Generation Y: The Millennials

a/n: a slight attempt at a villanelle, homework from last week 

Do you know the millennial generation?
This poem will teach you some adaptation
We do not just “exist” without “contribution”.

We love seeing the world and hate office jobs
Apparently that equals to being a slob
Do you know the millennial generation?

We’ll “kill the economy” with our avocado toast
But debt and mortgage are your generation’s boast
We do not just “exist” without “contribution”.

Before, there existed racial and gender discrimination
Divisions are only to prevent injustice in our nations
Do you know the millennial generation?

Compared to “wherefore” into “why”, our changes are smol
And it feels bad man to disallow language to evolve
We do not just “exist” without “contribution”.

The youngest is thirteen, oldest thirty-five
I hope this poem has waked your mind alive
Do you know the millennial generation?
We do not just “exist” without “contribution”.

nostalgia

90-words (max) poem challenge, photo prompts

Remembering You 

Roses are red, violets are blue

Every flower reminds me of you.

The petals of your blooming gown

With a hem like a leaf’s blade so sharp,

The thorny stabs have never healed.

I sense you in every corner, every moment 

You’ve spread and left your trace like ragweed –

Weeds, they plant themselves in undesirable places 

Persistent, pernicious, interfering.

I sneeze when I think you are close but every wheeze

Brings me further away from your scent

Honeyed and bittersweet is the aftertaste of when I last left you. 

Dreams of the Past 

I have been suffering from clinomania for three years.

Three years ago, coincidentally the last time I slept in

On sweltering Saturday mornings.

Sunny-side ups for brunch on kopitiam chairs 

Are things of the past for now, I scarf down

Surds and logarithms, going drunk on

Kopi C Gau to drown my equations in.

The sixth school day is mere noctambulism –

Dreaming of but never achieving my well-deserved 

Rest and MSG One Point Zeroes. 

(Both were more attainable, three years ago.)

Mr Toad: A Childhood Story
Where the wind blows in the willows there lives a toad
Mr Toad, as he would like to be addressed.
He has appeared in not only Alastair’s bedtime stories
For he is still plump in my seven-year-old mind,
Where we share the same childish obsessions of
Motorcars, caravans, and aimless fun.
Mr Toad is now a hundred and nine years old
If you counted his warts, I think you would know.
But that does not halt me from going back home
To Toad Hall and the anthropomorphic zone.

social epidemic

a/n; it's been so long, here's some stuff from months ago.

They're all searching, scouring not for

what is lost but for simply more

More to impress, more to fancy dress,

more to disease themselves away from what

is worth more than the price brand tag.

They speed up economic ladders to grab onto

the last rung called loneliness:

An isolated island where you scrape by with

your mountainous piles of money, alone

Ambitious greed grants you this.

They are adolescents 

obsessed with the Kylie lip kit, private yachts

So they feel seasick and are quarantined

from friendships, relationships, love and care

Hashtag #summerhauls 

They are women, who want pearls

across their chests, rhinestones among their tresses

Sparkling, diamond watches that seem to

value more than time; time that flies

when you could be the pilot

But they don't want something free and priceless.

The days have come where carved on headstones are

no longer prayers but "Remember me for my stuff"

Where we lay up treasures on earth, not heaven

This is the epidemic of our generation.

a letter of apology

apology, noun ; a regretful acknowledgement of an offence or failure.

the word fails to describe a fraction of what i would like to say. i think i might be marginally psychopathic, for you would only notice it as much as you do the ant crawling on the kitchen tabletop or moist cupcake crumbs here and there. scented faint hints push you to suspicion but they aren't confirmed until you see it, hear it, feel it.

i love and hate a being in unison wholeheartedly, and the closer you come the further i go and there's repulsion and loneliness and yearning and missing churned into the mixing bowl all in one. it's plunged into the oven with the outcome of regret and now i know why the grief and detest only ever follows after the action. the aftertaste is bitter, fearful; i must've added in a bottle of vinegar instead of a teaspoon's worth of vanilla essence.

i'd saw off my limbs, scald my tongue and gorge out my eyes if it would aid me in unerring the ingredients but there's only this much time we have on earth to live and it's expired to bake from scratch again after scorching the tins. the attacks come in and out of morning assembly, perpetual panic swarming around me. my own thoughts are eating, swallowing me whole and when you are last seen at eight thirty-three a.m. there's a tinge of relief that you haven't gotten food poisoning yet. i would like to rescue you but first i have to save myself.

you are the flour foundational to the screwed up, spine breaking batter and there's so much to say but my remorse is blended with triumph at times. like when a cookie is stale but you eat it anyway. there's sure to be a screw loose or a twisted wire somewhere. this abyss is far too dangerous and i'm in too deep.

peer into the oven. the top is burnt and charcoal-ed. the insides are gooey and uncooked. 

i'm sorry.

( i can't afford

to lose you or

anybody else

again )

car ride

a/n: perhaps at 6.17am, or maybe on the bleachers. multiple meanings. i guess.

it is as if i am game to

dedicate you my heart but

before i gear up the razor 

slices a slit through my chest

you're plunging one hand in and the other

squeezing my sides 

wrenching, ripping, oozing it out and

never

stitching me back together

i never dream of bleeding

at your hands but the first renegade 

glissades and smears.

two three more –

can't.

breathe.

stupid, stupid, stupid.

this is a vicious cycle.

hold me tight

i would like to say that

i don't lie but that is

not the case

all this deceit

puffed-up pride

you see me not-caring

awkwardly "innocent"

i am not one bit flustered 

by anything

at all

unfurling clenched fists

bitten tongue

emerald, petulant eyes

venom and poison and

despair

two a.m. is the hour of

sacred mumblings

nostalgia, detest and 

my imagination?

fantasies within delusions

perhaps one will catch onto

these lies — permission granted to

break me crush me strip me

hold me.

tightly.

inside-out

a/n: this was written around two weeks ago, while I was reading Love Letters To The Dead, something about tonight made me feel like publishing it so, apologies for its unedited and unpolished being, but I suppose it's better raw.

it is absurd of you, no
of anyone to want to hide
to run away till you can't differentiate
sweat from tears.
beauty is truth, and truth is
beauty
camouflage is just an excuse for
fear but whoever told you
to be afraid?

you could be anything, and
everything
and I would still want to know you
every breath, every habit,
every strand of hair on your head.
I used to think that for people
to love, one has to conform but I
thank the stars that burn warmer than we
could ever know, that that
isn't the case

you can have a crooked smile
pastel blue highlights, a freckle or two
maybe three.
you can have the bizzarest dreams
and secrets that swallow you whole
because as long as you are here
do not forget that I am too
give me the keys and I will
unlock
stay calm, breathe.

because all we fear is ourselves
and our flaws but all we need
is someone to stay
and I promise you
I will

maybe one day, I'll finally
know everything of you
the cliffs and the edges
the scars and the
bites.
it will feel like smoothness
sharp rocks cutting
deep in your skin, thick
red liquid oozing but
that is love

maybe one day you will
let me know you
the messy, the destructive,
exhilarated and adrenaline-d
as you are
crimson with rage and violet
passion, ginger with
life, rose-flushed cheeks
fall leaves, coffee cups,
old leather

one day,
you will let me love you.