnnng! I jump to my feet,
Rub my eyes and wipe the
wetness on the ends of my gown.
Birds are chirping outside, mocking
me; mocking her and her lack of sound.

She sleeps peacefully beside,
a smile on her face.
I use one so often, it's a tool
just a hand stretch away.
I stroke her hair and carcass her cheek.
I smell her scent; she smells
like the soap I use. I listen to her
breathing, as sweet as church bells.

She used to be special, not abnormal, until
her certified protector went insane.
My ring represented his promises but
now embodies her suffering and my pain.
I regret the first push that gave her
life. I regret the final push that took
it. Her piercing scream; her last word
eloped with my ability to look
through dry eyes. Sniff.

I snapped out of my daze. Riiinnng!
A myriad of noises all around me.
Yet, her silence is most deafening.

Perfect imperfections

There is something, I swear,

that is the size of a tic-tac.

Tiny. Real tiny, yet so powerful.

It overwhelms me and swallows

me whole as if I were nothing.

Nothing.

It wasn't supposed to hurt so bad.

It wasn't supposed to hurt at all.

But I was there and she was there.

They were there too and it happened.

The world enclosed and I was the

only one with the subtle screaming

of my heart as my hands caressed

the unique texture of my result

slip.

I had planned to be pleasantly surprised.

This was not expected. No.

"If only I had another A, I'd be

satisfied". Yea right. If I had

another A, I would have asked for

another. Now I'm left feeling beaten

down over something as small as

a tic-tac.

What am I going to do now? Dates are

passing without waiting for me. Cruel

cruel time. The independent being.

I do not want to diminish

the meaning and significance of the

Harikiri, but I feel as though I

somewhat understand how much

shame can influence you.

That much.

What I cannot comprehend is my

inability to let this go. Everything

seems so surreal. Not a dream

but a figment of my imagination.

It is coming across as if providence

doesn't exist.

This is ironic, I guess, since I'm

agnostic. I've never shied away

aggressively from religion. I believe

I've probably been waiting for

something that would convince me

totally. This isn't it.

But who am I kidding? I wouldn't

have been urged towards God

if I had done well either. I'm

in a mess.

I just wish someone would tell

me what to do, that is,

of course, in accordance to what

I want.

I know I am going against the

norm all because I am afraid.

I am afraid that I cannot make it

to the norm; that I cannot make it

in the norm; that I cannot make it

out of the norm.

And, I guess, what I really

fear is that I would be part of

the norm and un-special.

I didn't stand out this time

and so I need to rectify that

by coming back with something others do not have due to the

very fact that they were better

than me in this horrid play

of fate.

I have to go overseas and be

different. My parents do not

understand my burning need

to be apart from everyone.

The more my mum tells me about

being like the rest, the more

agitated I get by the fact that

I was going to end up as a

robot of this society.

Studying abroad gives me the

opportunity to be different from

the society there and allows me

to be differentiated from the

rest of the people that the

Singapore education system tries to

produce.

Looking at a self-portrait of myself

now. It is a little bit deformed, due to

my lack of artistic- genius genes,

and it looks a tat bit abstract.

The fake smile; the sad eyes.

The nose looks perfect though.

As a whole, that picture is indeed,

perfect.

That's what I need to be now.

I am a little bit disoriented, I admit.

However, I need to put on a smile

to hide my crying emotions and

carry on with life. I'll let my

nose lead the way; make the

necessary decisions now and

wait for the next miracle to happen.