76

 

 

how lucky am I
to wake up every morning
and still be dreaming

 

 

 

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75

daydream about things you love
when you’re sad
surround your soul with the things that make you tick
a running tally of mementos

even the smallest of seconds passing
your favourite blanket
the next episode queued
a tucked-away coffee shop
new personal best

keep these memories close to you
because life can be so cruel
and you’ll be cold without a coat
be comforted by these soft moments
and seek them out
wherever you can.

71

Being your very best
is always going to be enough.
Home sweet home:
the ceiling of success
doesn’t knock on
your neighbour’s door
to compare Venetian blinds.

May this be the
anthem of your aspiration:
even if your 100% is someone else’s 75%
you’ve still given everything you had
your progress is still valid
and your worth is as never-ending as
scrolling to the bottom of
the highlight reels
of your friends and family.

So set your phone down
forgive yourself,
do your absolute best,
move onto bigger things,
and decide to always be more
than what a screen ascribes
you should be.

67

Find discomfort in the hem
of your occasion dress
zips on the side–
boys left behind
gawking at the sheer sight
of your lacy best.

Have you ever entered
a room filled,
familiar-faced
but not acquainted enough to
strike the ice?

All dressed up, nowhere to go
you arrive and yet
feel uninvited before
opening your lipstick mouth.

Surface-level small-talk: to
ask questions of others, to
keep conversation alive
I wonder if they sense my
mild polite engagement
as attention nonetheless.

My discomposure
a child nagging at my leg
pulling the sewn thread
and unravelling until I look
as naked as I feel.

65

Holidays used to horrify
my sanity and sensibility.
The last minute scramble
to be cuffed to a decent man
of decent values to decently
satisfy my family’s questions.

To be presented at the
dinner table, served
as arm candy
dressed to impress.
With or without a man
I’m the appetizer, the entrée, the dessert
I’m not a plus one.

I am a worthy dinner guest
to any evening soiree.
I’m fine on my own, thank you
frankly, I’m wonderful company.

60

I once had this beautiful silk dress
dotted with oil stains
I couldn’t get out.
I’d wring my knuckles raw
trying to scrape this pattern
from a spot only I could see.

I would question everyone:
“Do you see a difference?”
“Can you tell?”
I could feel it on me
like bullet holes in my shoulder blade
lodged into my skin
and yet I only quantified myself
if someone else noticed, too.

an impurity
a part of me
that ached from the inside
at a time I used to count calories
and revel in my whittling
8, 6, 4, 2, 0
I embarked to be even more invisible than
those defects I desperately wanted someone
to notice

I wonder if that girl with the silk dress
understands why I gave it up
and why it was that
she so desperately tried to
erase an imperfection that wasn’t really there.
I certainly don’t fit in those
clothes of a time long past
and I may never get to 0 again
but at least
my knuckles are soft again.