it is not your accent
or the colour of your skin
it is not your dances
your nationality
nor your family tree

it is pride
and shame
it’s the sight of oneself
at the peak of the world
whilst at the time
feeling so small
you begin to question 
if you even exist

it’s a fish
living on the sea
inside a fishbowl

it’s the remaining marks
of having been harmed
by the sharp pieces
of broken promises

it’s living for today
for tomorrow is
not assured
and you barely
made it out of yesterday

it’s the tiredness you get
from playing a game you can’t avoid
having learned too late you
were never allowed to win anyway

it’s the blind eyes of Borges
it’s the hundred years of solitude

it’s the reason this is written in english

a pain buried so profound you
sometimes dare to believe it’s no longer there
but it will find you, always
and you will pass it down
same as how you once got it

and you will learn to love it
despite knowing how much it hurts
if you’ve felt it then you know it
if you haven’t 
there’s not much
i can explain

are you there
siblings of mine?
do you think they’ll
let us have this

even if just
for a little while?

my body fails constantly
it’s been two months i haven’t quite felt proper
i don’t think I know what’s causing it
but if i do know , i rather ignore it whilst it lets me do so

my eyes try lifting the weight of a lifetime
every minute or so, and every second that goes by
the heavier the load it gets

a coworker handshakes me and
i can't brush away his perfume from the skin of my hand
i’d cut it off if i could

once i was afraid, then became admiring
now i’m repelled, growing disgusted

when you stirp it down to its core
it’s just the world’s cruelest game
i came to your house unwillingly and
now you turn a tantrum each time i step up
from the dinner table

have you noticed the backyard door’s been open
for around thirteen months already?

at first the breeze was nice
then the mosquitos came in
alongside spiders, mice and rats
often time some birds come around
that brought in the stray cats

hardly anything survived the winter months
hardly anything but us, and the feral dogs
at first they came for our leftovers
now they looking at us

once i was afraid, then became admiring
now i’m repelled, growing disgusted

once i was afraid, then became admiring
now i’m repelled, growing disgusted

keep your fingers off of me
save your words to yourself
don’t try to catch me, hug me,
don’t restrain me
i will soon learn how to bite too