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Category: Poetry

How to Repair a Chipped Glass

I’m sorry we are not perfect

not the perfect
the kind
the lovely
the pretty
but the defect

like the white shoes you wear
suddently have holes, no
what a cruel example
you love that pairs

how about
you missed nasi lemak this morning
and the teh tarik you drank
less sweet
less milky
the cup, chipped edge
hurting your lips
bleeding these hurtful words
on me, to me

I’m sorry we are not perfect
I’m sorry we are just
a series of dissapointments now
I’m the chipped edge cup kissing
your mouth with extra hot teh tarik
less sweet less milky now

Clean the chip with a little acetone
Be careful so that you don’t CUT yourself on any sharp edges
Let the acetone dry with the teh tarik

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Ghost

I’ve lost you way too many times
it feels like immortality

That it’s OK to lose you
once more
That I only have now
and I’ll give you all that
I regret not giving
not saying in our previous lives

I’m giving you all I got
I give you all my heart

before leaving one more time

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Us, captured by mirror

*an attempt to write longer piece

***
you, me, us.

doing more of us
becoming
feeling
till you lost the who-you-were
of your wackiest misfits
of your prettiest outfits
before tearing your pile
wearing a smile
its non-existence
despite
its silence
besides
you did fight
not that you have one
‘You’ is stripped away

like Saturday night TV to me
that feels
escorted by excruriating pain
hadcuffed, ankle shackled
because I want to see you

“why not two years before?”
and I say,
the night before
wishing I could bring you to

where you sat there, waiting
until the day
life doing life
life is life

MIRROR

life is life
life doing life
until the day
where I sat there, waiting

wishing you could bring me to
the night before
and you say,
“why not two years before?”

because you want to see me
hadcuffed, ankle shackled
escorted by excruriating pain
that feels
like Saturday night TV to you

‘I’ is stripped away
not that I have one
I did fight
besides
its silence
despite
its non-existence
wearing a smile
before tearing my pile
of my prettiest outfits
of my wackiest misfits
till I lost the who-I-was
feeling
becoming
doing more of us

you, me, us.

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