Why I didn’t report.

There was nothing to report,
it was just a loving squeeze.
Like how boyfriends knot their
butterfly words around their
girlfriend’s neck and swindling body.

There was nothing to report,
Because there was nothing to see.
Like how boyfriends solidify their
cemented thoughts onto their
girlfriend’s breasts of black out poetry.

There was nothing to report,
Because it meant nothing to me.
Only one memory to account for
a soft shove down my slippery coffin,
is not enough to mull over
and write over, again and again.
— Why I didn’t report. | 29/09/2018 [a. jia]

A letter to my ex.

Cinema lights are too dark for me. It hurts
To watch everyone mill about in queues.
Their noises are wretched and filled with overt
Ignorance. I’ve only watched a few movies after you.

Cinema temperatures are sickening,
My chest still burns as if caught with the flue.
White t-shirts won’t protect me from anything,
I’ve barely worn any t-shirts after you.

Cinema seats make me claustrophobic,
I couldn’t get far away enough from you.
My purity and skin, you have stolen
From me. I’ve only cried thrice because of you.

My breasts are ringed in dust and smudged from dirt;
I’ve never let anyone touch them before you.
— A letter to my ex. | 21/09/2018 [A. Jia]