I guess.

I love ballads more now.
Adele describes her music as "heartbroken soul".
I love how she's not ashamed of being that way.
Because I know I am.

I guess I just want to be perfect for you.
Wish I had fairer skin, smoother elbows, sleeker hair and brows.
Or even your dream girl's stunning gaze.
Or a personality that would intrigue you to no end.
And not the sad heap of blue I always am.

But I can't be fake, love.
I can't not want you.
I can't not think about not having you.
I feel like collapsing everytime I'm around you.
I want to shake you and tell you to open your eyes.
I don't want anyone to appreciate you more than I do.

June will be over soon.
You can't just tell me it's natural to feel this way.
I'm not usually like that.
I can't change to be like that, or get used to it.
Night comes and I have to battle these feelings all over again.
Do you know how tiring it gets?
Who do I blame now babe?

My eyes get red so fast.

To be or not to be, that is the dilemma, that is the thing that kills you the most.

You know, when I think of you, I see nothing. I don’t know if that’s good or bad but I remember many things you say to me. Even if they hurt. And I don’t think you’ll ever know if they hurt me or catch me dying inside when I look at you all soft but yes, you should know how much they hurt if I am to write all this down. I am getting pretty annoyed with Chat. Of course I know of higher chemistries that reassures me he is the perfect man for me but I want you and conversations like that tear so much of my confidence down- even behind a screen, even with that blinking cursor that does not rush me to reply you but I still fret about it anyway. And I didn’t mean to hug you the way I did if you felt very uncomfortable about the other night but yes it hurt when you started to pull away. I stare at the book ‘Lady In Waiting’ on my shelf and I hate it because I will never have the patience to read it or practically even wait for someone else to come around to have me because you can have me any way you like now.

I have tons of mixed feelings about going back to church tomorrow. I do not understand why God does not allow the homosexual love to blossom between people of the same sex- two very special people who know love the way we do, the way we were made to know it. What is natural and not natural? I don’t see why that needs change. The Bible also tells me to ‘not yoke with non-believers’ but what if these non-believers are my friend and I like them the way they are made. I am tired of preaching the Gospel when the truth of the matter is that I cannot live with the church telling me the friends I choose are not good for me. I don’t really care much about what good it does for me but what my religion does for them. Is this wrong? My religion is where I invest all my love and life into and when I love someone, I give them the most sacred, vulnerable part of me which probably is my religion and my relationship with God. I want to show it to them because I love them and want to share my fascination and satisfaction of it with them. But am I truly loving them when I show them God’s ways? Because God says no. Now where do I go? What do I do to have them stay close to me? The Bible says do not yoke with unbelievers but I love these people and they are a part of me- is it wrong that they have become such a big part of me because I will fight to the death to disagree.

Anyway, how can I have you if I don’t even know what to speak to you about? I get tired, yes I do, about thinking of what to say to you but I want you so bad because I know I could make this work. You’d think I’d given up on love since that other boy has left me hanging like fermented shark meat but I haven’t. I come back stronger, fiercer, with a loyalty that holds my bones together and only you can hold and prick your name through this skin although it may bleed but I like blood, hahaha. I just see me with you. I just do.

Never thought I’d see you in that way we are taught not to see boys in but I do, I do. My thighs are yours. I am being so brutally open here and I know they might look at me different if they should ever read this poop. But I don’t give a fuck about society because they will not have you.

So then again, have your way,

Sab

all i want

Been walking around failing.

Yes failing.

This way and that.

Back to back.

(My life isn’t like a word document. I can’t write it, then edit, then delete and start anew.)

Things have been done and I can’t look back.

But I can look forward.

I’m scared though.

I’m not content with anything. I get bored easily.

I need oxygen but I deny myself of it.

Life is simple when you have God. But it has become complicated for me.

Trying to settle my own problems in my head.

Is it the thinking or the wanting or the trying or the loving or the hoping or the what what. What the fuck is it. Or is it the language. What the ears hear?? No?

I don’t know what to believe in anymore and I am sick and tired.

Oh you’ve heard these words so much. Sick and tired sick and tired and sick and sick again and tired wow all over again.

So many times.

Feels like I can’t get enough sleep, can’t get enough of you, of the things people do and say and whisper

So afraid of wastage, of wasting away until I am no longer remembered or seen.

I should keep very quiet for awhile to listen.

I just can’t get enough.

Incoherence is new to me.

Self-control where are you.

AVFDKSJNKDZNXJ ASZM,

Don't you dare tell me to keep my emotions in check
Or whether the way I express myself is acceptable or not
I won't laugh or cry according to your stupid standards of how a girl should behave
You don't get to say things like that to me
To tell me to shush up
When you don't know how I've felt after all this while
I don't need another person to tell me to control myself
You make me sound like some bipolar shit
Well I am and if you're not happy with that
Then thank God you let me go
You already did from the bloody start anyway
YOU SUCK ASS.
ARGH
why the fuck do you matter so much to me
who the hell do you think you are
don't tell me to let go cos i can't okay
you suck you suck so bad and yet i can't bring myself to
yes you are awesome and look at me
some stupid bitch who will never have you
thank you for making me feel this way
i hope you do well even though i've failed like some miserable fuck here
I'M GONNA FAIL EVEN BETTER NOW
JUST YOU WAIT AND SEE
call me dramatic call me sensitive
don't accept me i don't want to accept you anyway even if i do, i do
I HATE THESE EYES I HATE THIS HEART
FUCK THIS SHIT

mini fibre pens

I am just abit frustrated as I sit here.
I lie.
Very, actually.
I was watching Audrey Tautou's breasts rise and fall.
So I took off my pyjamas and looked at mine in a push up bra in the mirror.
Battled the darkness first. Listened to the unnerving rush of water from the pond below through an open window. I opened it this afternoon and was reluctant to shut it.
I've always liked breasts although I'm not 'queer' (quote Andrea Gibson).
Wishing I did not have small bumps on my chest or stretch marks that line my collarbones.
Of course they had to pick a beautiful woman to film Amelie.

I also watched her and that Matthiew guy laugh on a motorbike.
And of course, you have to pick a beautiful woman to be with you.
Then I had to cry because I felt my face hurt again.
I am not a woman.

Of course, I picked a top today. Whether it's beautiful, I don't know, but I feel beautiful when my head's all woozy and as I tipped my head back I was afraid I would see things.
But the feeling was only temporary.
I should buy myself an ash tray just for the f**k of it.
What it may store, I don't know.

Right now I feel like an old lady in red silk.
How do holes form on our underwear?
I was thinking about that when my father drove me to Esso.

The night is my stage.

(Little touches.
You deny me my little touches.)

All through my nose I feel this heat.
And it calms me down.
Anyway I dreamt of you and her last night.
You two were getting ready to dance with sampan hats on and I could only stand there as I watched you go.
Of course I cried. Whether they were beautiful, I don't know but of course, you have to pick beautiful tears to fall all around my face while thinking of you.

claw that ass

I'm supposed to be finishing some note typing.

Those notes determine my grades. Butbut.

I don't want to watch something so good crumble and die.

What happens when the food hunting stops (which never will because food is temporal and always available ok anyway) / when I finally cry in front of you because you pissed me off and you see how petty or uncool I really am / we run out of places to go / we get bored of wishtime / we have nothing much to talk about / you leave and I leave and we both go through phases we've always dreaded but they pick us off our dangling feet as we struggle like fishes out of water to stay put ???

What happens.

Cherishing makes me feel like handcuffing both our wrists and throwing away the key.

And there I go telling you stories, wanting to know what you feel or how you're looking at the screen on the other side of this Macbook. 

I want the whole Takashimaya square to hear me scream and cry, scream and cry and I want you to be watching the news about this crazy hooligan for love and that will be me.

Days come and go. Work and school and now it's the holidays.

It's been (almost?) a year.

Give me those handcuffs.

I swear I'll cry like mad when circumstances come into play.

THE ARMY CAN KISS MY ASS.

PS: I think I flirt unconsciously. Doesn't mean I can't be serious/faithful. Look how serious I've been. *troll face*- no, I'm not kidding.

I love you with a loyalty so fierce that if it were to be alive, it'd kill like one fast-ass lioness.

so come home, come home.

Here I am. Naked.

With bare shoulders and tired hands. 

Why do I feel my veins turning into rubber, I don’t know.

I punished myself today.

Drew brown all over my eyelids because I was moody.

But moody is too frail a reason to want You here at the centre of my everything again.

I’ve been looking into eyes and kissing the wrong boys. Letting lust set my mind, my crotch and my bed on fire. Watching my spirit get fed to the dogs in the darkness I cultivated. And in that blackness I let November’s flowers wither as poison ivy grew with such tenderness and seduction.

I abandoned joy.

And it left the way I see you leaving me.

I didn’t see You go though.

Or maybe that’s because You haven’t. You’ve been waiting all this while.
Funny, because You are my joy.

I wanted to cry on the bus home.

(“When the fight for You is all I’ve ever known.”)

Yet when I met You in the shower this morning, I couldn’t cry.

I wasn’t numb, and I know this because my face hurt and my throat collapsed with every silent mad howl and it just kept raining within me.

So I prayed. I couldn’t keep still.

Just kept wailing Your secret name and held it close to my heart, pressing my navy nails against my chest as water that soothed me the way burning coals push into wounds fell all around me. Just wanting you so badly to take over, Lord.

Please don’t leave me.

‘Storm’ cuts my heart.

Losing my confidence in You has been the worst thing that has ever happened to me.

Not the fact that I haven’t gotten closure, not the fact that I haven’t done so many things to earn myself a name– but the way I’ve blinded myself to the awareness that You are in control of everything. I put those scales on my own eyes and forgot how they had stung before. I put them on everything.

Everything.
"Define everything."
Huge ass word. Huge ass me.

No.

Small me. Big You. Big, big, lovely You.

I’ve missed You so so much and please take this love letter and hold it and kiss it and turn Your face and cause it to shine upon me again. Please.

I’m scrambling for breath, Lord. For You Lord.

Cos I’m so dry, Lord.

Withering away like a wild flower whose fate has always been in Your hands.

They say I shouldn’t be a prisoner of my own fate – but You are gentle and kind and all-knowing and understanding and supportive and You’ve been waiting for me all this while. This long long while.

Raining, Lord. Raining inside and I can’t stand it any longer. I wish You would send me angels that sing me sweet songs- songs that tell me You hear me and that You love me and that You’re not going to leave me or give up on me.

White, Lord. Send me white in all its purity and goodness and favour and empowerment.

K hugged me and said don’t trust anybody. I said I trusted her. God, if you live in all of us then make her my angel. And vice versa.
You probably know all of this already but I don't want to be passive.
Will You honor this? And give me someone who will love me for everything You made me to be.
Send me You.
Take all the rain in me and let me wash Your feet, not wasting a single drop as I do so.
Take my breasts, my eyes, my lips and my tongue.
Take my fingers, my smile and my frown.

I end this with all my love.