years and years
have passed
since the days of tummy butterflies
and the embarrassed pink of cheeks
carefree giggles and knees bruised from falling into each other
now
every month
a reminder
of a stomach that curls in more ways than unpleasantly
clawing and desperate
drip drip drip, the mother of restless nights
a system filled with more caffeine than blood
because maybe then it will finally fucking stop
and leave this frail animal of a body alone
with it’s raw skin that sits awkwardly on jutting skeleton
five o’clock shadow sunken deep with the weight of a confused heart
sore ankles, so fragile
how are you expected to support this heaviness of existing?
just an inhale could create a crack in the wet sand
soaked with tears of monochromed colours
once the blues reds yellows purples of the playground down the street
a pretty sandcastle bathed in sun
now washed away by an ever-growing tide
that doesn’t ever wait
for bruised feet to catch up
Written by Ivy Feng and edited by Jessica Dai. Published on 27/8/23. Header image by Cindy Zhang.