(the clown's) suicide note

does anyone know me?
does anyone care to pity?
would anyone stop here?
would anyone shed a tear?

this is a suicide note, ladies and gentlemen,
from a sad, pathetic girl, full of lament,
stranded alone with none to share with,
muted by force, existed by myth.

mirror, mirror, tell me who do you see?
even the mirror said, 'Is there anyone talking to me?'
i wish for nothing but a sincere smile,
but even I can't love myself all this while!

'look, people! it's the clown walking towards!
come on, now, crack us a joke, or imitate that bird!'
and i'll be tiptoeing with laughter and warmth,
be mimicking all sorts of facade and forms.

by then, people loves my moves, adores my laughs,
all would envy my life, so free like doves,
what more could I wish but for me to be her,
walking in fame, the clown, with glitters.

seriously, does anyone know this girl?
can you describe the joy existed in her world?
she provides smiles on your face, little or big,
aids when you need, in health, in sick.

tell me, you did look at the clown in the eyes
and can you swear you saw happiness, fun and sly?
talk not to her lips but that small part of face,
the eyes that are cold, covered by water lace.

i am a primadonna on stage and in life,
i wont tell you anything but what you see in precise,
but hey, a clown wouldn't wear any frown,
after all, 'people, here comes the clown!'

so this letter is addressed to none,
when some of you might find this rather fun,
if a death would be counted as a loss,
mine would be seen as nature's force.

do I smell that bad?
was it the look I never had?
do I embarrass you?
was it the funny looking shoe?

should I pay for a hug?
must I spend thousands of bucks?
should I care not all of this?
must I fake it all bliss?

i wish to end this misery,
i wish to stop this lunacy,
but the more I wish the more I realize,
this suicide note doesn't value a thousand dies!

even if I cease my life under the spotlight,
yes, it's true, people, I would have might,
if the clown you desire on having,
then pity me, my life isn't worth saving!

adieu, adieu, you cruel world,
later I would be a corpse rather than a girl,
call me stupid, call me all names all over town,
but I refuse to be forever known as The Clown!

lari dan terus lari

berlari ke arah terbitnya mentari
dan berlari sambil mata terpejam
lari dan terus lari
lari untuk mengejar mimpi yang memadam

namun sekuat mana larian itu
takkan mampu memanusia sang impian
lari dan terus lari
pada satu ingin yang hanya harapan.

masih berlari menuju langit subuh
dan mendepang tangan untuk memeluk pagi
lari dan terus lari.
satu larian yang tak ada henti.

lari dan terus lari.
tanpa erti.
maka, berhentilah.

the 15 minutes on the stage

so this is my hum for you
to those who feel inadequate
and those who feel they are never good enough
to everyone who would feel this voice
feeling not perfect.

the truth is.
*humming*

the truth is,
*unslipping left heel*
my thighs are thick.

the truth is,
*unslipping right heel*
my feet are gargantuan.

the truth is,
*wiping off lipstick*
my lips are slanted.

the truth is,
*lifting up the shawl on the forehead*
my eyes are a little crossed.

the truth is,
*grinning wide*
my teeth are not straight.

*humming*

the truth is, I do not have that many of friends.
the truth is, I hurt those I love the most.
the truth is, I have problem being loved.
the truth is, I never see my worth.
the truth is, I have a father who i wish to impress.
the truth is, I have such a perfect brother in everyone eyes except mine.
the truth is, I am an ugly, full of hatred person.
the truth is, I hate myself every minute, day by day.

*complete silence*
The truth is, I have nothing to be proud of.
The truth is, I fake my smiles.
The truth is, I am sick of being the class clown.
The truth is, I have nothing.
The truth is, I possess nothing.
And all i have is this song.

*humming*
god, Make me be thankful.
god, Let me be in peace.
god, Make people love me please.
god, Make me love me.

*insert sad soprano song*
*complete silence*

thank you, beautiful people.
for making this plain person feels so full.

Close your eyes, and imagine.

the risk

what is it with my fear of being isolated?
having doubts i could never be someone's pet bird.
i wont lay down and let Death just come
when no one is next to give me his arm.

it's not that i'm desperate to have a company
well maybe im just jealous for those who have many
i need not thousands like diana or sue
only one for me to devote and turn to.

okay so i dumped five guys in a row
yeah like they'd be there for me in days of sorrow
it's not that i'm particular or being choosy
but hey we are talking about my future kid's daddy!

then i found you in the middle of un-readiness
when i am damn tired of all the madness
just like dews on cool leaves in the morning
you refresh my life in one fast blink.

but the more i'm avoiding, the more i'm on my knees
i dont want to be hurt, i want promises of peace
and though i said i'll survive without you
i fear every second you'll leave me out of the blue.

cause to commit to another is to take the first step
to the journey that ends with hurt in this relationship map
i cant stand the thought of losing you
but without reaching your hands, who knows if ever that is true?

so i will take the risk no matter how heavy
yes i will take the shame if ever you dump me
for how deep the sore, the pain, the hurt, the cut
i'll stay up straight cause you worth every blood.

always do

oh i just cant wait for that hug waiting for me upon my jump to your arms.
there in KLIA when i come back.
like i always do.

will definitely throw my bags to the floor, watching you watch me unharmed.
and listen to every single questions and checks.
like you always do.

then we'll kiss and we'll hug and we'll do all the yummy yum yum.
care not for the people, and say what the heck.
like we always do.

like we always have. like we will forever.
cause we love each other to the seven skies.
oh yes sure we do.

melankoli sang hati

menarilah jari!
tarikan sekian hati lara.
pada segala awan kebencian.
pada setiap hujan kepedihan.

tari biar gemalai.
maka sang penonton bersorak takjub.
sangkanya molek ditepuk pula tangan.
walhal hati tercemar duri.

perbetul sanggul kamu.
usah ingkar wahai mahkota hitam.
jemari, kisahkan yang terang.
diamkan yang malap.

tapi aku tak bisa, bangsat!
masakan mungkin ditari wajah cengeng?
sedang bahasa pun tersongsang
apa lagi membelit yang hak.

melankoli sang hati.
tapi jemari yang remang.
sebutan puisi ini hambar.
persetanlah kau jari-jari bodoh.

aku sebenarnya di kejauhan.
membungkus diri dari dunia.
kerana aku takut berdekat.
yang mana pasti tak selamanya.

find me a place to call home

there's a home where i used to live
where i used to start all my dreams and believe
i've been there as long as i can ever remember
that i care about anything else never

i lived there for ages and so long
alone i danced and hummed my song
about how i love being there in that little place
not knowing what one day i'll have to face

so here i'm telling u what happened one day
the home i lived in refused to let me play
stop sheltering me from bad Mr.Sun and cruel Mr.Rain
i was sent alone with nothing but pain

all by myself i wandered in the dark black jungle
finding everything is very hard to mingle
cold,lonely and sad without the home i had
asking every single day,"what did i do bad?"

with tears running on my silly chilled cheek
i found a new home,with my feet feeling weak
i saw no one staying there, so i supposed
maybe i can live there as the new host

the new home made me feel good again
though not as equal but i forgot my pain
i started dancing and humming and singing
the warmth and welcomed the new home had bring

i did not remember anything about my past
i forget this new happiness also would never last
when i was just starting to settle down
unsuspecting and shocked, this is what i found

the new home was another's home all this time
how heartbroken i was so i started this rhyme
again i am sent away to wander around
asking God,"do you like to see me down?"

now i am all alone again in this dark black jungle
hoping for something else to light and tinkle
but the more and more i think about this
the more and more i tremble my fist

maybe i'll go back to the ole home of mine
though i'm hurt the most by it, well it's fine
maybe it's better to be hated in ur own place
then begging other's mercy and sympathy and grace

if truly there's no place made me belong
if really there's no one to listen to my song
then it's not my fault that i'm born to be me
then it's not my mistake, this is life, simply.

me, lucifer & the angel.

sitting in the arms of the Angel,
with my head in my hands,
fear of the big ferocious world.

the breeze of Lucifer's whisper,
calling me to come out play,
to the open field of amber.

out, out, come i was called,
play with fire, it warms me up.
come, come, be bold.

my eyes are thrown to the redness,
wanting, longing to be in warmth,
where i saw The Highness.

angel's wings and soothing promises,
need not i right now,
rise and sent Angel flying kisses.

there in the middle of amber field,
lucifer embraced me, laughing loud,
and all my lust are filled.

phobia.

please don't die.
let alone this moment.
don't even get sick.
i'm casting this spell now.

and don't you lie
when you speak of commitment.
walk with, I'm weak.
can't without, dumb of how.

can't tell you why.
it's a feeling you've to learn.
a secret you've to leak.
you've promised in your vow.

forget goodbye.
put it in boxes you'd burn.
call me a freak;
it's for you alone shall I bow.

Commitment phobia? You tell me.

the lunch break

sitting here alone on a lunch hour,
looking at pathetic hypocrites friends,
how masked and fake, treating each other,
laughing aloud, smiles exchanged, clapping hands.

these lambs i observe do not know,
the air is filth with puzzles and cautions,
damn the absents so secrets wont show,
oh how obvious! oh everyday this happens!

they laugh with stiff brows and soul-less lips,
and talk about how fun they had that day,
they say about staying together to every bits,
when in their hearts they despise the stay.

sometimes they pay me a few glimpse,
giving the same smile that they thought i need,
but sorry silly lambs, i had noticed,
your wolf's skin you hid under those feet.

I wrote this upon watching a group of friends during my break time. My oh my, how people are scary.

deep inside

smile
to fake.
laugh:
exaggerate.
never cry,
everyone you love dies.
let go everything you crave
to earn things you hate.
life is never fair
so be it!
be the person people expect.

cause you were long dead
deep inside,
when you locked yourself
deep inside.

Why satisfy others, they are insatiable. Well, we are just pathetic for worrying about being accepted, even if it costs you your self-respect.

not quite a charm.

i am not a barbie doll
this face is bare and I'm not tall,
with only my corpus i came forth,
with only my smiles i went up north.

does people see my eyes or my wit?
or do they stare at my masculine-built?
is it them who scared me to death?
or is it me going cuckoo like McBeth?

please, sir, i am not gorgeous,
but hear me roar from this urges,
long legs, firm thighs pink bosoms,
have those not, but i am awesome.

i notice i'm a bit rough,
i realize i never have enough,
i fear i used too many i's,
but i have to speak up or i'll die.

no i am not a pretty thing,
so take me seriously for whatever I'm saying,
beauty is temporary and beauty never last,
sit tight then, and have a great blast.

should i show my glass heart

on the cliff, hangin' on loose,
prays of miracles in each point seconds,
in just one huff and another puff,
angels defeated, rose the demons.

my heart is made of glass,
and how it's vulnerable and weak,
shatter now or just burst,
tremble not or fall this peak.

spectators cheering, prejudices speak up,
none now matter, everything is doubting,
should i show my glass heart, should i fake and lie?
should i grin and smile, wait helplessly and sing?

Dont you just hate waiting for that 'Yes' when you want something oh so really bad? You can't help but become this nervouse-confidence-wreck. Part of you says 'definitely', the other yells 'no way' and a big chunk questions all sort of 'what if'-s.

hello

hello the new Performing Arts Teacher.

for kiddies.

Cempaka International School,

love me please.

that 3 seconds to death

i was 3 seconds to end my breath
in the white icy cold bathroom
when you broke the door that instance
yet again, you pulled me from doom

it's not you, love, i swear its not
i'm a twisted lil girl with cruel memory
and all i got from my childhood
was all the painful taste of misery

let me go, it's you who made me stay
this is not my place, i just don't belong
and everytime i want to stand up
i would fall and bleed all day long

be away, shoosh and disappear
let me wither, let me be crushed
i may not be weak now that i have you
but what if this dream flushed?

the 3 second was very, very long
as i heard them laugh and tease
"they were evil" i chant repeatedly
but you shouted again and again "baby please!!"

but this is my heart, and it is bashed
and it is squashed very badly
it's not you, love, i swear it's not
but all comfort i get is by being lonely

i was about to leave you a letter
saying you'd never forget me and so
but i tremble too lot that i've shaken my heart
and i just cant let you see me go

and once the door are smashed
you grabbed my neck and hands
and i struggled out real hard yet i failed
till i helplessly succumb to you demands

you forced me down on the cold floor
and i lay there like a weak stallion
then you whispers all those beautiful words
like for you i am your best medallion

all those smells nuthin' like other lies
that i used to get growing up a beauty
you saw my ugly sides and my horrible childhood
but you hold me down tight and there you be

and there will you be forever long
forever strong
the father of my future child.

hakim dan rina

kepada semua yang cintanya berliku.
pada sekalian yang terkulai di sujudan duga.
di injak hati yang memaksa,
di tahan akal yang tak tidur.

terutama engkau, hakim dan rina.

dan pada agungnya kemustahilan kalian,
aku semburkan harap yang segunung,
kerana aku juga sang perindu yang tewas,
yang mau kisah cintanya hidup melalui kamu.

yang mana pada akalnya smua itu satu yang tidak bermungkin,
yang pada mereka yang tidak ketahui adalah satu rugi,
karena itu peganglah dan tari kan genggaman tangan kalian,
dan percaya apa yang kamu ada itu satu sakti.

usah bangkit dari tidur ini, sayang!
mimpikan hujungnya keindahan cinta itu,
moga bila kalian bangkit satu tika nanti,
tidak lagi kau tanya, "andai mungkin".

some love stories do make me cry. mostly when it happens right in front my eyes.

miss everyday the same

everyday starts exactly the same way everyday starts.

she will set two alarms at 8.30 and 8.40 in the morning. In between the time, she will close her eyes trying to remember the dreams she had. no significance there, just ritual.

the second alarm will go off and she will rise straight to the bathroom door. She will undress fast, and after she let her clothes slip down, she will head for bath. she never had long baths. she just doesn’t. all she has are hair shampoo and body soap which she sometimes uses alternately. no facial washer, no cleanser, no scrubs, no other else. soap and shampoo. just soap. and shampoo. either.

it’s not that she doesn’t want to have those typical set of womanly proof of existence, not even because she can’t afford one—but she has her own timing and she hates it when things slow her down.

time consuming, she says.

and she does not have time.

in less than 5 minutes, she will be out already with her red towel she brought from father’s house. no sentimental value there, just that she is the type who thinks twice when it comes to buying new things. or shopping. she is not a cheapskate. to her defense, she sees herself as a person with priorities.

well she always defends herself anyways.

she will grab anything she feels like wearing right after she got out of the bathroom. her clothes are not new. she got them at flee markets or internet pre-loved items auctions she sees in blogs. she believes things have hearts, that if she throws them away— they would cry.

she would.

if she were those things.

so anyone who goes to her apartment would see all sort of old things. not the antique or vintage kind of old. but outdated and unwanted. she never cares what people think of her. like for example there is this one bag she had from her father. up until her second year in university, she used that briefcase we see only be seen in silent movies. the girl with the big PVC box with four non-functional wheels;

that—

she is.

she just cant put them away. she just cant handle the pain. the piercing sounds she hears while leaving them to their own fate. she just cant stand her own tears.

she says sorry to them as if those things hoping they would comfort her; that it is ok for them to end up in the thrash where she left them. she puts them nicely and in order, in gestures of a farewell to a pensioning national war commander—faked smiles with tears running down, as well as a nod with a bucketful of unspoken words.

everyday starts exactly the same way everyday starts.

like everyday, she will wear anything she feels like. she has limited accessories, a choice of only one long bead that can act as a necklace or a bangle, a pair of hoop earrings that can go with basically everything and a faded scarf she sometimes use as a hairband, a hip belt or even a tie.

at every time, she will work her look very well.

perhaps it’s because she is pretty in her own ways, or at least she thinks she is, which in her own definition means not giving a damn about how she looks but still presentably attractive. everyone is attractive, she thinks. one extra mole on one twin will make two different from each other, wont it?

it is safe to say she actually is beautiful.

and a lot safer to continue with “in her own ways”.

she should be. her parents were a beautiful pair of match made in heaven. everyone says that while they smile reminiscing her parents until they stopped the smile in exchange to a sympathetic flat lip. they always switch off the sun when they talk of her mother. on how her mother’s death killed her father more than her cancer was to her mother. On how her father were broken and shattered when her mother passed to the other side.

“do you remember?” ask they.

all the time.

every time.

how could she not? left to live in her own definition of living at the early age of ten as her mother had started to wilt then. her siblings were either too young or too ignorant to care. she always feel lonely. her father was there—but there was no father but a hollow man more silent that the dead walls.

beauty was a term she learned by not having. like the word ‘rich’. she understands it by grasping the fact they are the opposite.

growing up, she was not the typical sparkle-eyed girl we want to be friends with. she was a little bit extra on the pounds and was sour smelled because of she sweats all the time. no one was there to tell her and guide her what to do. or how to manage the basic things in life like which powder to use to cover blemishes or what to use when you spill ketcup on a rug. no one at all.

her mother died after two years of mean cycle of ups and downs. mostly downs, of course. at her age of twelve, she was left with her frozen father and invisible siblings. her puberty went with none to refer to. her first sanitary pad was a maternity one just because she thought the thicker the better and as she freaked out, she wore them upside down. she thought the common sense would be glue sticks the discharge. experience thought her tissues absorb better than glue sticks.

she had no friends at all.

that was not bad.

she thought her life was normal.

now that—

was sad.

at 13 she enrolled herself in boarding school so she could breakaway from the silence she was chained to. she was a bright girl in her class, she always has. she was witty and smart with words—she found herself in the school debating team. she likes it when she can speak things out loud. she loves it when she expresses her mind. she cherishes every second on the stage for that is the only place on earth she can be the person she has always wanted to be and can get away with it.

everyone can be someone they cannot be in real life there on the stage.

everyone.

but she was not the standard look of a representative of a unit. she may be the face of her school, but she was fat and was not attractive enough to be the face. all she had was her mouth, her voice. no one likes a non-attractive smart mouth.

no one.

therefore always at the dining room, she will sit alone with no one joining her. what is worse than hostel food is obviously hostel food eaten on your own. after a while, she stopped dining. thank god for the allowance money her father gave her she used to buy light snacks to substitute her meals.

it is harder to survive loneliness than hunger.

of course, she lived.

but she lost massive amount of weight from week to week. she might be depressed, but no one saw it. “she was just being her”, snickered they. the way she lived her life was how her invisible siblings and statuette father did when her mother died.

quietly, she had made numerous attempts of suicides but that was the farthest she could go; attempts. she still cries on the sight of syringe at times she has high fever, how in the world can she even try to cut her wrist? She tried overdosing but always at the tenth tablet she would refrain herself as she feared the other side is just too big for her and she realized that she was not prepared. good thing, though—at least those drugs will calm her from her loud, mean and abusive mind.

there was nothing much to talk about of her next decade. the typical frustrations, the normal shouts of teenage angst, the classic puppy love made believe the truest. friends in and out. life up and down. the standards.

but whatever they were signifies nothing much to her in present time, except she is now is in her perfect figure and her parents looks are now more and more  visible in her features.

she had become a swan.

but this swan grew up thinking she was a toad—

so of course,

she never knew she could fly.

if only someone would tell her she is beautiful.

if only someone would just hold her and say to her face she is wonderful.

but none did.

none at all.

so no matter how much she had grown into a woman, the only person she sees every morning in the mirror is the girl with humongous thighs with few layers of chin she sees all this while. it is a tragedy, actually, to live a life of one who wishes to be someone you never knew you were all along.

a swan who wishes she were a swan because no one ever told her she was one.

a simple little swan who loves her simple life of her every simple day.

and like every other day after she is done with putting on clothes and accessorize, she will powder her face and paint her lip nude. she will get into her car and drive to her office. it takes her only ten minutes to get there had no force of nature or brutal accidents on her way.

at ten every morning she is will be in her office. she will always make sure she gets there before anyone else. she loves coming early to work so she doesn’t have to see people looking at her movements every second from the door to her cubicle. she can’t stand being looked at, other than the times when she is on stage debating, or at times when she enjoys being the class clown pathetically in desperation of friends making.

she will make herself busy until the office closes. she doesn’t even go out for lunch because she cooks to work. she may be a superb cook because she was born with amazing taste palate, but truth be told: when she was little, all she wanted to be was a housewife.

she still keeps that thought secretly to herself. but in reality she feels too ugly to date, and assumes she would never be married. and she has this understanding that so far, all of her assumptions had always been right.

well, mostly.

perhaps she was protecting herself.

so.

in the office, she is more like an observer. she is kind and never tried to be rude even though she was visibly quiet. she helps the office help when they come in. when people make silly jokes, she will laugh together with the joker, no matter how bland the punch line is. she smiles in support whenever people present their proposals, be the ideas are weird and outstandingly stupid. she avoids talking much so she wont have to shut her ears to office dramas. she blends better that her cubicle’s wall.

she tries really hard to not be significant.

at 7.30 when the sky is dark, she will be out of her cubicle, far from her computer and files. by now, everyone had left. and everyday, after work, before she gets back to her apartment, she will drop by at the supermarket. she buys her groceries in small portions on daily basis because she has nothing else to do. she has her own movie setting at home. her apartment is complete. at least to her.

right after, she will head directly to her nest.  she will change to appropriate homey attire, and then she will start cooking two portions. one for now and another for work the morrow. she will cook and then she will turn on her film of choice on her small box telly—her favourite genre is autobiography and myth. with food in the plate on her palm, and she will enjoy her dinner while sinking in her little cinema date with herself.

her body clock is everyday demanding for early sleep. the latest she could go is at twelve and at that is very rare. she is more of a morning person than a night owl. nothing happens at night, she said.

nothing but beautiful dreams she cant wait to be in.

she will then clear the mess she had made for dinner and will pack her food for work. she has never let herself sleep in untidy. she will clean everything up and put everything back in order. she would feel terrible if she notice any of her stuff fell off unattended—because they have feelings.

and she has feelings, too—

so.

everyday, her ritual ends with her tucking herself between her cozy bedspreads and blanket. she will smile as soon she is comfortable with her position. she does that all the time. she smiles to signal her thanks to the bed who every night had kept her safe and warm.

she will doze all the way in bliss. she will find what she wants to find in her dreams. she has always been so eager for night time. it is the best time of her simple every day.

as everyday starts exactly the same way everyday starts,

everyday ends exactly the same way everyday ends.

except this morning,

she wakes up dead.

on the nights where we sleep under a different splash of stars.

the breeze of beijing is chewing my bones
they have not shatter my mind, only my hands
but the coldness living without your eyes
they crushed my entire soul to sands

i notice the moon is a bit slanted tonight
so as the stars, they are not exactly the same
perhaps i'm looking from a different window
that sights are now aligned to a new frame

this silence should be tortured by our laughs
the laughs that are now parted by thousand seas
this shirt has lost you in every tears i wipe
and all i am left is purely memories

there's mountains here and there
there's autumn having her first waltz with the moon
the music is so perfect yet 'am all alone on the dance floor
so come forth now, come to me soon

on the nights where we sleep under a different splash of stars, i feel lost.
on the nights where we sleep under a different splash of stars, i feel pain.
on the nights where we sleep under a different splash of stars, i feel dead.
on the nights where we sleep under a different splash of stars, where are you?

a poetry i wrote when i was in Beijing for my soulmate, in Malaysia. We were disconnected for a week, and i felt so lost.

i just want to poetry.

i need a classroom.

i need a listener.

i need a pen.

maybe a piece of paper.

i need a muse.

it can be a finger.

i need you to talk to me back.

i just want to poetry.