dear you,

i guess this is the explanation you were waiting for, and the apology you’re never going to get.

i’m sorry for putting my foot down this time, when i’ve been giving in to you all this while. i gotta break it to you, you’re not getting your way with me anymore.

i’m sorry that i’m no longer the needy princess you want to protect, that i’m not the type of clingy you’d prefer. for god’s sake, i’m sorry, that all i’ve been is myself, and yet that simply isn’t enough.

i’m sorry that i stayed away. it’s my fault, really, for feeling so suffocated when all you did was demand to spend more time with me. i’m sorry for running away when things progressed too quickly, for not being ready. how could i not be, when you were so insistent, so confident? i mean, i told you i loved you too, right? and i know you’ll ask, doesn’t that mean something?

but i’m sorry that my definition of love isn’t the same as yours. i’m sorry that i’m not the perfect person you thought i’d be.

one thing i’m sure of though — at the end of the day, i’m not sorry for what went down. because of my decisions, i’ve learnt to live through the pain. i’ve become a better person, i’ve found friends i can depend on. i’ve learnt that we can’t please the world, and regardless of your opinion of me, i don’t live to revolve around you. this is where our story ends.

thank you, next.






old habits … die hard

they say it takes 21 days
to break a habit
but they don’t know
a thing about me
when it comes to you. 

you’re still the first person
i turn to, immediately
when i have something
to share, or vent
but then it hits me. 

i remember that we aren’t
on speaking terms, no;
close anymore, not really;
each other’s number one
… i mean– well, probably not.

i told myself i’m done
i’m over it, i
don’t need you around.
but the truth is
i think i always will. 

my heart still feels like
it’s been stabbed deep
every time i look over
and realise that you’re
on the phone, texting … laughing. 

as if out of habit
or simply pure instinct
i look at my phone
expecting your contact name
to flash across my screen.

but that was the past
and now that person
aka, your number one
she ain’t me anymore.
seems like i need to

stop pining, stop missing you
and remember that it
was me who wanted
to end this all.
i am my own downfall. 


sometimes i close my eyes, just to take a break from this world. out of sight, out of mind.

sometimes i take a deep breath, just so i remind myself that i’m alive. breathe in 4, hold for 7 … breathe out 8.

sometimes i destroy things, just to burn away the stress into ashes. break it down, break it up.

sometimes i just get this sense of impending doom — help, i don’t know what to do. 

sometimes i get all panicky out of the blue, and it takes so much effort to pull myself back in. so much so, that sometimes, i wish i could just disappear. i wish i could just float away — i’m so, so tired.

an unfinished draft

i think … i think you broke something in me that day. i used to be able to write freely. when speech failed me, when my limbs were numb, it was all i could do not to grab a piece of paper and a pen; grab anything. the words … they demanded to be let out, to be put in black-and-white somewhere, anywhere. i let the ink spill from my heart — a form of bloodshed, if you’d like. writing, it was my only solace. i could explain myself to myself, and i could find a way to make things right again. i didn’t talk to anyone about how i felt, i didn’t want to burden others. journalling became the one thing i kept for myself, the single part of me that was for me alone.

and you took it from me. something in me changed that day, as if a cord snapped and broke my ability to express my thoughts coherently. now … everything is in pieces. when my life was a mess in the past, the only thing that remained crystal clear was the feelings i translated into words. but i’ve been feeling anxious recently … and for the first time in a long time, words failed me. i start something, only to realise i don’t know where i’m going with this piece. i ramble off-tangent, before realising that i’m really just going in circles. i’m spiraling into a tornado of my own thoughts, and there’s nothing to anchor me down. i’m tired, my friend. i’m so tired, and i no longer have the words to express it anymore. 

i know this is irrational of me. but please, you took my innocence and fractured it. you took my heart and played it. i forgave you time and time again … i just wish you’d give me back that ability to feel, to write again —

Ask me why I still hug my teddy bear to sleep. Ask me why I wear a jacket nearly all the time, even in summer. Ask me why I seem so tired nowadays. Ask me why my room is in a mess. Ask me why, my life is falling apart.

And I’ll tell you — everything. If only you’d listen.

I’m afraid to sleep alone. I’m scared that everyone around me will pack up their things and leave in the middle of the night. So I hug a stuffed animal, as a replacement for human comfort.

Of course I feel hot in those hoodies. But I’m ashamed. Ashamed of those scars that rake my arms, that define my past.

I don’t just look tired, I am tired. But I have a default answer — I don’t know. I guess it’s the lack of sleep.

I don’t have the energy to tidy it up. No one is going to see my room. No one comes over anyways, not anymore.

Why, do you think that my life isn’t messed up enough? Do you want to ruin it further in the name of fixing me? Spin me around, take me for a joyride, and then just leave?

… but you don’t ask; you don’t really need an answer from me, do you? Because deep down, you know my answer will be you. It’s always been you.


i swore i was over you. you said you moved on.

but one of us was lying, and it’s you, no?

i wanted to ask you something today. i took a deep breath and turned towards you. but i never did say anything. i merely swallowed and walked past you, like i’ve done so many times this year. pretending you don’t exist.

but this time, it was different. you were with her, laughing and talking. that smile that never quite reached your eyes was so bright today. i couldn’t, just couldn’t force my feet in your direction.

burning bridges even before they’re built — i guess that’s the angle you’re going for huh?

i strode away, head held high, earphones plugged in. as if i hadn’t a care in the world, as if a million thoughts weren’t racing through my mind.

that was the day i realised — it’s me who was dishonest, and has been ever since. the girl who convinced herself desperately, telling herself white lies in hopes of them becoming truths one day.

i guess it’s time i stop lying, for real.


missing you

i’ve come to realise, that i can’t forget you.
or more likely, i don’t want to.

today i found an old card beneath my books
dated earlier this year, your birthday to be exact.
i would have given it to you, i swear (really, I would)
if only we were still on speaking terms.

hidden inside a stack of papers
amongst a cloud of dust (now you can’t have it, you have asthma.)
left on its own, determined to be forgotten
a deliberate reminder that you’re not here anymore.

i took it out and i read it
oh, stupid foolish little me.
you can’t read it, i’m embarrassed
it’s too trashy, too needy.

each line is punctuated with a memory
a hazy dream i worked to forget.
but now the mental block is removed
and i see us, crystal clear.

stop. make it stop. i don’t want to remember. god—

the recollections flood my head
wait … we were still friends then, weren’t we?
though i remember saying it slipped my mind
(as if i could forget your birthday.)

because truth be told
perhaps all i’m doing is making excuses
to hold on to this flimsy thing
this childish declaration of love

for perhaps it is the only reminder
of your existence
of what we once had
and what i wish we still had.



(image credits: google)

“Grandma, will you tell me the story of the rainbow again?”


She reclined back in her armchair, the colour swirls of her cotton dress nearly merging with the grey of the chair as she sank in. Patting the dark grey carpeted ground next to her, she nodded to the young boy standing shyly in a corner.


He moved to sit next to her and tucked himself into the crook of her arm, glancing out of the window at the monochrome world outside. He let his eyes sweep the horizon, watching a familiar dark ball – nearly black – rise from the sea and paint the sky in hues of grey.


“The days of colour, those were the days of the past.


There was red, the colour of passion and love

The colour that once exploded out of the sun

At the break of dawn and the time of dusk.

It was the occasional blush creeping up your cheeks

That involuntary release of adrenaline

When you face mortification, or … perhaps a potential partner.

But it was also the colour of blood

The red streaks that stained the earth as countless civilians fell

Collateral damage from a war long past.


Next came orange, a mildly truculent connotation

Of enthusiasm and mischief.

It was the energy of childish innocence

A stamp of optimism in our lives.

Orange was a balance between red and yellow;

Between hot-headed intensity, and the warmth of faith and trust.

Though there was burnt orange too,

A putrid intensification of our pride.

It was the colour of rising tensions attempting to break the surface

Somehow managing to restrain, to keep the cauldron boiling.


And then we had yellow,

The brightness of sunshine and the hope that likely followed.

It was the dandelion in the spring

Dancing in the shadows of morning light.

The colour of the ribbon tied around a tree,

The joy and happiness of a new shot at life.

Yet a mustard shade of yellow

With its dull caution and deceit

Soon plagued the minds of people

Sharpening the knives we often twisted

Into hearts that aren’t ours.


Green was the colour of all things in nature

Especially the grass, just after a burst of rain.

It was the colour of the traffic light

That signalled the safety of the roads.

A four-leafed clover amongst the forested lands

Denoting days of good luck, soon to befall mankind.

But if you looked a little closer,

You could feel something a little more sinister

For green was representative of the concept of jealousy –

The bubbling envy you feel against another better.

Our dollar notes were green, for the colour too meant money

And ambition and greed, easily consuming human thoughts

Destroying our lives, bit by bit.


B is for blue, the colour of the sky

The first thing you would have noticed perhaps

When you gazed intently above.

It was also the colour of the sea

The calming waves of quiet anticipation;

The symbolism of intellect and power

Of nature’s tranquility and composure.

But as the intensity increased, it was the raging storm inside

A turbulence of emotions, shattered glass bits of peace.

It was the colour our skin tone changed

When we couldn’t breathe

A common cause of a chosen death

Suicide of young and old.


And then there’s indigo – the deep midnight blue

A powerful show of love, of sincerity and service.

A rare and valuable crystal, a spiritual realization

A colour rarely used, but nevertheless strong

For it represents integrity, a value once respected

And even till now – a moral compass is needed.

Indigo being the colour of mystery,

Fortune-telling tents were painted that way.

Humans being humans, we easily fell prey

To the mystical trances that claimed of clairvoyance

But more often than not, merely led to depressive moods.


And finally there was violet

A colour unrelated to precious metal

But symbolized the last step towards

The end of the rainbow, towards the potted gold

And true that was, for violet means destiny and fate –

A future of imagination, a future of dreams.

Yet however inspirational violet may seem

Her immaturity and cynicism was bound for trouble.

Associations with royalty created delusions of grandeur

What power she had, would eventually corrupt.


And so the gods realized

Their underestimation of colours

With the power to control the minds of all beings

Alive or not, their implications were too risky

And so with determination,

The colours were removed.


And thus today we live in a society of grey

Of black and white, of conformist uniformity.

With only these 3 colours left, our stories are dull

But what they didn’t realize

Was that though the colours were gone

The memories were not.


So here’s the story of the days of happiness,

The days of sorrow, and the days of anger.

The days when the world was still a beauty

A whirlwind of colours, a pretty kaleidoscope.

Those were the days, of a better world

Sometimes ravaged by war, but nevertheless

Certainly much more meaningful than now.


That, my dear, is the story of your rainbow. Those were the days I deeply miss and cherish, for it was a definite shock to wake up and find everything lost. I hope you’ll learn to love your life now, for it might not have colours, but at least it has love – a transparent language – and for us I guess, love is enough.”


gosh ,, something that rhymes for once LOL

we are a generation of fighters; suited all in black

in relentless condemnation for the maturity we apparently lack.

his armour seems indestructible; his skin’s his only shield;

the war paint on her face; emotional scars still unconcealed.

they see us as mere degenerates, beyond humanity’s hope.

permanent stains of contempt ineradicable, even with soap.

desperate to prove that we’re more than just medicated brains,

some march to the front and raise their guns of pain

while others grow up and pass on their festering self-hate.

finger on the trigger, they realize it too late

kids crumple to the floor,

in a pool of traumatising

                                                         g o r e.


i remember when he spoke of his big dreams,

yet now I hear only silent screams.

when she eagerly showed me her Barbie dolls;

yet now I see only her built-up walls.

all that seems so long ago,

memories we just can’t seem to let go.

headlines flashing, the news is spreading.

desires for change, inspired by the tears you’re shedding.

a spark of hope within our hearts

an increasing fiery abyss, all in fits and starts.

but your drizzles of scorn and disregard

escalates into a hurricane – our minds are left scarred.

you recycle their ashes into charts and pages

full-length reports, peppered with images.

newspaper articles read and dismissed,

case files shut as they cease to

                                                                       e x i s t.


we are still a generation of fighters; suited all in black

but we raise our hands in surrender, no longer trying to fight back.

please wake up, and understand

you think you know us like the back of your hand.

you’re so, so wrong – for these perceived notions

do nothing but rid us of our emotions.

please, I plead with you, lay down your knives

help to save some innocent lives.

double-edged sword

(inspiration from a poet i once came across on instagram)

they tell us that we cannot always follow our heart

and never will

true love

be as important to us as

monetary wealth

never will

we choose relationships over money

in the end

we seek the joys in life and

after all,

money can purchase affection and happiness

and it’s a lie that

love can withstand even the darkest of days

we should believe that

no one ever means it when they say “I love you”

do you honestly think that

we should choose love instead of riches

(now read from the bottom to the top)