Tuesday, January 28, 2014

Blood & Bones (I Wanna Be a Pretty Girl)

Blood & Bones 
(I Wanna Be a Pretty Girl)

Our bodies are divisible by seven
We live in dog years, shed our skin
Like snakes, submerge in the abnormalities of our 
metaphysical demagogues, endocrine gods,
We secrete lysozymes and intelligence, 
governed by twenty-something crosses, 
number seven gives us language, 
but we put weight on the last pair, 
we draw the line between the extras, 
the ambidextrous, the submissive allele,
The snake eyes and the dog ear,
Our bodies are divisible by seven,
But we're stuck between numbers,
Our cells haven't shed and our years are uneven, 
we still have our zebra skins and our lion claws, 
we ruminate but we do not nourish, 
we hydrate but we do not flourish, 
we fall but we do not rise, 
we want blood and bones, 
we want blood and bones.

Monday, December 30, 2013

You Tell Me There Is No Water

You Tell Me There Is No Water

Phlegmatic, it rolls on my tongue
Lapping tinctured circles, a soft
Murk upon the inferior surface—

The cells collide in synchronic
Fashion, molten mass massaging
My mouth, an answer to the

Integral throb mapping out my
Gut, the drunken spill of impulses
Vibrant all the way to the peak of my pipe. 

Saturday, November 9, 2013

Chemicals over Calories

Chemicals over Calories

Feet together
Thighs apart—
Our emaciation is
A form of art,

We find fear
In roll-on calories,
Bone perimeters and
Blur-out boundaries, 

Measuring time in
Metrics, flying in decimal
Electrics, we always round
Off to the higher number 

Stirring from our
Cigarette slumber,
Kneeling to perform
Oral catharsis.




I scrambled for the blade in
My morning blur,

I only wanted

To do away with my clinomaniac
Depressive tendencies,

With the rigid matrix I attempt
To swim through every 4AM,

To climb up the slumber staircase
With passive fluidity, to hope

Carefully, fearfully, for the stir of
Morning, for my fingers opening

The plastic blinds, without floating
Back into hibernative oblivion,

For my body to wake up
Without the pain.

Friday, September 27, 2013



I am amphipathic;
My antagonistic side
Chains chime like the

Tongues of alarm bells,
Bronze affinities abusing
The air—

I howl in infrasound,
Transfusing my thoughts
In a ghostly frequency,

As lachrymose molecules vibrate
Across my left-side brain,
Begging for your attention.

Saturday, September 14, 2013



The years play a quintet,
Bows and blowers lead
By a broken baton,

Duct-taped and tilted,
It dances over capitalized
Leaflets, liberally

Reflecting the hegemony
Of days gone by, the doorbells
And brass triangles

Vibrate under wraps of
Cellophane, fondling the
Awe of the audience,


Monday, September 9, 2013

Monday Madness #26

New Heights

It is autumn again, and I am busy all the time. I constantly visualize in colors the schedule of my days, weeks, months. I think of my time in mathematical terms and qualitative phrases, weighing my options and criticizing my choices. Looking back, this is how my last school year began. Only, after a week or two, the downhill came. I reached the ledge at a speed to fast to stall. And I stumbled over, rolling and rolling downward. But now it is different - I can feel it in my bones, my core, my soul.

As time has flown by, positive changes have struck me. I have spent time with the love of my life, I have mended old wounds, and I have worked hard towards my future. I have taken a good kick-start into my last year before graduation, and I have been accepted into a new dance program that will help train me to a more professional level. I have constant yet non-paternalistic support from both my family and my mental health services. I am in therapy. I like my therapist. I haven't had a relapse in 116 days.

I am 20 years old.
I have finally escaped the constricting social window of being a teenager.
Though, biologically, I know I have not yet reached full maturity per se, I feel that I have crossed an important threshold.

I guess this coincides with my graduation and the up-coming merge into higher education. I am starting to have a better picture of my near future, which has helped my mind settle a good bit. While it is needed to have a reasonable amount of certainty in one's life, I consider it just as important to maintain a level of spontaneity, a good warm embrace of the unknown and unexpected.

I have climbed many mountains in the past five years, and have fallen down ledges on various occasions. I have lost my equipment repeatedly, taking my time rediscover them. I have stuck through landslides and tough, cold winds. I have regrown the armor eroded by weather. I have stuck broken pieces together with duct tape. All in all, I consider myself a fighter.

Thursday, September 5, 2013

Your Side of the Bed

Your Side of the Bed

I stare at your side of the bed
The side you never slept on,
And I worry if it has enough

I wish the memory foam
Could somehow detect your body,
So that I could sink into your

I stare at your side of the bed
And cradle dead objects for

Nightly Things

Nightly Things

I miss your weight on my bedsprings—
Bits and pieces of nightly things,
Filtered cries in an inky sway,
Doubtful cheeks of scarlet
On display

To the heir of the moon,
Lost in the gloom, of feathery
Light whispers adrift in the
Wet aura, a hole in the plethora
Of fierce red-eye trains
Pushing south,

The sweet persuasion in my mouth,
Tearing through the pale mesh of
Flesh lodged in my larynx—

Saturday, August 24, 2013

Search & Destroy (Revised)

Search & Destroy

In light, her skeletal frame
Absorbs her soul—
The floor of ice

As the bone beautifies
Her being with shadows
Too vast to fit
Her photograph


A revised version of a poem I wrote on a whim back in May 2011

Friday, June 7, 2013



I am dilated;
A black sponge
In your white marrow--

Virgin to skeletal
My blood scrawls
Across bite-size
Cavities, edible rings
Of ambrosia fringing
My fingers.

I am an octopus;
My tentacles plunge
Into deep black oil--

Coiling beneath your
Carotid artery, I suck
Until you are white and
Dry, crippled by my
Demonic cry, your feet
Pacing the air like
A vertical trench.

Wednesday, May 8, 2013

But This Time It's Not the Same

But This Time It's Not the Same

Destruction plays
A brain in bloom,
A dish of red flesh
Served on a tin platter,

I never said that
I would matter—
Charm them with
A thunderous drawl
Of spit, tongue in the
Slit, I nip and nip

At broken walls
In broken corridors,
Suckling on the remnants
Of sighs and screams
From deep within the

I never thought
I would be the girl
Hiding plasters in
Her panties,
Prying blood out
Of candies, paying
Homage to silent
Ultimatums over
Post-adolescent skin,

Because even within
The pulsing rings thin,
My body a chaos
Of too many selves,
Turgid and lanky in

Tuesday, April 30, 2013



Stimulant affliction,
I purged my addiction,
Of soft-shell bombs under
Transparent levers—

Ruffling my

I hold the command
In the pit of my palm,
The white granular
Ovals an intercellular

Chanting along
Nervous train tracks,
The synapses humming
In unison—

Be happy
Be happy
Be happy.

Monday, April 22, 2013

Monday Madness #25

Nobody said it was easy;
No one ever said it would be this hard

I just love how much of a busy bee I've become; I mainly write during my 45-minute bus-rides to and from Helsinki. And here I am again, writing as the sun sets and as my thighs throb against the seat from a super-exhausting but amazing three-hour dance lesson.

I doubled my dosage on my new meds, Lamotrigin, from 25 mg to 50 mg last Wednesday as guided by my doctor. The pills taste icky. They're the kind you let melt in your mouth or chew. One was okay but with two the taste stings my tongue. I've been having a bit more of generally-good days this past week, though I've had a few anxiety attacks. I forgot my meds yesterday morning and was wondering why I was developing a terrible anxiety attack and crying fit at dance class. Then I had a light-bulb realization. I told my teacher and she got really worried as I was just crying and crying. I made it home safe though, and took my meds and took it easy for the rest of the day.

I'm starting at the Day Ward next Monday. I'm nervous. Very, very nervous. I did not get a very good first impression of my ward doctor and nurse, so I'm worried it'll be a waste of time. But I'm trying to keep an open mind. Attitude is key, right?

Almost home now.
I'm so hungry.

Monday, April 15, 2013

Monday Madness #24

April showers bring May flowers

I'm sitting on the bus as I write this. It's 8:30 PM and the sun hasn't set yet. Today has felt, and smelt, a lot more like spring than te past few weeks. No more winter coat. No more winter shoes. No more thick leggings or tights. The wind feels milder. It has been raining instead of snowing for the first time in five months, FIVE months, so it's a welcome change. The tapping of droplets on our tin roof has really helped me fall asleep.

I had my admission interview for the Psychiatric Day Ward last Friday. I had suspected it would be a disappointment - and, naturally, it was. The doctor and nurse, my soon-to-be personal worker, were of the soft-spoken kind, their speech a slow, whispering drawl. It felt as though they thought even a slight raise of their voices would make me crumble to pieces like a fucking pastry. I guess in a way they were trying to gently give me the news that I have to wait another few weeks to be admitted. Embittered, I stared at the tiny alarm clock in front of me and tried to control my aggression as I demanded to know whether I would receive support and treatment in waiting. The answer? Negative. They said I would normally be seeing my nurse once each week. I scoffed loudly, explaining how I receive nothing out of those appointments and that, as my nurse had told me herself, they were mainly for them to stay posted with my symptoms. I asked what the hell they expected me to do in the meantime. The doctor leaned in and told me to focus on the good things, and that these things tend to heal with time. I swear my face was firetruck-red with rage by this point. Had I been capable of just focusing on the good things, like a normal human being, I wouldn't have been sitting in that room in the first place. I reluctantly took the nurses business card and walked out the door, locked myself in the bathroom and cried, kicking at the door frame. 

The truth is, had the clinic really taken action a year ago when I was first admitted, I would not be in this condition. I have repeatedly demanded to get the sort of treatment I need but have always been cut short. Only when I went through the Emergency Room a few weeks ago did they begin to do their job. And I guess in my naivety I had built much too big an expectation for the upcoming treatment. My cynicism and naivety tend to clash a lot these days.

On a positive note, once I got home, I talked to my family; I let out my resentment and aggression and disappointment vocally instead of clutching a blade and listening to the voices telling me to slice my skin. I guess I'm recovering. I guess I need to wait. I guess that I'm not always right. I guess I just need to remain open.


It's time to actually listen to the advice I give others and act accordingly myself. I am so ready to help others. Yet I cannot help myself. The thought of throwing my blades away gives me the same sort of stab in the stomach that I get from thinking of losing my 17 year-old teddybear. The thought of asking for help makes me feel like an infant. But I guess I need to accept the fact that I am not alone anymore. You'd think that would be easier to embrace.

Sunday, April 14, 2013

I Ate the Flowers You Gave Me

I Ate the Flowers You Gave Me

I’m standing on the threshold,
And it saddens me to think I have
Been here so often—
Bold against the world, like an
Adolescent lion, my sighs
Saturated with the stench of
Antelope blood, haughty of
My cynical third eye—

As my mind walks by,
Bearing swords, rapturous
Of the destructive path ahead,
The blood to be bled,
Purple against the well-lit walls—

We fight indoors, too lazy
To control our teeth.


Thursday, April 11, 2013




I stare at the sun,
With brand new eyes,
The sleepless night,
Has left a film over 
My corneas and I 
Can feel it peel split 
In the middle like 
A rusty zipper— 

I've anchored my mind 
Upon steady sea-borne rocks, 
My scalp embellished with thick, 
Curly tentacles of mermaid hair, 

Floating in waves of 
Black water, red and 
Courageous as the 
Wind finally awakens,

Reborn from the
Womb of night.

Monday, April 8, 2013

Monday Madness #23

The Cat that Lost Its Claws

It's been a while. It's quite ironic but the way I have been feeling inside my head has gotten so twisted I haven't even been able to write about it. But I guess I have to, for the therapeutic benefits, right? Today at 10 AM I have an appointment with my nurse at the psychiatric clinic for diagnostic testing. These past few months have been hell with my anxiety attacks and auditory hallucinations. I have gone on a cutting spree on several occasions and I am not proud of it, at all. I have this thing I do that when I think I'm supposed to be okay I fight it out and try to be too brave and perfect. It's like there's a war in my mind between the helpless, sick, and traumatized me and the ambitious, happy, and balanced side, which results in a perfectionist climb that ends up in an anticlimax where I don't sleep at all and mix medication with alcohol. 

The worst thing about these past few months has been the fact that people haven't taken me seriously. I am repeatedly told that it would be okay, I am made to go in circles; one place tell me to go to another but that other place tells me to go back. Even at home my symptoms seem to be belittled in accordance to my personality traits. The fact that I mixed sedatives and alcohol is still not believed by my family even though that is what happened --- even if it was just one sedative and a normal glass of coffee liquor that had an alcohol percentage of twenty. The scary fact is that I wanted to have more of both. The voices in my head were just getting too loud. Luckily my darling was up and helped me stay awake long enough for the medicine and alcohol to be out of my system.

I have been contemplating throwing my blades away for good. 
I have yet to find the strength to do so.

I have started eating a new medication, called Lamotrigine, for Bipolar Mental Disorder. It's a starter pack so it's just a teeny tiny 25 mg tablet in the mornings for two weeks until the dosage is doubled. It may just be placebo effect, but I can tell the difference after a few days. My mood doesn't go up and down like a roller-coaster anymore, and my stress-levels are considerably lower.

Due to my various visits to the school nurse and one to the Emergency Room, my treatment has been bumped up to a more acute level. I will be spending one to three-week treatment periods at the Psychiatric Day Ward nearby, which means I would stay at the ward between 9 AM and 3 PM every day and go to school for about one day per week. Within the ward I will have my psychiatric doctor, my nurse and several psychologists and functional therapists. Let's just say I'm ready to kick this thing in the butt!

My choreography has been ready for a long while now, I just really need to clean it and sharpen it up so I have been training a lot. The past few weeks were a low point since I had basically no time for dance classes or other exercise due to my mishaps. I did go to a Dancehall workshop yesterday and it was superb <3
So I'm going to start the morning off with some pilates and try to make it a good start for the day.
Wish me luck =)

Sunday, April 7, 2013

Let the Universe In

Let the Universe In

My mother always tells me
That my life revolves around technology,
That the touch-screen I clutch in my hands every
Second of the day is determining my
Every move; that every bling and buzz acts
As an activation key to my nervous system,
Zapping me like a dog with an electric collar.

The thought seems comical to me—
That the black-and-pink rectangle in my hand
Merges together the mechanics of
My daily timetable, the emotional and biological
Details of my menstrual cycle, and
The bits and pieces of love letters exchanged
Across seas and continents
Between my fiancĂ©e and myself—

It serves as a sort of physical mantra,
A reminder that I, indeed, am connected to
The rest of the world through stellar satellites
And inquisitive search-and-find databases.

My mother always tells me
That my life revolves around technology,
And I usually refuse to admit she is right,
Because every time I hear this question
I get the urge to open all the windows and
Let the universe in,

To prove that my
Daily project of leaving more fingerprints
On the screen of my phone isn’t meaningless.


Sunday, March 31, 2013

And I Taste(d) the Truth

And I Taste(d) the Truth

The memory is like
Suckling on pills meant
To be swallowed;

Crystalline microgranules
Brushing across misconceived
Sensory territories,

The taste similar
To baking soda;
                               soapy, sour, sweet—
In a stinging kind of way;

You are the filling agent prematurely
Metabolized, the melting capsule
Tickling on cellular membranes,

Spreading up the roof of
My mouth & beating my uvula
Like a punching bag,

The feel of you impossible to
                                            wash away
with neutralizing liquids.

Friday, March 29, 2013

Mind the Gap

Mind the Gap

Thighs are off limits, 
I see prophets through gaps 
In the ceiling, disciplined pieces 
Of heroic gesture staring 
Down at me— 

Waiting for the moment, 
The sublime zeal of sin, 
Imaginary candlelit dinners, 
And tears pinched out of open 

We peel away the gentle aura, 
Gazing at the middle matter 
Like chemistry candidates, 
Squeezing at the suffix of 
A disillusion, 

Until we find the core, 
The root of dust and 
Blue-haired mold, 


Copyright © 2014 Lilu. Powered by Blogger.
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...