Balancing Act

Here I stand 

precariously,

clinging onto 

smallest scraps of 

things

to which I build 

the floor beneath 

my feet;

a shaky tower 

of treasures and 

trash that I 

cannot bear to sort through. 

A push,

a pull,

a breath in the wrong direction 

leaves me teetering, 

off-kilter,

vulnerable. 

And so I 

try to be everyone's 

anchor to tie myself 

down,

and I smile 

and pretend 

that I'm not balancing 

on the line 

of (in)sanity.

Grenade

This has been 

a long time coming, 

bladed words 

bubbling at the 

back of my throat, 

and heat dulling 

the space behind my eyes.

But the screams 

have been torn out 

prematurely

before I can make sense 

of the thoughts 

that rake at me, 

thoughts that 

scratch and scrabble 

to cling on 

to a sense of security. 

The blades come back 

to cut me 

and warm tears run 

down my face;

my pin has been pulled 

and I just want to 

minimize the 

casualties.

It's been a rough night.

Refound Works

I found some of my old poetry from when I was in grade 6 (the time when I started to write poetry), and I thought I'd share them, because I think it's always interesting to see the progress anybody goes through when it comes to creative works (and I can see some of my style already starting to emerge from these).

The Final Pause

Words unsaid

yet taken for granted, 

finding closure 

in an unspoken agreement

was never quite 

satisfactory I suppose;

we had written 

the sentence 

but never wrote in 

the period 

to tie up the last 

loose ends, 

I guess I never realized 

how much I needed to hear 

those words

until now.