everything hurts

How do you say?

I'm sorry.
I'm sorry I was rude.
I'm sorry I scoffed at you when you said
you keep your promises.
I'm sorry that I no longer believe you
I'm sorry that you're a liar.
I'm sorry that maybe things aren't working that well.
I'm sorry that I feel this bad.
I'm sorry that I don't respect you.

Let's play a game.
Whatever is said won't matter.

Hi,
you're supposed to be my role model.
So tell me.
how the fuck can you see your wife suffer?
how the hell can you not see us, frustrated?
I cannot lie.
That is why I will never talk.
For my words will be coined "disrespectful"
but truth be told,
I'm so tired of trying to prove to you that I'm Something.
When all you have done
is nothing.

The Redemption

I hate squelchy shoes,
the soggy socks wrinkle your toes
and the puddles that turn you shoes grey
resulting in the slippery glide of your feet,
trying to get a grip.

I love the smell of rain,
I don't care what it's called.
I love it.
The crisp freshness of the air
fills your nostrils as the wind blows
calling and announcing the arrival
of the shower.

I hated the sorrow poured from the clouds.
I hated how they looked upon us,
and we had to bear their tears,
laced with pity.
The shame that thudded against us,
soaked through the cotton threads
and slipped across our skin.
Drenching our hair
and drowning our souls.
While we seek the freedom and fail,
we walk.
Droplets become drips
which become streaks
and after,
you can't tell the raindrops apart.

If you look out a window,
on a rainy day,
you can see how they fall.
Long needles that shoot straight down,
or blurs that dance with greyish white waves
among the torrents
as wind blows through.


But today.
Today the rain caresses,
washes away the animosity.
The winds pick up my soul
and peg them onto the curve of my shoulders,
and leave my legs free to dance.
The water,
forming puddles that I do not care to avoid,
making my shoes squelchy and grey.
The post-shower drizzle drips down
and slips off my hair, face and body.
Washing away the hate rubbed into my skin.
So I can finally see the light.

Give Me Love

It isn't a book.

People ask me where I find the time to do all of this. 

And the thing is, 

I never knew. 

I just did it. 

Was it anger?

Was it the repression that I couldn't express?

Maybe.

Because I realised the weeks that are filled with colour,

were filled with such frustration. 

Such pain. 

And I didn't have anything to pour myself into.

So I bled ink onto this.

The thin, delicate flesh that is the replica of my thoughts. 

I didn't find time to do this,

because I never need to.

I didn't find time to do this,

because time found its way,

to my fingers.

To my pens and markers.

There was never a need to find time,

because the book became a need.

The book,

kept me sane. 

Because what I see isn't the brown in your eyes,
the brown that carries the depth of turning grass to concrete.
the brown that has seen too much
but knows too little.
What I see isn't how your irises shine in the sunlight,
it isn't your soul.
Because the windows are shut;
and I see the cold hard reflection that is me.
Do the eyes we share engrave our fates into our blood?
Because I fear I have lost my soul. 

Because what I fear isn't the inability to give,
but the awareness that maybe giving isn't enough anymore.
As if being tied with ribbon,
and wrapped with pretty paper
would conceal the roughness of the bricks.
The heavy "presents" that you lay on top of each other for me,
until I couldn't see your hands,
and so I couldn't give you anything back.
Are your hands rough from the scratches attained
from wrapping the bricks?
I can't see the sunlight that shines,
and I've outgrown my clothes.
But please don't tear this down.
Because I fear it would be winter,
and I would be cold.

I'm Not That Kind Of Person

F, I know you read this. You're probably the only one that knows it's still alive/comatose. I read yours, because it was on fb- what a great friend am I ey? This post isn't about you changing schools. It's about the post before. Ironic isn't it, we're both 2 different ends of stick, both trying, hard, to the middle. To what's considered "normal" or "hot".

It's sick how girls now want all their ribs to show to feel beautiful. It's weird how guys are consuming all kinds of unnatural powders to build muscle mass. I'm lazy to go on. it's 2 examples, but we both know how this will go on forever.

The people in my class are perfectly happy with their bodies. They're not size zeros. They range. Skinny and tall, skinny and short, fat and tall, fat and short. And they accept it. They love their bodies they way people should.

"People that go on diets are stupid." -this fat girl said it. And I'm not even angry. She doesn't care that she's fat. She's bigger than me. But she doesn't care. And I'm upset because I kept quiet, because I guess I'm ashamed. Because I don't know how long it has been since I've eaten something and felt good about it. Even if it's salad. I don't know how many times I curse myself because I don't ache enough from the workout I did the day before. Was it not intense enough? I don't know how many times I repeat my clothes because there are so few that I'm convinced I don't look that fat it. Stockings- the thicker the better in Singapore heat- to hide my fat thighs. Cardigans that don't cling to your body- which hides my arms just so I can wear a tank top because I'm bored of t shirts. Hoodies make my tummy look bigger. Leggings make me look shorter. Jeans- apparently the miracle worker that stretches your legs- are the enemy, they make me look hopelessly short with the weirdest ass.Shorts that never fit well. Basic T-shirts that make me look so fucking bloated. So let's face it. Nothing looks good.

I don't know, F, it used to be easy to think you're beautiful just like everyone else. How is it that they can feel so good about themselves? What's their secret? I watch all the youtube videos on the different workouts that you can do. I eat healthy. Low carb, exercise, no sweet drinks, just tea or water. All these things and sometimes it doesn't feel like I'm living anymore, you know?

I don't know what this post was about, I guess it's a half rant, half-

I get it. The pain. I got the other side of the stick, but we got into the same shit huh?

I'm here. Any time you need me, I'm here. We'll go to Fika's and you can have half of what I'm eating plus your pasta bake.

I wasn't easy.
I really don't know how you managed to make me feel better. Even when I felt like all hope is lost, you were there. Guiding me. Talking to me. Ensuring me that all will be fine. So it didn't matter. It didn't matter because I didn't need the world as long as you believed in me. And you did. And so, I did. I knew I was good enough because you showed me that I was. And I worked. Hard. To show you: you were right ma. I don't have to listen to the others. To those foolish people who thought I was stupid. I knew I wasn't, I knew I could do whatever I want if I put my heart to it. I knew it, because you said it.

It didn't matter if I didn't believe in myself. You did. And that was enough.

I worked hard. To get the grades. Which I got. To get the course. Which I didn't.

Why did you lie?

What happened to doing whatever I want?  All of a sudden, you didn't believe in my judgement? All of a sudden, this dream of mine that I've been carrying with me is bogus?

The funny thing is, after a while, I thought it was too. A phase. A pathetic day dream that would pass. Because I didn't do anything about it. I didn't work in the holidays because I felt like I've already worked for a year. What kind of passion is this when I never do anything about it. So have I been lying to myself? All this time, all that I knew, all that was me. Was that a lie?

What dream? I don't believe in dreams anymore. Why?

You taught me that dreams are lies.

I'm so tired of planning for the future. Not being able to plan for things because what if I get this, what if this happens, what if it doesn't, then I'd have to do that.

I want to be young and free.

Je Ne Regrette Rien

fuck.
I always thought about the big events in my life and how that affected me. and honestly, I didn't think it did me any harm. I always came out a stronger person. But I always walk out of interviews or classes thinking that I could have said this. I could have said that.

Damn.
It's like why can't I organise the things in my mind when I speak? Why must everything be so cluttered and messy up there? I need this.

I need this.

I don't know.

Je parle vite parce que je pense que je ne compte pas.

Am I a better person, when I'm not happy?

Peace and Safety

this was supposed to be simple.
I cannot fathom or comprehend how much I miss them.
It's hard letting go and adapting to the new world
when I'm going back twice a week.
I don't know.

I hate the judgemental things you say.
Just because people don't meet up to the bar you set,
doesn't mean they're not human.
so fuck you.
fuck you for thinking you're so fucking perfect.
so what if someone is fatter than you,
or louder than you,
or cannot sing as well as you.

stop it. stop fucking saying every fucking thing that comes to your mind.
Stop telling me these things as if I agree or condone it.

I don't care what you think of them.
I don't want to look at these 3 years and say.
I felt worthless, or
that I didn't have a chance to know my peers
because you didn't want to socialise with people
you felt weren't good enough for your standards.

it's supposed to be simple.

Starsky

I don't know.

It's getting annoying.

One year.

Again.

This class better be good.

I Want To Move Out

Je suis ici pour vous

Mère,

Je voudrais vous dire combien je suis mal que vous avez dit que j'étais paresseux.J'étais tellement en colère. Vous ne voyez pas comment je fais tout tout seul? Bien sûr,vous n'avez pas. Nous ne voyons pas plus entre elles. Vous n'êtes pas ici quand je suiset vice-versa. Ce n'est pas une maison plus, la mère. Et vous avez toujours le faire. Vous devenez en colère et amer et me donner l'épaule froide, car j'ai élevé la voix. Maispourquoi devrais-je présenter des excuses lorsque tu me fais me déteste.

I feel like I'm waiting for you to break my heart.

F and D

one 10 and another 8.

here's to another 60.

well,

for one 40. =)

you guys can be so annoying.

but you guys.

were here for me

when I didn't know where to turn,

or go but down.

you guys saw the signs.

and saved me.

Thank you guys.

Je vous aime, mes ami.

Stop Bitching, Start a Revolution.

Je pense que la raison pour laquelle je suis attiré par elle, c'est parce que, elle se tient belle et innocente dans ce monde laid.

Should I have gone?

Should I not have come up with some stupid excuse like dinner?

Part of me wonders,

is this the last time I'll meet you guys?

I can't bear to look at you,

or talk to you,

to be in the same room as you.

It makes me uncomfortable.

Like I'm violated.

then thing is,

you did nothing wrong.

What happened, girl?

What happened,

to sharing everything.

what happened,

to no judgement,

just understanding was enough.

just listening.

Shit.

The world really screwed you over didn't it?

All too blinded by success and the fear of failure.

fear of

suffering;

poverty;

the unknown.

Until we're too fucking oblivious to see that we're freaking mindless automatons.

Living life without risk.

Then what's the point?

what's the point

of waking up in the morning

if all you do is the same old thing that you despise.

the thing that promised the material happiness that came with sticking to the rules, and the late nights studying, for what?

To ace a test based on a historian's beliefs on what is fact and what isn't?

Who are we trying to please?

the examiner?

our teachers?

parents?

when the hell do we stop and ask ourselves,

who is going to please me?

when am I actually living,

for myself?

How do we move forward,

when we're so stuck on the past?

yes,

we should learn from our mistakes,

but we cannot look forward when we don't turn our heads around.

or lift it up from a book.

When you're studying,

do you memorise?

do you understand?

maybe you don't memorise it, and you study it by understanding it.

but do you question why you're studying it?

why you are sacrificing 2 hours of your sleep

trying to connect the dots

of why you should multiply before you subtract?

why am I learning about things that make people tick,

when everyone is different?

now,

I ask you this.

When we were young,

out parents asked us to dream, big.

What happened to that?

Do they still tell you to do that?

Do they tell you to be practical?

Why did they lie?

Croz,

tell me I'm not worthless.

I want to hate you. If it makes this easier. I don't. I can't.

promise I'm worth it?

what happened?

I used to know.

I knew what I wanted.

so clearly.

I can see it.

a bit.

just out of my reach.

a little bit.

"what are the chances?"

high.

but low.

"have you gotten the news?"

no.

I'll check on Friday.

"it's friday"

No. They haven't sent it.

"call them"

no.

I hate it.

I hate how much power this has over me.

I hate that you can't give me a fucking exact date

or a fucking way to check the results.

fuck.

I dont.

fuck.

what if I don't.

Hypocrite. Filthy hypocrite.

Let's cause a scene,

like lovers do

on silver screens.

Fuck.

who am I supposed to give you advice,

about how you should care about what people think,

about your insecurities?

about eating healthy and loving your body.

about exercising.

about you not eating.

when all I want to do is puke every time I eat?

how it hurts when I see you getting smaller,

when I run

jump

crunch

stretch

diet

eat healthy

include fibre

remove fat

cut down carbo

fuck.

and I stay here.

reaching over.

tipping the scale oh so slowly.

who am I to give you advice on how to lose weight healthily

when all I want to do is just starve myself.

see how low I can go.

how I tell anyone and everyone how you're being affected.

how you guys think you're "just saying her"

fuck.

when all I want to do is just give up.

I'm disgusting.

Be professional. No one is perfect. I am more than my anger. I am more than my fear. You are human. You cannot harm me. I will love you for my 2 hours.


Croz,
I'm scared.
What would you do?








I'm more than this. I can see past it all, and I will come through.

It's my last show.
Do
It
Well.

Am I really good enough?

what if I don't make it?

All or Nothing

but you made your way back home,

you sold your soul

like a Roman bag of bones.

Because you made me feel like I'm worth something.

Because you saved me.

If we were drifting apart,

I miss you.

you saved me from myself.

I am good enough.

I am worth something.

I am more than my oppression.

Is my darkness my comfort?

my addiction.

it's been there for so long,

Who am I without it?

Croz,

did you help me

because of my plight

and that you felt sorry for me?

or did you actually think I was good enough?

you said that I wasn't worthless.

and that I had to stop thinking that way.

I didn't tell anyone that.

so did you see it in my eyes?

am I worthy of your help?

am I as important?

should I be heard?

If I Stand Alone

Que Suis-je, en dehors de cette dépression.

mindset

l'amour est le bouton magique

I never told anyone.
And yet you knew.
You looked at me
And knew.

que je ne peux pas regarder au-delà mon oppression. que je suis en dépression à cause de la croyance que je ne suis pas assez bon.

Why is happiness still a struggle?

The fear of possibility