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.