We're counting your sins, they said
The demons, they came for me today
My name burnt into their palm-
outstretched
Their wings, like angels;
Bitter at the tip, instead of sweet
Colored in with hate, where love
had left a stain
And you would say they're different,
But I'd tell you they have the same scars
Then you'd be aghast that I thought them
the same
But I'd say one felt no pain,
and the other had it ringing through his soul;
Every fucking day.
They said I could keep my beauty,
Tonight I would fly
And I ran my fingers along his arm engraved with alphabets
Alphabets that spelt my name
"Come," they said
If I am beautiful, then yes, I should
Stepped onto the stone ledge and asked,
"Will you love me?"
But lying, they said,
would leave another scar.
The demons, they came for me today
To take me up on wings
To let my life burn out of the tip of my fingers
I could've been brave,
But I collapse back into the cold rush of reality;
Too scared to fall,
Too scared to be unloved
October 25th 2008
The goldfish and all her world
"You're all the world to me," she whispers, pressed close to the glass that separates us. I reach up, pressing my index finger against where her nose rests. I cannot find the words to tell her that I won't be, in thirty seconds.
I cannot tell her.
"My, and that's a big, big world." I say, smiling at her. Hoping, that she would believe as much as I don't. She smiles back, and blows me a kiss.
And all but thirty seconds after she says those precious words, she darts away from the glass she was pressed against, and I become another vague shadow, standing over her world, crying.
lonely tables, pretty lights
Will you stay, for this song I'm singing
Before you grab your coat and leave,
could you turn around and maybe believe,
that you're not living your life
and I'm not living in mine
And I'm reaching out and singing this song,
to you.
Go on rest, that briefcase on the floor.
Before you write me off and nod,
turn your back and then walk off
Could you stay just a while,
til they switch off these pretty lights
Cos I'm reaching out and singing this song,
to you
No, I don't know your name
Don't know the story behind those tired eyes
And I don't have the words
that you need to hear
But with those curtains drawn,
you can hum along,
you're not the only one,
pretending you're not here
Will you listen,
to these words lined with meaning.
Before you pay your bill and go
would you remember to know
the little girl on this stage,
who still is guessing your name
The one who's reaching out and singing this song,
to you
Crack of dawn, like the crack in a mirror
They told me once,
that when the world cracked open
we would see the souls
of the weakest.
The souls of those who couldn't survive this world,
or were not given a chance to.
"You can hear them," she said.
The crying of the unborn,
the calling of the abandoned,
the screaming of the ones too brave to live.
"Can't you?" she asked.
Because it's sewn into the lining of the sky,
hidden in its pockets
and holding on to rain.
"They're scared," I tell her, "of letting go."
We're crying the same sounds, you see.
Screaming and laughing, just like they are.
Maybe I can't hear them,
but I can hear us.
Clear as the glass pieces we put to our mouths.
And we don't need to wait
for the world to crack open to see.
They're in our mirrors before we break them,
and even after.
"They know," I tell her.
That they might be the weakest of souls,
But they're still stronger than us.
Red ribbon on gravel
He sits at the back, staring off into space.
Oblivious to the moving world, uncaring and disinterested.
They move in circles and he wanders on the outside, expressing no interest whatsoever in stepping in, to join hands.
She is no more, and they crowd in around me.
Their questions tripping over themselves, tumbling over each other's heads.
Some of them are reporters, some of them are counselors and some of them are desperate to know.
He comes right up to me, his question balanced precariously on the edge of his lips.
"Did you love her?" He presents this to me, wrapped in a ribbon of a history I do not know.
"I'm her father. Of course I did."
He nods, taking my answer, folding it into himself and the many layers you are not meant to peel away.
He wanders to the corners that they have emptied out to come to me. Fits himself into the familiarity of that emptiness and disappears again, all but physically.
It should not matter, but it does.
She,
she who was not real and is now gone,
at least had a father who loved her.
Saying Goodbye
"Say goodbye Leslie," he had said, his voice firm and even.
"Stop telling me what to do! Just fuck off, will you?" I had screamed back, defiant and angry.
I shake the memory from my head. It's been three years since Daddy's car met with one owned by a drunk driver. I think, more than anything, I have been angry. Angry at that irresponsible drunkard, angry at my brother for demanding from me something I absolutely could not give, but most of all, angry at myself.
If I had driven that night, Daddy would not have had to come pick me up from campus. He would not have been on the road and he would not have met with that accident.
It took me ages before I stopped being angry at the world and at myself, but it hasn't made accepting Daddy's death any easier. No prize for guessing why my twin brother and I have kept each other at arm's length since. We kept that wall between us up until six months ago, when Mummy told me he was in the final stages of lung cancer.
I have yet to decide who I'm angrier with.
It is Thursday today and I have taken a half day off to see my brother. As my tiny car pulls into the hospital parking lot, I notice that the smoking corner is taken up mainly by doctors and nurses. I laugh at the irony of it as I wind down the window to light my own cigarette.
Walking into the hospital, coffee in hand and car keys in the other, I smile wanly at the nurses who now know me by name.
"Fact of the day," I chirp, dumping my bag on the floor and kissing my brother on the cheek. He turns his head ever so slightly in my direction and manages a weak smile.
"You're still smoking?" He guesses. I give a dramatic roll of my eyes and laugh.
"I read this somewhere, and actually saw it myself today." I wait for him to share my enthusiasm with a slow nod.
"Most smokers are actually doctors and nurses!" I exclaim.
He imitates my dramatic eye-rolling, "That's my fact of the day?" he asks. I laugh and lay my head gently on his chest. He breathes deeply and manages a wheezy cough.
In the last three months, he has lost a disgusting amount of weight.. His once handsome face has given way to sunken cheeks and sallow skin. It hurts to see him like this. His breathing is shallow and I readjust myself to make sure I'm not leaning any weight on him.
With a huge amount of effort, he slowly lifts his right arm to stroke my hair. I do not even realize that I am crying until I find that my cheeks are wet.
"Say goodbye, Leslie," he says, his voice huskier than it used to be. I lift my head, kiss him on the cheek, and wait for him to smile.
"Goodbye Lesley," I whisper.
We chuckle at the memory of people mixing up our names, and smile at the annoyance of always having had to deal with sharing an androgynous name.
I slip my fingers in between his and watch him take a deep breath.
"Goodbye, Lesley."
what in the world, keeps us from falling apart
Lower the volume, because the music might be a bit loud.
But you're going to have to play the song while reading.
Well at least, try to.
I lift my head from my husband's bare chest and prop myself up on my right arm- still suffering the after-effects of pins and needles. Pulling the tiny bit of excess duvet around my front, I sit on the edge of the bed and exhale.
"Babe?"
Shit.
I feel the rustle of blankets and his warm breath against my shoulder as he kisses me. I stiffen, just a tiny, barely noticeable bit.
"I love you," he says into my neck.
"Okay." I answer softly, inching away.
"You won't be away too long this time will you?" He asks, his voice suddenly child-like. I turn to him, and smile at his wide eyes. I don't know how I've managed to do this for so long.
"No promises" I say, giving him a practiced smile.
When I'm dressed, I creep into my children's room and kiss them goodbye.
I bite a sorry into my lips and keep from whispering it into their unhearing ears.
In the car, Celine Dion is screaming a 2005 song.
"I drove all night," it goes, "to get to you." How apt, I think, and turn the damn thing off. I speed across the empty freeway. Even fat bastardy traffic policemen would have hooked up with a slut by 4.30 in the morning.
I slow down, turning right into an empty driveway, immediately off the highway and cut the engine. The faint glow of a single candle is still visible through the window.
"I fell asleep waiting," she mumbles, half asleep, as I crawl under the covers. I run my fingers through her short, dark tousled hair and kiss her cheek. "Is that alright?" I ask quietly.
"At least you're here." She smiles sleepily as I curl up against her.
"I love you," she says softly into my hair.
"I love you too."
woke you from your sleep, to make love to you
I'm in the Marching Band
High hells clicking
guys are just dying
to catch her when she falls
And they hate that
I'm the one she smiles at
from the other end of the hall
Tea's gone cold
she leans back laughing
screeches Britney's songs
til the whole restaurant's staring
Doesn't matter that the school loves her
Or that I am second best
Doesn't matter that there are others
Carving her name on their wrist
Cos when we're falling asleep
It's my name she whispers
And I get her goodnight kiss
Voted Prom Queen
I am Ms Almost Seen
and she slips me the crown to wear
With the whole room staring
and people bitch-talking
She holds my hand for them to stare
Salty sea breeze
She smiles, hair flying
How did I get
Ms Perfect without even trying
Doesn't matter that the school loves her
Or that I am second best
Doesn't matter that there are others
Carving her name on their wrist
Cos when we're falling asleep
It's my name she whispers
And I get her goodnight kiss
(c) Charis Vera Ng
Like This
Everyday is a struggle
Sometimes it feels like I can’t breathe
Sometimes it feels like your memories
Are close, but out of reach
Every day is a dream
Where footsteps have knife-like rings
You’re talking and I’m trying to
But I can’t hear a thing
(Chorus)
If you’re close enough to feel
Why can’t I touch you
And if I can see you smile
Why can’t I smile too?
If I can smell you on my skin
Why can’t I breathe
At the thought of you
Seeing me
Like this
Everyday is a lifetime
Waiting to see you again
I would reach through these walls
To touch you if only I can
I would turn back time
And hold you tight
Freeze the moment
Capture it in my mind
And if only I had known
I would’ve held you
And if I could day goodbye
I’d ask if I could go too
Can I not be here alone
How long til I see you
© Charis Vera Ng
July 7th 2008
