We Are All Poets

some of us use numbers
some of us use flour, butter and eggs
some of us use our body
some of us squeeze out alphabets from acrylic tubes
some of us use tunes
whatever our choice of words
we all use our hearts

Terrified

I'm terrified of singing in public. But I'm not terrified of public speaking.
I'm still terrified of dancing, 2 left feet and all. But not of piggybacking a girl and 'fly' her around in public like silly kids.
I'm terrified of swimming even tho i can. But not of heights.
I'm terrified of the cold. But not of the sun.

I'm not terrified of tickles. But I'm terrified of pinches.
I'm not terrified of loving. But I'm terrified of asking a girl for her number.
I'm not terrified of the dark, or of creepy crawlies, or of things that go bump in the night.
But I'm ABSOLUTELY TERRIFIED, of being in a city of 4 million people, and counting, and not be able to find THE ONE.

Who will turn the lights off?

It's obvious, you're not coming home.

So why do I leave the light on?

It's obvious I'm lingering here waiting for nothing. Maybe it's time I move. There could be a new home to build. A new bed to warm my feet in. New sheets to play tickles under. New raucous laughters.

So why do I feel that even if I do leave, I'll leave the door ajar?

It scares me to think that you might come back, and only then. And I might not be there. Just a light that was left on.

The thought of it saddens me.

I wonder, will I feel as sad, when I'm no longer there?

Who will close the door that was ajar? Will it ever be closed? or will it become a cobwebbed museum to something that died... waiting for a stranger that will never come home...

Your Toothbrush

I was cleaning my room today. Found the toothbrush that you used when you stayed over.

Tears welled up.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to throw the toothbrush away. I just sat on the bed, looking at it. And then the song "I Believe" from My Sassy Girl played.

It's always my left eye. I just noticed. It's always my left eye that lets the tears steam down first. No matter how hard I try to hold it back, the left eye would never work with me.

Why is it so hard to get over you?

I've Seen You Somewhere Before, Haven't I?

I can't help but notice, you're beautiful.
No, it's true. I'm not a flirt.
You lit up the room when you walked in.
Just like how you lit up my heart many moons ago.
Now you're just a stranger.
Gosh, you're so beautiful.

Hey, I've seen you somewhere before, haven't I?
No, I'm not trying to pick you up.
It was last year, wasn't it?
You held my hands, and I held yours.
Now you're just a stranger.
But I vaguely remember,
I've seen you somewhere before, haven't I?

Can I buy you a drink?
No, I'm harmless really.
It's Champagne, isn't it?
You don't like anything else.
I used to remember all your favourite things.
Now you're just a stranger.
So, can I buy you that drink?

Can I have your number?
I promise I'll call.
Oh, you don't give out numbers to strangers?
I remember how we talked till we fell asleep... Silly us.
Now I'm just a stranger to you.
Can I have your number... please?

Would you like to dance with me?
Yeah, I have two left feet but that's ok.
You don't dance?
But you did, and we did.
Now we're just strangers.
Come dance with me.

Can I walk you home?
You don't have to invite me in, really.
I see, your boyfriend's home.
I used to be him. We used to have a home.
Now home's a stranger, just like you.
Is it too late to ask,
Won't you come home?

このクリスマス、私はひとりです。

僕は淋しいんだよ。
あなたに逢いたい。
君が愛している。

Hymn to Sekhmet

If you ever need strength, whether to face your fears or just to bring yourself back from the brink of an insane world, try reciting this hymn to the Goddess Sekhmet.


Mine is a heart of Carnelian, crimson as murder on a holy day. Mine is a heart of cornel, the gnarled roots of dogwood and the bursting of flowers. I am the broken wax seal on my lover's letters. I am the phoenix, the fiery sun, consuming and resuming myself. I pace the halls of the underworld. I knock on the doors of death. I walk into the fields to stare at the sun and lie on the green grass, ripe as a fig. The souls of the gods are with me. They hum like flies in my ears. I am I. I will what I will.
Mine is a heart of Carnelian, blood red as the crest of a phoenix.