To My Acne

– For the constellations and craters that call my face “Home”.

you litter my face like stardust
in conversations with the mirror
there you are, shining bright red
like you are signalling to the world
“come land here!”
but really, you’ve accomplished the opposite.

we have been through a lot together,
like that time you showed up on my nose
on the day of our class photo
you were always there for me

in spite of the Hiruscar and Proactiv
in spite of the face scrubs
and Shiseido sheet masks
you were just always there, you stubborn trooper.

when you and menstruation came to dance
it was always so mesmerising
every sensual rake my nails brought across you
menstruation reminded us that
you will always be a part of me

nevermind the itching
nevermind the redness
nevermind the constant reminders from my mother to slather more chemicals on my face
you are the companion no one asked for
you are reason for every “You’d be so pretty if”
you are why every morning is a constant battle to feel beautiful

but jokes on you, acne,
because i am beautiful.
my reflection is not the enemy
and neither are you.

the enemy is within me-
and i have emerged victorious.

We Wear Glasses To See Better

Written for Day 4 of Singapore Poetry Writing Month: The Haterade Prompt:

Write a love poem to an aspect of yourself that you hate. Or at the very least get annoyed by. Or at least wish you could change. This could be something about yourself that scares, angers, disgusts, or disappoints you. This could be a bad habit, condition, physical attribute, something you used to believe in the past, something you did in the past, someone you fear becoming in the future. Think about how this affects you. Does it harm you or others? How? If not, what caused you to hate it? If it were a person, who would it be? What would your life be like if it was changed?

I wrote two poems for this prompt. One about my acne, and one about girls who hate their face in glasses. The form used for this poem was a Ghazal.

——————————————–

Girl ponders over a prom invitation, dreams of Boy
cries in her sleep, wishes to be whole

Boy wanders the halls, thinks it echoes
smiles at her, she feels whole

Girl shivers when thunder eats her, wishes for Boy
to save her, but she isn’t whole

Boy considers the umbrella, wants to fall
but she wears glasses, but he wishes she was whole

Girl smoulders with the kindling, squints at Boy
she says goodbye to eyesight, forgets to feel whole

Boy shoulders past Girl, scoffs at her face
she is not enough, yet he swallows her whole

Girl ponders over the prom invitation, dreams of Boy
she wonders if this is what it is, to be whole

Boy wanders the halls, thinks it echoes
smiles at girls who don’t smile back, wishes they weren’t whole

Girl shudders as the world refocuses, and he is blurry
but she is not empty without him, instead, she is whole.

Dead To Me

Pictured: My Ball-Jointed doll, Mindy. 

Submitted on Day 26 of #SingPoWriMo2017

She shimmered under the moonlight, your fingertips brushed over her rivers and valleys, the dip and rise of her mountains, forests and hills. And you breathed hot air on her neck, straining yourself to fit your hands around all of her, trying to hold everything you wanted closer.

I like to think that she had died in your arms. It’s comforting, in a way, to know that she had disappeared together with my memory of you. I’d like to think of her self-destruction as the moment you took her into your arms.

Continue reading “Dead To Me”

VI

vi

For the girl who loved him, and hated me for loving him.

His footsteps are earthquakes ringing in my ears,
And adrenaline runs higher and higher with every step.
There is a rush that comes with freedom, with anti-gravity,
One that only I can know.

And you, half-blind, scrawl curses into my name,
Wishing for something you cannot have,
For the thing I refuse to let go of,
Not to posess but to protect.

Continue reading “VI”