The Day She Woke Up

She always walked around with a smile plastered on her plain unpainted face. She wore a baggy dress that reached her ankles and smelt like nothing.

She was vacant but more than present inside.

She was a character but she acted.

One day she woke up and decided to live. "I'm here" she announced. This is her story.

The day she woke up she put on a tight black dress and wore winged eyeliner and dark lipstick. She smiled with a knowing look rather than a vacant look. She looked people in the eye and she loved them. She did, not an image of her.

That was the day she woke up.

.

Breathe
I'm sorry
Breathe

Bare
No
Hide
Close

Touch
Yes
No

May I?

Empty Chairs and Empty Tables

Empty chairs and empty tables
In my heart of hearts
Where no man or woman sits
I dine in solitude

Empty chairs and empty tables
Everyone standing around
I beckon them to sit
But they don't seem to hear my voice's sound

Empty chairs and empty tables
I pretend my heart's table is full
Of the bright chatter of the not-lonely
But in my heart of hearts, I know that's bull

Empty chairs and empty tables
I knock the spoons about
I throw weak punches at the silence
To the emptiness, I throw a clout

Empty chairs and empty tables
Do they see me now
I cry from the east gable
Of a very flashy house

Empty chairs and empty tables
They will not dine with me
I've made three pies and twenty cakes
But no one will join my soiree

Empty chairs and empty tables
Maybe my tears will flow to them
But I'm stuck inside a vacuum
With empty chairs and empty tables.

Empty chairs and empty tables
I pick up a pen to write
I plead with fancy words and letters
I throw the letter out

Empty chairs and empty tables
The paper barely grazes their cheeks
It barely scathes their minimal pimples
Soon it's on the ground, trampled down

Empty chairs and empty tables
Even the table wood seems hollow now
Will it all crumble before me
Leaving me alone in a dust cloud

Love Me

not for the modest dresses I wear
or for the Bible verses I have memorized
not for the way I look away when they show sex on tv
not for the way I don't drink or club

no, no
love me for trying
love me for sincerity of belief
love me for loving Song of Solomon
   because it is so dang horny I can't even
love me for loving beauty
for trying

love me for liking cuddles
don't love the chastity
no
love me for loving

I'm tired of you loving my innocence
I'm tired of you loving my feminity and chastity
Love me in the darkness
Because I don't pretend that the world is bright
but I still believe in the Light

surface, surface things
you love the smile you think hides an empty canvas
ready for you to paint with thoughts of God

no, silly child
no
I think for myself
I am a lady and I think for myself
The canvas is full of paint, oil and acrylic
colors dark and bright
tainted and painted
God sees me

so no, don't love me for serving communion
or for the smiles I give after church
   to the sweet ladies with powdery hair and
   powdered noses, me trying to be feminine
if that is really definable
love me for loving
for trying
for seeing
and for liking the horniest book of the Bible.

Mud

I stand in a flat mud land. All I have in my hand are strips of paper. I think about making those paper stars that my sister used to put into jars as presents when we were little. 

Instead, I sit right down in the mud. I do not care that it will dirty my clothing. "Splush." It is done. I run my hands through the cold mud and think about what it means to be a buffalo, running their skin through the cold mud every day.

Before long I am lying down in the mud. I smile. The sun is setting. Soon I will have the cool of mud and the wonder of stars to keep me company. I have run away.

I think about my warm bed, but I do not miss it. It reminds me of comfortless comfort, of smiling limbs but broken hearts. I splash the mud again.

I ran away from everyone and everything. I do not think they noticed, except for the lightness of their hearts. I am the happiest I have ever been because I can hurt no one and no one can hurt me. The barriers and walls that I used as a metaphor in my adolescence have materialized around me. The stars won't hurt me and I won't hurt them.

Space

I am pressing, pushing
I simply want to be in
You criticize my existence
You think my life warrants no space

I am trying not to breathe
the oxygen that is yours
Why do I feel this chastisement
for doing nothing at all

I want to do many things
But I'd rather not get in your face
get in your space
it's yours to take

I want to sing a million songs
make slowing hearts run fast again
to make connections, breathe air into the vacuum
and
space

dancers unite
the shrinking women
 in respite
rise

the air was meant for you to breathe
the oxygen finds its home in you
your blood
to energy
feed

one step
three steps
five steps at a time
it's okay to speak

Our Journey

I used to smile in your presence, dance at your feet.
I used to make some pitchy melodies
I used to raise those tiny hands up high
I used to hope, to long for paradise

Then I saw you closer
the crinkles in your eyes
the deathly things you'd speak and sigh
I kept silent, a pawed creature
I'd smile strained smiles
I was a captive in what seemed to be
your kingdom of lies

of restraint, of despair
of people saying this was true
of people believing or dying
no paradise

You sent me away
to a happier place
where I could choose not to look into your eyes
where I came to terms with who I was
an undernourished creature who needed love
I got swept in by the tide
washed up out of the system's disguise

Now today I realize
That I don't know who you are
I've sung songs and written poems
seen the creases on your face
seen your white wings laced with steel
I've seen your strength and your might
But I don't know
I just don't know
Help me come to terms with my life.

I hear voices and sing songs
I paint pictures of you
But I can never truly
only partly
peripherally
look into your eyes

snipped poetry

Reaching
taut arms
Determined
to fall

Groping
in the dark
Wanting

breath is a miracle

why is Warmth
connected to connection
let me

I do splits in my head
pirouettes
I fall in my head
headfirst
into the oceans of you
you
the ever-invisible you

I wait for anxiety
to thrust me into
glory

trash cans and trash bags
and forgotten orange peels
float
in the river outside my house
and into

remembered no more
sweetness
forgotten
tasted and
buried
harnessed and

hold
silvery golden
warmth
fire
connection
remembered

Writer, not a speaker

I'm a writer not a speaker
A creeper not a sleeper
Passively aggressive but not aggressively passive

I wear leather
I wear lace
I'm the past and I'm the future
I'm a creeper not a sleeper
I'm a writer not a speaker

Peripheral

My poetry was laced with you this year.
I don't know if you noticed. My being can only contain so much before some things are displaced. From my attention, from my feelings, from my affection. Like my eyes that have a limited field of vision, my heart's eye had limited vision too, and it was focused on you.

And although you're worth my vision, I wonder if I'm giving you too much. You see, while you were at the centre of my affections, I find myself at the peripheral of yours, barely making it, forever ready to be displaced by the tiniest drop of something...new.

And though the blood that flowed through my brains was saturated with thoughts of you, most of its effect on me was fatigue. I struggled to be seen by you.

You see, dear friend, I'm not sure where I stand in the divisions into levels of attraction. And I'm rather worried I stand very low, where I may end up unnoticed forever.

So I wonder now if I should be satisfied to stay in your peripheral. Do I have the right, no, the capacity to demand more than your peripheral?

Do I have the right to demand being the centre of your, or anyone's attention?

You see I must now decide, dear friend, if I should settle for peripheral, or be content to only be the object of my own affections, with perhaps a German shepherd to lean on, and to pamper myself knowing no one else will.

Thank you for making me decide whether I would rather take a certain gift of costume jewelry or wait for a better but possibly unachievable gift of gold.

San Francisco

You're a paradox to me
You're living proof that urban nature is not an oxymoron
Where the sea kisses the feet of the city
and vice versa
they are not in animosity

Vibrations in my flesh
because of cars speeding by on Golden Gate Bridge
I stand watching the birds flock below me
I learn the breath of the wind

I walk, further, further still
I sing to the gallows
they won't bind me

I brisk walk to Safeway
Also down the steps of Civic Center Station
First time riding the subway

I take the wrong bus again and again
I leave earlier next time

I hike through Golden Gate Park
To Ocean Beach
It's a cold day
windy
misty
chills hug me

On to La Taqueria
I eat a burrito that tastes like home
even though I never ate burritos at home

I link arms with a friend
And get smitten with Smitten's ice cream

I never expected this fear to rise
This fear that I'm leaving home
But slowly and silently
undetected
I've left pieces of me in this sacred city.

Sad humor in third person narrative.

I keep a pen in my pocket whenever I need to do something scary because I can remind myself that the horrible, horrible emotions that flood through me will be useful for a poem someday. I must write for it is the only way for me to meta-analyse my life. It is the only way for me to DEMAND something. Being Nicole in real life means trying your best not to offend anyone-- being a blunt little screw that tries to drive itself into whatever hole is built for her. But being Nicole on a page is quite a different thing. Nicole on a page is demanding. Nicole on a page knows her worth. Nicole on a page is vain, is cutting, is sarcastic. But more importantly, Nicole on a page is brave. Nicole on a page says she is not happy. Whilst Nicole in real life sings songs softly, not wanting to offend anyone, Nicole on a page belts it out.

But Nicole on a page needs to be careful because Nicole on a page has the potential to hurt Nicole in real life's friends. Nicole's friends think she is rarely angry, ever willing to agree; but they don't know Nicole on a page-- they don't know how deeply she feels.

Nicole is tired today-- hence the third person narrative. Nicole wishes someone would come and hug her and tell her it's going to be okay. Nicole feels like crying. Nicole wishes people wouldn't avoid eye contact with her either in fear of rejection or simply fatigue because Nicole feels like she is a burden. Nicole wants  someone to hold her, to be unselfish for her-- Nicole realizes this is selfish but Nicole wants this, Nicole wants someone to talk to her without demanding help.

Nicole is tired of trying to be whatever "they" need. Nicole wants to be demanding in real life for once. But alas, Nicole in real life is quite different from Nicole on a page.

I Discovered Chai Today

Chai Tea.

If you translate that word for word, it becomes "tea tea". But in Western settings, when people say "chai tea" they refer to "masala tea". Masala tea, originating in India, is now widely popularized as one of those hip drinks you drink in a cafe in San Francisco while contemplating your next "hella cool" startup idea with your open-minded friends dressed in leather jackets.

So, back to why I am writing this article. Being an Indian by ethnicity, masala tea is not an uncommon drink to me. But I've never liked it. Tea was fine enough; why add some weird spice that belongs in dosa to tea? That is a stance I took ever since I first drank masala tea at some family gathering or another.

And then a strange thing happened today.

I went to one of those hip, tech cafe places that sprout like mushrooms in San Francisco. The place was called "Chai Bar." And then I ordered chai tea. I knew it was masala tea but I have a weird tendency to order drinks I know I am not going to like. But, boy, am I glad I did it today.

I expected to tolerate  drink, get some productive work done and then head back to the residence hall.  But instead, when I took a sip, I found myself liking this "chai tea." If you do not get why I am writing this story yet, then let me spell it out for you. I am an Indian who never liked masala tea in its true form. Then I come to the US and I like chai?

The world is truly a strange place.

I have a newfound respect for evolved, Americanized, fusion food.

Religion and Pseudoscience

I stopped taking my asthma medication for one week when I was in high school. No, I was not a stupid kid who was trying to get my health into trouble. I was a fundamental, evangelical Christian who believed in faith healing. There were preachers who came to our church and preached that taking medication was preventing our healing.

I’d heard stories about Christians who would stop taking medication-- believing God would heal-- then dying. And here I was, trying to do this. I couldn’t stand the cognitive dissonance of believing in healing but taking medication at the same time.

All I ended up with was heavy breathing and asthma symptoms.

I apologize if this introduction makes it sound like I am going to write an article bashing Christianity, bashing people who are ignorant enough to believe in faith healing and teach it to their kids. I am definitely not doing that. And this may surprise you, but I still do believe in faith healing.

What I do want to write about is the attitude of denial that many Christians feel compelled to live in. When science or society diverges from our doctrines and theology, we feel compelled to simply ignore the evidence instead of carefully examining it. Jesus never told us to have confirmation bias. In fact, His word says:

For the time will come when people will not put up with sound doctrine. Instead, to suit their own desires, they will gather around them a great number of teachers to say what their itching ears want to hear (2 Timothy 4:3). 

It sounds to me like He was warning AGAINST confirmation bias. We must consider the evidence, not simply make it suit what we already believe. So here is a list of some things that I have proclaimed belief in for years because of pressure to conform to the version of Christianity that I was brought up in:

1) Evolution is not true because God created the world. To believe in evolution is to deny God.
2) God heals so you do not need medication.
3) Gay marriage is wrong and people who do so are choosing to sin.

That is by no means a comprehensive list but those are three things I have wrestled with a lot. Before you dear fundamentalists shake your heads at what nonsense and heresy I am proclaiming, I beseech you to hear me out. I am by no means saying that any of these three things are not true. I am only saying that the arguments we have come up with thus far are insufficient.

We have attacked evolution with arguments like “it is just a theory” or “creationism is more accurate in explaining the evidence” but we have to somehow come to terms with the fact that the proof for evolution is real. It is time we got on the same page with scientists. No one will take us seriously if we argue only through our own Biblical lens, sputtering arguments full of confirmation bias, trying our hardest to confirm what we interpret the Bible to say. We need to have enough faith in God to know that He is not stupid. Let that wash over you. The Almighty is not stupid. He wouldn’t leave evidence against our current beliefs about creationism and insist that we keep those beliefs. The Bible says:

For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse (Romans 1:20).

Science and theology will line up. I believe this with all my heart. But the way we Christians are acting seems to portray the belief that science and theology do not line up and we are just going to side with theology without worrying about the two being reconciled.

Yes, we believe in God’s Word. But when we are trying to debate the truth about science and society, we need to debate on the secular playing field and not ours. We must use their facts, not ours. And where does faith come in, you ask? Well, faith comes in when you trust that theology and science will line up because the Almighty is not stupid.

Distance

I'm sorry for
distancing myself from you
I'm just scared
of being that person
whose presence is dreaded
and so I'm never there.

Falling Fully

Falling fully into you
I want these crumbling walls to cease
to break, to burn, to die

To smile without these shades on my eyes
Let the laugh lines grow beside and into yours
our laughs will merge; a polyphonic melody

I'm only giving half a smile
because you only give me half of yours
but how will the map of our lives fit together
if even our smiles cannot flow into one river

I want to nudge your toes with mine
to giggle, yes, to giggle sometimes
to lean my head against your chest
but the wall, the dam' wall still stands

Falling fully into me
I think you too want these crumbling walls to cease
to break, to burn, to die.

To love at all is to be vulnerable

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.”

-C.S. Lewis-

This has hit directly on an open wound. I need to move forward. I've literally tried to hide everything I am behind a self-assured outlook and attempted eloquence and false humility that is close to outright pride. I have felt deeply but my words never, ever go below the surface. The ripples come and go but they never penetrate. 

I've hoped that I can be happy with my long walks and songs that smell like heaven but I still need other human beings. The question is, do they want me? Do they want this pile of fat who is trying to be beautiful? This person of average intelligence who does assignments a week early to prove something to "them." Do they want this person who cannot carry a straight conversation the moment she thinks they are evaluating her? Do they want this person who can be interesting but is scared that no one else thinks so? She wonders, do they want her for the words she says or the songs she sings or the food she cooks or the smiles she hands out freely because she wants them to want her. She wonders if they care.

And even when they do, when they reach out for a hug, she wonders how long they will want her-- she's scared that it won't last.

You know it's a bad day

You know it's a bad day when you read a book of love poetry and two children's books. You know it's a bad day when someone else's emotionally charged Facebook post invokes emotions that you buried deep inside and you start to cry. You know it's a bad day when you go on a hike at night with friends and your childhood phobias of hikes creep up to you but your dad isn't there to hold your hand anymore.

You know it's a bad day when you try listening to Disney music but even that can't cheer you up. You know it's a bad day when you can almost feel the chemicals being released in your brain as you cry in relief because crying is the only effort you make to communicate your emotions besides "bleeding on paper" like Hemingway suggested.

You know it's a bad day when you google Chopin sheet music at 3 am in the middle of a breakdown just because you want the familiarity of looking at music notes shaped like bean sprouts. You know it's a bad day when you decide to listen to Chopin after that.

You know it's a bad day when you have a headache that encompasses not just your head but all your nerves.

You know it's a bad day when you feel like no one has your back. You know it's a bad day when you're trying, really trying to make friends but you can't help but wonder if you are gonna end up alone like you always do.

You know it's a bad day when the best quote you think of is "the only reason I make memories is to write about them."

You know it's a bad day when you're trying to write something worthwhile and the only word you can think of is "cry."

I just thought you should know

I just thought you should know
That my mind is so tight with the thought of you
That I'm crying myself to sleep
because I don't understand you

I just thought you should know
that I'm trying, I really am
To be a person that's worthy
to not have everyone hate me
I thought you cared

And now I am literally
typing with my eyes closed because I want to cry and write at the same time
and I hear you
even when you don't speak
i hear phantom voices
echoes
they perpetuate the lull of loneliness
i am writing angsty poetry
and I know none of it will
be good enough for you

because to you
I am boring
ever smiling
a lump
a sore thumb

there
but not quite

and i hear you laughing
and i do not,
will not
take it badly
you must live your life

But I just thought you should know
that I tried and I
am trying

Incessant humming

Slight discomfort

A need to excrete coupled with

lazy feet

Impromptu dances

all by myself

compulsive eating

let the cereal boxes pile up

smiling at blackouts

because they do not make me sweat here

finding metaphors when I see

my first rat in a foreign land

hearing someone toss their trash

at 2:15 am

wondering why they're still up

smiles laced with fear

thinking of all the souls

that lie awake with me in this tiny building

only listening to the

incessant humming.

Fight

I fight you because I love you and I want you to fight for me.

Boyce Avenue

The sound of plucked guitar strings

sharp but smooth

like the tang of a lemon

with just the right level of sourness

Your voice slips 

through the cracks of your soul

spilling out; thin

barely seeping through

but focused

Then the plucks turn into strums

And your soul comes through 

just a little more

thicker, sharper!

Then the point where I

completely collapse:

you reach a high note

but instead of progressing to falsetto 

as you sometimes do,

you let it crack

And that's when

I feel like,

I see you.

picture source: https://www.pinterest.com/katiamello3/boyce-avenue/

Before You (Inspired by Lang Leav)

You were my first love.

Before you, all I had were

little closed flowers--

they never bloomed

Before you I felt, yes.

But I never screamed

I never yelled it out to the world

That I liked a boy

And even with you

I do not but

my actions say it all

I smile for you

Grip your left index finger

That's the way you gripped me

My finger it pointed directly

at you

I want to dip a brush in my bloodstream

And paint pictures of all the earthquakes

you invoked in me

without

even

knowing

Breath is my favorite word these days

Breath was never clear between you and me;

always murky

We weren't right

Not in that way

But the smog-filled breath

that we shared

was the first taste of real air

I ever got;

before you

I was a foetus

dependent on the

amniotic fluid that was

"reality"

Before you.

Honestly, I don't remember.

Nature's Wedding

The rocks are pretty tonight

A little on the hefty side

they're self-conscious to have to

bare their bodies to every stranger

that passes by

they've been the haven

of lovers and strangers

these rocks have seen it all

they stand so lifeless by the shore

restrained till high tide

when they marry the ocean

the rocks slowly formed

from sand and water and

rain and sun

pushed and punched

and pulled and stretched

pain produced demure beauty

the rocks marry the waves marry the wind.

Two Words and Two Worlds

What is perceived
is different from what is expressed.
We construct our own worlds

That's why hand-in-hand
is a longing so deep
why toe-to-toe seems like heaven;
because our words cannot meet and merge
and embrace and kiss and unite and make love
because the air devours them one-by-one
the hateful air with its ravenous appetite
for disconnection
refuses to let our words
tell the same story

but if our words cannot merge
will our haptic hugs be any better?

Someday

Someday I will find someone
Who feels like an old church song
that I remember crying to

Someday I will find someone
Whose kisses seem holy,
not rebellious

Someday I will find someone
who feels divine

But till then.

You

You're like a brown, dry plant
that I can't seem to let go of
you've grown on me
like a runner, like a morning glory
you've grown on me
not green, not fresh
but I'm tied to you somehow

you are steady

like a foot
that smells a little bad
but helps me walk
you help me

like muscles that aren't quite flexed
but still present
still strong

I love you
I hate you.

Burung

Andai kata anda di sini

Andai kata aku menangis

Adakah kau memelukku?

Ataupun memandangku bagai

burung yang tidak kau fahami

Aku mencicit

Aku menyanyi

Dengarlah, aku jerit.

Aku bagaikan ombak

melambai-lambai

ombak kecil

ya, ombak tanah air

bukan ombak besar

bukan ombak Australia

bukan ombak negeri orang

di tepi ombak biasa, kecil

aku pasti 

dapat cari

burung mencicit

yang boleh menyanyi

bersamaku

"Hujan emas di negeri orang, hujan batu di negeri sendiri, baik juga di negeri sendiri"

aduhai

Aku betul-betul rindu kau. Tapi aku tak mahu kacau. Jadi, aka duduk je; mandi dalam kesunyian hati. Maaf kalau aku membuat kau rasa bersalah. Aku lemah dari cuba. Ku tak mahu cuba lagi. Ku puas memberatkan hati orang lain. Jadi ku diam je. Ku tulis pun dalam Bahasa Malaysia s'bab ku tak mahu orang baca. Orang asing baca.

Air mata mengalir dan hati berdebar. Ku tak de sebab untuk hidup.

Ku mahu tidur tapi rasa bersalah pula.

Aduhai.

Melandaku

Ku rindu
ombak kecilmu

Ku rindu
agin kencangmu

Ku rindu hujanmu
yang melandaku
bagai peninju
ku rindumu

Ku mahu
menari
sambil laut menyanyi untukku
lagunya indah rupa dari khabar
rasalah

To You

I don't expect you to be stronger than me. But I expect you to be strong. We will be equals, you and I. Side by side we'll run. When our heartbeats hear each other they will experience superposition, amplification, we will reign.

I don't intend to be weak. But I'll let you in. And we will trace every map that is our bodies and souls and minds. Yes and we will paint new maps together in lands unseen.

My feet may be smaller than yours but our strides will be equal.

I can almost imagine you in my arms. You're probably alive, which is a strange thought. Pray, friend, pray. Let His Spirit move your lips till our hands touch for the first time-- our Father uniting us, body, soul, mind. Pray, even on our wedding day, as I walk down the aisle, your bride. Pray, when our lips touch for the first time, even then don't stop.

Don't let me be ever be worth more to you than the eternal song that we've both started singing even now. Pray.

You and I

What we have is like a wound in my heart. It's not that I'm hurt, no. It's just too painful to keep opening and closing and opening and closing the hope. I tell myself to stop-- to know that I am just a string stretched too tightly in desperation. I've snapped. Today I let myself give up-- we would never work, you and I. Would we? I feel like every word I say is boredom to you. No, I don't think you're mean. I think you're a lovely person. This wound doesn't mean you hurt me. It means I hurt me by opening my heart too wide to things that were never mine.

I found myself today

I found myself today--crumpled
no, not like a heart that beats too fast,
but like an aching tummy that won't go away

I found myself today
saying the swear words
I swore I never would

I found myself today lying on the ground
still stiff in apprehension to the world
wishing to melt, release, collapse
into the arms of a vague someone

I found myself today
no, not screaming and crying

I found myself today
wanting rhythm but finding chaos
maybe my life is a weird jazz beat
with a timing I can't quite figure out

I found myself today
wanting, wishing, praying.

I found myself today
lost.