why is it that whenever you feel unhappy,
you feel irreconcilably fat and ugly?
every movement feels slow, sluggish,
every shifting of the limbs a grudging
push against the grey sludge of depression.

lambie said we use words
which we don't truly understand.
you can't be depressed, he said,
if you can still manage to pull yourself out of bed.

well my body's out of bed,
but the rest of me sure isn't.
every inch of me is screaming
for some sort of reprieve,
for some kind of dark holey shelter
in which i can bury myself so deep
the tawny fingernails of the mundane monster
can never stroke me again.

i've bitched about this so many times
i don't suppose anybody cares to listen anymore.
shut up krys you stupid whiny bitch.
your melodrama evokes no sympathy.
be stronger la, asss,
you're almost 19 and still crying
over the smallest...

too much homework, too little time,
phone and ipod disappear in singapore
and computer breaks down amidst
world lits
econ commentaries
physics labs
and math portfolios...
all due this and last week.

and every day for the last week,
it's been pushing pushing pushing myself
to sit here at this handicapped laptop
and write for english, math and econ.

how do you write calmly and soberly,
with an intelligent presence of mind
when all you can think about
is when will this end?
how do you organize clever and objective
thoughts and place them squarely
in black and white on paper,
when all your senses are screaming
for a hole which you can
squeeze through and escape?

i feel strapped down,
manacled by this immovable rule of life i
either play by or lose.
you study, you strive, you struggle
or you're out of the game, buddy.
goodbye, that's it,
you're done,
everyone else just
beat
you
to
it.

at the back of my mind,
my next lines rear their mocking heads:
it's a loser's battle, krys baby girl.
what were you thinking, running into IB?
this spoilt lazy pig,
running for the grand prize?
you gonna keep trying?
hahaha!

then pause.
then from behind the mocking faces
of these inner demons,
something a little smaller
but infinitely stronger
pulls at a chain which chokes all my
derisiveness back into empty echoes.
and with its appearance
i suddenly feel a sweep of calm
wash over me like hot cleansing bathwater...

push on.
cry all you want, but push on.

why is it that whenever you feel unhappy,
you feel irreconcilably fat and ugly?
every movement feels slow, sluggish,
every shifting of the limbs a grudging
push against the grey sludge of depression.

lambie said we use words
which we don't truly understand.
you can't be depressed, he said,
if you can still manage to pull yourself out of bed.

well my body's out of bed,
but the rest of me sure isn't.
every inch of me is screaming
for some sort of reprieve,
for some kind of dark holey shelter
in which i can bury myself so deep
the tawny fingernails of the mundane monster
can never stroke me again.

i've bitched about this so many times
i don't suppose anybody cares to listen anymore.
shut up krys you stupid whiny bitch.
your melodrama evokes no sympathy.
be stronger la, asss,
you're almost 19 and still crying
over the smallest...

too much homework, too little time,
phone and ipod disappear in singapore
and computer breaks down amidst
world lits
econ commentaries
physics labs
and math portfolios...
all due this and last week.

and every day for the last week,
it's been pushing pushing pushing myself
to sit here at this handicapped laptop
and write for english, math and econ.

how do you write calmly and soberly,
with an intelligent presence of mind
when all you can think about
is when will this end?
how do you organize clever and objective
thoughts and place them squarely
in black and white on paper,
when all your senses are screaming
for a hole which you can
squeeze through and escape?

i feel strapped down,
manacled by this immovable rule of life i
either play by or lose.
you study, you strive, you struggle
or you're out of the game, buddy.
goodbye, that's it,
you're done,
everyone else just
beat
you
to
it.

at the back of my mind,
my next lines rear their mocking heads:
it's a loser's battle, krys baby girl.
what were you thinking, running into IB?
this spoilt lazy pig,
running for the grand prize?
you gonna keep trying?
hahaha!

then pause.
then from behind the mocking faces
of these inner demons,
something a little smaller
but infinitely stronger
pulls at a chain which chokes all my
derisiveness back into empty echoes.
and with its appearance
i suddenly feel a sweep of calm
wash over me like hot cleansing bathwater...

push on.
cry all you want, but push on.