If it’s a game of chance,
then why do you never lose?
Browsing: Poetry
This breath is mine.
This breath is mine.
stretch leg high
eyes ahead
core tight
Body contorts in its retrospect.
Seeking relief.
She breathes. This is to be whole again.
Numerous times I
hacked off my sharp edges
carved myself into a new person
sanded my skin till it was smooth
They’re coming for our Countries
for our spirits
and our identities
I am reminded of the time a man once said jokingly, un bi yen thiak
a ‘joke’ we too often hear
Fervent hands / making holy artefacts
Even you get fed up with your own inconsistencies.