MyFreeCopyright.com Registered & Protected
5 AM

moon above and streets below

l
i
n
k
s
this hand will always be here for you to hold

I’d be happy to kiss
your sad eyes
if it meant you’d be happy
and I’ll never feel
anything again
if you’d stop waiting
for her



You are under your bed sheet cover and you feel sticky hot because your mother insists on draping a heating blanket and a thick feathered comforter over your bed. The streets are empty with that white winter glow but there isn’t even snow save for the ice patch that didn’t want to melt right where the mailbox is. You breathe in cool intervals outside the blankets. The flashlight is running out of batteries and you have your phone in your hand, talking to a boy who needs to grow up. You are sixteen and your toes are painted black and your hair is coloured purple and you need to run outside and cry because you can’t feel the cold.



when i am driving and you suddenly open the door and fall out — when i have to ask you why you did that and you lie, when i have you why you lie and you lie once again. when people are too nice and they stay by me when and i look at them and all their limbs ache to be somewhere else. it’s sad, isn’t it? am i supposed to feel like a crumpled up paper? but i feel like a song played too often. i’d rather feel like a car before the collision.



I think collarbones are delicate. He thinks necks are vulnerable. He smells like pennies and blood and I can’t help but be drawn to him, cannot help being a human lost in the world of money. Meaningless? No, it means everything to me. He props his knee for a step for my feet, he gives me both his green stuff and his white stuff. Tells me I should be blessed that I am given things for nothing I return, but he buys every jagged piece of my soul bit by bit everyday.



my knees hold bruises in them like a bowl holds syrup, i keep trying to find you but where do i look first? mysteries usually have clues, you are a locked door novel. a nail i sit on when i don’t look where i park my rear. i can wipe my tears off with a soft towel but it still wouldn’t beat the dirty tissue you shared with me that one night we both pretended the rain was enveloping our faces, as if we were letters to be licked and sent off hastily, but it wasn’t raining. your hands are the stamps i want to stick all over my body and hopefully i could worth enough for you. hopefully. i can call your name and caress the vowels until they are flicked away by the wind, leaving the consonants inconsonant and your ears untouched.



puppies claw at her eyes —
she imagines them as saws instead of paws
little children, she says
you don’t hurt others
she scolds sternly
when they grow bigger than she
they start pushing her down
instead of clawing —
she imagines them as boulders
wonders if they speak her language



it’s not easy being nothing.



he took me and left
took me and left

i gave him the option

me
or
her

he took me and left

no, not the me
i wrestle with at night
not the me
i find huddled in the corner

he took the me
that coquettishly flutters at him
and he left me
as he ran after her



she scribbles on the back of receipts that goes with the condoms they bought and again and again it is always the same, “please give me a refund.” her bangs are self-cut time to time and never admired as he musses it up with his hands when he forces her down and if she were to shave her scalp it still would not stop him from leaving his marks on her head.

she almost drowned once. walking away from a fight of which both parents cut ears off and shriveled rapid hearts. the water shivered across her shoulders darkly and her hands felt invisible under the murky surface. her body felt invisible. her eyes closed; she did not want to know where the soundless would take her.

she chokes and chokes and chokes until she frails about, arms moving but he would not take her and she drowns in him. they say it is more frightening than painful, this drowning business, but she hurts where her neck pulses, she hurts where she could not reach for anything with her hands, she hurts where she could not breathe.



here hold this string
here i will tug on it a little —
make sure not to drop it

here grasp it in your hands
i will not let go either you see?
we will always have a connection

no no here go this way
you do not have control of where we go —
follow me and i will lead you on

why are there threads?
no matter just hang on
it is good for you do not worry

oh no what have you done?
scissors make you weak dear
you were weak enough to cut us

you are not better without me
now you are alone can you not see?
it is all your fault



you tell me you feel like
      those pigs hung up
                  in those chinatown stores

and over the noise
      of the coughing vacuum
                   i find you like a pig in the closet



because he exists as a volcano underwater, because i have to dive deep, because i have to risk my life, because there is no other way unless he grows and rises.



sometimes i smile
when they don’t acknowledge me
sometimes i will cry

sometimes yellow snow falls
i am not cold anymore
when i walk to school

sometimes i won’t talk
they’ll laugh and snicker at me
i will laugh with them



he always wants a claim, wants property ownership, wants a right to what he does not have a right to. he fingers the collarbones of the trees like he would a lover, hoping to call it his no matter who it belongs to. he draws hands, he likes my hands the most. “they have knots in them,” he says and i wonder if i am a tree to him, wonder if he loves me as much as he does them. he takes my hands aggressively until the blood is squeezed out of that region, takes me and squeezes me until my body becomes silent. but my blood seems to pulse and i know he hates it, despises the fact that i am still here to witness what he has done to me, still here for him to be angry at, still here to love him.



i read on the bench because it is not as dignified as the floor. he asks me why i am here, looks down at me while I rest my feet on the armrest and head on my backpack. his tone is hard and i feel my brain curling up and shrivelling into a tiny ball on the spot, and i lack the means to answer him. he walks away and i cannot call him back.