Grammars are all over the place and words are repetitive, you said as you judged me with your perfect non-native accent and near-infinite vocabulary. Your tone was as scathing as ever, I don’t think it ever truly changed. You are the reason why I’m so scared to show myself into the world, or even to you, because you make me feel like I need to always be inferior to you.
You undermine people because you hate yourself too much to admit that you’re scared of people undermining you.
I wish to be free of you someday. I wish you don’t have to always be around everywhere I go. I wish you weren’t my reflection of everything I wish I could be and everything I’m glad I’m not. I wish you weren’t part of me that I can only repress but can never get rid of. And most of all, I wish I was stronger even with you within me.
I knew that since the first moment I met you, I didn’t want to let you go.
On the rooftops, I see you. I touch you. I listen to your voice I the wind. I see your tears in the waves. Your hair is the ocean I sink myself into.
The road I travel is the breath that you take. I taste, your blood, I walk, in your smile, your pain, my agony.
I hold you and you disappear.
I remember the music inside you, when we make love to the melody of the moon. I remember the stars when I sleep in your whispers. The air, our air, the dream, our dreams.
I never want to let you go. You fly away.
I catch a glimpse of you in the crowd. I don’t want to get lost in your lullaby. You are the one who first makes me. Creates me.
There is that river peeking in the corner of the street. You are the hill I surrender myself to. I surrender myself to you.
I will hold you again. Someday. Everyday.
Antithèse, by Victor Brauner (1937)
Lotus, your name is written in the language of the stars. You painted the sky with the colour of your smile; it was blood red. I am breathing the ground suffocating in your aura,
the rainbow in the sand, the shorelines of the broken shells, bubblehead bubbling jaunting
gargling amazing sharp shreds jagged edge tangy scent copper tongue
escaping curls touching fingertips. I am so artificial, aren’t I?
Petal modelling—unrelenting, releasing, immigrating. Electricity when our gaze met.
Lotus, your name is written inside my wrist, I carved it yesterday, using shrapnel of our past.
-Auckland, 22 October 2015