Third Person

Moisturize,

My dear

Feet don't stop cracking

Skin, is begging for some love

Don't overthink

Think not, rather

Just keep going on

Pause not

Control thy frizz

Braid and unbraid your hair

Don't hide in corners and cry

Not in bathroom breaks, ah no

You're more than your failures

Beyond your muzzled ambition

Breathe, deeply 

And then shallow

Take long baths,

Scrub some more

Nap, as much.

Don't bother. Nobody cares as much. 

Nothing comes of anything, anyway.

Nothing gets. 

Write about losing

Just so you can erase and move on.

Be a third person

Stand, unfazed, outside your body.

You're as dead as you're alive

Disconnect on volition

Observe and appreciate

Whatever little you got

It's not as little, perhaps

You wouldn't be able swallow more.

Plateful of meals

Washed clothes, listless midnight breeze

Fairy lights, potted plants

Skin on skin; mouth on mouth

Ain't too shabby for Rachel 

Loop

It's only Tuesday

And my feet hurt

It's only Tuesday

And I don't wanna wake up

But I am keeping up 

With the world,

Because I've to keep going 

I'm keeping the world up, rather 

Everyday's in a loop

Countless weeks,

Back to back

In an anxious delusion

Nauseous afternoon traffic

The same billboards, staring down

Lunches and dinners cooked 

And kept away

Nothing is ever new

Honestly, new scares me now

And I don't even remember the old

Stuck in this static repetition 

To pause, 

Is to allow existential bs to take over

So, I'd rather not

But one random Thursday evening

Perhaps at 7:36 pm, say

In a quiet moment in the balcony

Wondering whether to water the plants, or not 

I pause, unconsciously - 

The loop is broken 

And the whole world comes crashing down. 

Saturday Sorrow

Keep your tote bags in

No brunches for you.

And no long stem, purple carnations either

No resting wine glasses or dangling forks

Or longish conversations, either

You're perhaps, not worth it, after all.

Run errands, you!

Doctor appointments, medicine store hauls

Pending gynaec visits, the psychiatrist awaits

Kitchen's all a leak, call the plumber will you

Door's come off it's hinges, so have you

The house is falling onto us, what-do-we-do

More errands, some.

What about some deep cleans

While doing which, time's a plenty

To regret, while you clean

Thing's you've done and thing's you've not done

No Saturdays for you,

Only the sorrow.

No movies, no writing

Keep your creative corner 

In your 100% imaginary artisanal balcony

Shun the jute rug, which you never bought

Decay. Slowly though

Without mercy 

Lose yourself, irretrievably 

Feel your temples heat with temper

What-do-we-do what-do-we-do 

Slow Day

Slow day, braid and unbraid your hair.

Watch yourself age in the mirror, see them lines, under eyes.

Cook slow meals, de-shelled prawns in coconut milk

Eat in quiet corners, looking at Christmas lights on a stranger's balcony.

Imagine her life, breathe in. Breathe out, be you again.

Rummage through old clothes, unworn for years, yearn for smells of past years. Past lives.

Encourage clutter. Never get rid of stuff, ever.

No agenda, no to-do crap list.

Let thoughts simmer.

Tip toe around in lil-nothings. Let dreams be.

Don't try, do not try. Just be. 

Watch the fuzzy sun, in the cloudy sky.

Take long naps, dream only then.

Wake up into the evening, cheeks a bit swollen.

Is it still today?

Then you isolate again and write a poem.