there’s a stack of books tucked in the corner of my drawer
what’s that? my sister, she wanted to see
what rests in those dog-eared pages?
how do i begin
~
They sky was a dull grey, the sun a lifeless orb
An echo of the whirlwind of emotion swirling in me
As I stood there, refusing to believe it
Her face, weak but smiling softly, looked up at me, her eyes meeting mine
Photograph
You brought me back again
I am sixteen with fears of hurting others.Fears of not being good enough.Fears of losing those I love.But with you, I am a toddler, a child, a baby.No cryptic deep eyes to hide tears,to hide pain.No fears of hurting others.Fears of not being good enough…
All my life I have hated orange juice. I pick apple juice over orange juice on every flight I’ve ever boarded, and I’ve been travelling since I was 2 years old. Even when I started associating apple juice with the feeling of airsickness and eventually felt nausea at the mere thought of it, I still chose…
restless, i sat,
waiting for the clock to strike 5.
only then, was i allowed to dash out of my home,
down a flight of stairs, across the field, stairs, past the pool, stairs, around the bend
2 long but little things
that my parents wish to throw out of the window with every golden opportunity they can find, at its ridiculousness of it still being around after all this time.
-
at the tender age of 6 i sat
in front of the Schumann mahogany
painstakingly matching the tadpole-like crotchets
to the black and white keys
Under a layer of armor
Colored brown and yellow
It lay
A weapon, my weapon
Held within the arms of my embrace
like a predator sniffing out the prey
i widen my nasal passages
allowing that scent to trigger
my olfactory sensory neurons
nostalgia slams into my face
The world seems kinder when you’re perched atop the breakwater as the wind gently pulls our hair free from behind our earsand catches the grains of sand tumbling off our legsWe speak in a hush as we watch the sun we had come to meet do its thingIt doesn’t rise from below the sea like we…
i wield you high
my fingers curl around your shaft
so naturally, it feels grafted to my skin.
i wield you steady
Dear music studio,
I remember when you first took me in,yellow lights overlooking me andcertificates on your walls overshadowing me.And I thought "I am just a girlwho loves to sing."
My grandma’s house has marble tiles, so the floor is always cool. I clearly remember lying stomach-down on the big empty space in front of the door, playing with Lego sets or doodling cartoon characters. There are arrangements of fake flowers in random corners, much like in my own house…
Believe me I tried I traversed the archivesof my childhood mementoshoping my gaze would hitch on some relic of old that would fill me with nostalgia and the desireto put pen to paper and write about the object of my affections
the library
my first memory of it:
the tall shelves stocked with
rows
upon rows
upon rows of
books, their hides worn and
we arrived at our airbnbs a little before dusk, and i could barely form coherent thoughts. the excitement and anticipation vigorously bubbling through me.
the time had come, and i hurriedly jogged over to the meetup point, my footsteps in rhythm with my pounding heart. i remember…
The sky was pitch black outside, all dark but the twinkling of fairy lights strewn across the balcony and the glitter of streamers. White, gold. Red, green.A cool breeze blew and my hair was messed up further.I walked back inside and closed the doors behind me.
a white horse
a shining knight
riding through the dark misty night
the Excalibur
a brave warrior
An afternoon there. A class of about 40 I think, and some teachers, to the park. A park with a beach. That was where we picked up litter as a VIA activity.
A simple activity at a park that has a beach, with trees and grass, and sand and waves. From an outsider’s…
Cards. Simple pieces of paper with words. They have many purposes. Some cards are used as tokens to express the writer’s appreciation to the receiver. Some cards are used for gambling. And there are some which are used to play…
it is just another place that everyone visits,
but to me, it is like a magic lamp. pick it up, rub it,
make a wish,
and think of everything you need, everything you could possibly want,
pages musty and old
but its words are like gold
hidden beneath its pale skin
a siren that draws me in
to a world unknown
at 8 years old