lines and lines
of rivulets of words
gushing, stemming from
the thin. soft skin
of my wrist.
I poke at it, examine it
fingers pushing in
just to check to see
if i am still a writer, after all
i wonder if i'm all used up
i wonder if the ink has dried
it's been six months
have i been pretending to be alive?

sometimes
i am terrified
of the heaviness
of my words
breathless, shapeless
but so very alive
sometimes
i wonder
if it them who writes
and i the silver pen

i used to swallow english dictionaries
force the foreign vowels in my mouth
chew them, grind them between my teeth
until they are
a facsimile of sustenance, substance
its sharp corners scratch my throat
then i water it down with
the warm satisfaction of approval
and i did this work, this habit
for years and years and years
my tongue has curved around the
space i molded it from
my teeth has bent from the pressure
of forced phonetic mastication
my voice has the tilted quality
of a bird snatched from the forest
in hopes of sounding sweet
i sound lost, i sound unsure
i try to retrace my grandmother’s voice
it lingers on my tongue, before it dissolves
like sugar on my lips

i feel the need to put
a sharp thing on the surface of my skin
i feel the need to make
every bad decision i can in my life
i want to blow up every bridge
i want to terrify the people who love me
i have been waiting for so long
i have been good for so long
and yet
my heart has given me nothing but misery
my heart is a stupid little girl
throwing tantrums, howling in pain
screaming at people to stay

i cover her in white musk, lily of the valley
there she lies
still, infant-like, and white
her body soft and barely there—
almost a mirage of the senses
she fits the palms of my hands
and i gently cradle her, meeting her at last
whilst covered in crimson blood
i think she had a life
i think she had a breath
i think her heartbeat was
louder than the metropolitan haze—
a homing beacon calling me
a cadence tied tightly to my soul
before she was felled by you
i bury her in white musk, lily of the valley
and finally send her to my father
in hopes for revival, survival
after all, he is the first person
who taught me how to live

i have been drowning
slowly, surely
all the while living
i have never known
the difference
between the two

both make
my heart beat louder
my limbs akimbo
my entire soul
drenched, shivering
in the indigo blue

is it bad,
that i think
being alive
is being in pain?
i no longer know
what is true

life
is brutal, Ama
i can no longer breathe
full breaths.
the ocean of it
is vast, cruel

and the more i stay
in the depths
of the seas
and the cold
the more i long
to see you

come save me
my body is
in the coral reefs
white and still
a child waiting
to be told what to do

i unravel
the words are
so heavy
but the break
has no sound
i unravel
there is a
typhoon
on top of
my head
it hurts
to think
i unravel
i spent the day
quietly
nursing my
wounds
like a scarred
wild dog lost in
the field