16 January 2018

I hate you
For teaching me first
that I am disgusting
that I must first seek perfection
in the only form that is you

I hate you
for making me first realize that I am nothing better
To the common man that find disgust
in all action and imperfection

I hate you
For teaching me to be the way I am
Truly a frightful monster to the other sex
so much so, I cannot embrace myself

I hate you
For abandoning me
Denying my existence for as small as I was
fearful of the power I had over you.

I hate you
For filling me with ambition
Hoping it would take me somewhere
so that it could be a blanket over the shame of me

I hate you
For making me smaller than I should really be
for believing the monster
believing in me
for not having died as soon as can be
I hate you the most
cause I hate being me
and despite broken mirrors
not a cut to be seen

I hate you



“In the future…”

We haven’t been dating for that long. I get that to us it feels like it’s been a while but to others, it shouldn’t–because honestly, it hasn’t been that long.

Two months.

Our families ask if we plan on getting married. At two months. My sisters ask if I can imagine myself spending the rest of my life with him. I answer honestly. No.

They complain like banshees. Then what am I doing? Why bother dating? You need to think of the future.

As if I haven’t. You’re always going off and off about the future. As if I’m not always thinking about it. As if it doesn’t stick in my brain like placque. As if it doesn’t haunt my closet at night.

That’s just it though. I’m always thinking about the future. But it’s never long. Not mine. Everyone else’s future seems to expand into eternity while mine struggles to make the year. Maybe two months–maybe three months. I can’t tell. The future is darker than a secret.

Now I get to ask you, is it so wrong for me to try and have some fun? Or is it that you take the thought that because it is fun it is without thought or planning? I don’t understand why I am to be punished for trying to enjoy myself. Why am I only a child when you disagree?

Perhaps I was wrong. I figured that since I can’t seem to see a future for more than a year there would be no harm in having fun. In just gaining an experience before I go. But, I guess you’re right. Why did I bother? I thought I deserved some happiness. Maybe. Possibly. But obviously I am wrong. Since there seems to be no long term agenda with this other human being I should not bother. No lesson to learn, no experience to take. My options are forever, or never.

You’re right, though. Feelings are a fragile and fickle thing. I shouldn’t bother. I’m not going to live long anyway–to connect with someone before I go seems like smudging a painting in a museum I don’t belong in.

Next time I’ll think more about the future. I won’t venture out. I won’t say a thing. There will be no marks and I apologize.



24 September 2017

All that I asked for was transparency.
That was it.
I just wanted transparency.
I always kept you in the know
I was transparent about my feelings.
But because you didn’t like me
didn’t want to know
didn’t want to see
didn’t want to feel
it didn’t matter
Nothing did.

To you.

So in the end I can only conclude that it would be the same.
A pathetic ditch effort for the result of nothing
As always.

You were my last string.
The last thing keeping me sane
The only grasp of hope in reality’s face
And I was wrong to do that
Because you didn’t care to know.
Didn’t care to see.
Didn’t care to feel.
Didn’t care… about me.
So that was my fault.
For putting my hope in the wrong thing
For knowingly attaching my heart
onto something I knew was only temporary
It was my fault for making you my last hope. And because you didn’t care to know
didn’t care to feel
didn’t care to see
didn’t care about me
you were gone.

Along with my hope.

So when the small voices would call
from the farthest distance
telling me not to jump
I ignored them.

I didn’t care to know
didn’t care to see
didn’t care to feel
didn’t care about

So I jumped.


The Language I Speak

28 February 2017

Oh, that’s kind of sad.
That is what they say when I tell them
“I’m not fluent in my first language.”
It is. I will not deny that.
But it most definitely is not sad for the reason you think
At least, not to me.
You say it is sad
It is.
And I hate it, I hate it that they ask.
They dare. ask. why.

“What are you saying?”
“Stop speaking like that,
“Don’t use those words.”
“You need to speak English at school.”

I turned away, as many of us did
What was the beauty and the use of my first language
It wasn’t being taught in school
We’d get in trouble for speaking it
So who cares if I know my first language?
It’s not important, English is important

The nurse giggles when I struggle
Struggle to find the words in my first language
To try and explain what the hell a PICC line
Is to my father, in an underdeveloped language

The white lady glares at me
When I walk down the street with my friends
Joking about something in my first language
Like we don’t belong here.

And one of the experiences that confused me the most
Was when I was sitting in Spanish class
Discussing funerals with a fellow student
Simply because we were asked
And the Spanish teacher said to the class
“I bet they’re talking about how ugly we are.”

She giggled while I just looked at her incredulously
My Spanish teacher
Who had been abroad to Spain
Whom I had assumed would learn not to say such things
When she herself knew a different language
And had gone abroad
My Spanish Teacher

So when they look at me
They see that I’m different
They ask me where I’m from
They ask me what language I speak
I’m a foreign in my own home
And I speak the language
Of bitterness and spite




Isn’t life funny?

I was on a roll, writing and finding, writing and translating. For some reason my laptop is refusing to log me in. I am unable to write/post.

I know, it doesn’t sound like a biggy but I had saved all the lyrics that I wanted to use on my laptop on a notepad. So it’s not like I can just dropbox these lyrics to myself on another device. My laptop is super old. I… I now regret having done that. All of my planned posts were on there as well as my pictures and porn. I don’t know how to fix this. Anyways, until I get things fixed, posts are going to be on pause. I’ll still be writing but I’ll have to mass post at a later date.

Again, I apologize.



25 March 2017

In a bout of anger, I told him everything–
from the shitty excuse of a relationship to the miscarriage,
the friendship and its downfall,
the family and its hidden disease.

I shouted it all
because I just couldn’t hold it in anymore.
I don’t actually know what I was expecting.
There was a moment of silence and then
he asked if I had seen the school counselor.

That’s when I lost it.

‘Fuck you,’ I said.
Did I try to seek counseling?!

For being a psychology major who wanted to be a therapist,
he sure didn’t have a fucking brain.

A counselor.
What a fucking joke.

You want to know what happened the one time I did find a counselor?
He asked me if I had any friends to confide in.
Not because it ‘wasn’t his problem’ but
he wondered if I acted out because I was lonely.
My problems aren’t so big that they’d need a counselor.
They’d all tell me the same fucking thing anyway.

Reflect on the situation,
go chat with some of your girlfriends,
talk to your friends.

So there I was,
talking to what I had assumed was a friend.
A friend with a psychology major,
who I figured wouldn’t be so fucking dense.

Find a counselor?
What a joke.

But I guess I should have figured
because you weren’t a friend.
You were a fucking joke.

That was the last call.
Guess it really is time to find a counselor.



27 of 365: Lyrics of my own

Of course I can do it

because I have you by my side

I honestly don’t need anything else 

you are my natural caffeine

my ecstasy, my drug

I only go crazy because of you

I’m only crazy because of you

And if you’re no longer here

That part of me is no more

She no longer exists.


Num Auttaporn Timakorn – The Way to Walk