Pictured above: My Father, who kept loving me when I forgot to love him.
Performed at the Foodrama Poetry Slam 2017, Organised by Word Forward, at Blu Jaz Cafè.
My dad never understood why I hated eating kueh. I spent 7 years forcing kuehs down my throat, long since learning that resistance was futile.
I used to run to my dad for a hug the moment he got home. My dad called me a little “Tau sah piah”, because those were my favourite words for a while.
I wonder what happened to those years. I haven’t eaten kueh in a long time.
Continue reading “A Pocket Full of Kueh”
Performed at the Blue Man Poetry Slam, performance here
I have been swimming in an ocean of exhaustion
Fatigue has set it at last and I blame depression.
So I signed up for a slam
But I hadn’t written anything relevant to the slam
So I’d just list things that are blue.
Continue reading “The Blue Slam Bam”
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”
– Performed at the Mad Bad Sad Glad Love Poetry Slam, organised by Word Forward Singapore. My performance can be found on YouTube here.
Last night I deleted his number from my phone. I erased all traces of his existence from my gallery, cleaned out the remnants of memory still stuck between other relevant memories, like left over food caught in teeth.
Continue reading “Ghost Town”
Picture was taken from the inside of his house
I remember the bed shaking, trembling with the sounds of a fight. I remember how the walls exploded, my fists bleeding from having been clenched too tight. I held back, my tongue a blunt knife awaiting the sharpening stone.
Continue reading “From His Perspective – Broken”
Sometimes, depression is quiet. It is as silent and unmoving as a rock on the shore of a beach. Then the tide comes in. Then it is no longer depression, but anxiety.
But sometimes, depression is quiet. I liken it to living in a house full of water. See, when Anxiety is in the house causing chaos and breaking everything and hurting every houseguest, the flood is the last of my worries. But when anxiety is on vacation, the water is at my ankles, and it is raining in this flat. Depression sits in the corner, silent, unmoving, unfeeling.
Continue reading “A Storm In My Head”
Lying awake at 4.05 a.m.
I come to a very mundane conclusion
Of a fact that glared me in the face with too much conviction
And I can’t help but think that same thought over and over
Without really meaning to draw attention to the triviality of the matter
“Ah, I’m really lonely”
For once, I felt the weight of language sitting atop my tongue
Waiting for a scream.