The big blue one (in 3 parts)

The lighting from the streetlights shining in the windows

Looking almost professionally lit on the broken curtain rod and frost covered windows

The sound of the cat purring as she kneads ur thigh to make her cozy bed

She’ll leave in a minute anyway but you appreciate her routine

The feeling of comfort of a doona you got when you were 15

Being a room where you know the colour and history of the walls since they were put up

The sound of people slamming car doors closed and shouting from across the wide road

The sound of the trains and the feeling of thunder as they come to a crashing halt

The few cars driving by making a sound you’ve yet to be able to recreate on more populated roads

The coo coo clock chiming every 30 minutes, so you never have to wait too long when ur restless to know the time

The distinct and predictable sound of mom and dads steps as they walk to the toilet at all hours of the night

The creaks in the floor giving way to their identity that’s been diligently hidden by the nights darkness

I feel wrapped up in a warm but not encompassing hug

This is my home

This is my home

I scream it to myself in my head

Yet the feeling of home has shifted

I tear up unwittingly when I’m reminded of the gaps in the embrace

It’s so close to being home

But it’s moved

I moved and My home slowly followed

The transition was painful and long But the feeling it’s left feels sudden

The feeling of the warm sun on your back being quickly covered by a cloud

Coming back here is like slipping into a perfect bath

It’s when you know you have to leave

When the water turns cold

I know every sound and light and feeling in this place

I was raised here

I grew here

The people I love are here

But somehow it’s not home any longer


relapse/ go on

look at your mental health like a drug addiction


when you finally get better, you try to do everything someone who’s better should be able to do

but then you fall

you get overwhelmed and you collapse and you’re worse than when you started

so then you try again

and the same shit happens

your brain is wired to be that way

unless you change the wiring and take is super slowly you’re gonna keep relapsing

i keep reading these yoga fitness peoples instagrams’ where they tell me to change my point of view

just think that you can do it and you will instantly feel better

i’ve been trying

repeating their mantras and trying to think deeply about them

but it hasn’t worked and its made me feel worse

“i cant go on, go on”

fuck off

i know that already

what i don’t seem to know is how to be happy

how to maintain calm

how to value my worth and give myself a break

I’ve been going on for years and I’m actively working to get better but that doesn’t mean I wont fall

To think that this phrase changed their life makes me feel like I must just be weak

How can I be weak when I’ve survived so much?

I think I need to spend less time on instagram


May 2 2017

My psychologist said I look “Westernized”… like I know what means

Did she mean I look white? I wasn’t wearing a bindi or a saree so I must not be Indian?

And my optometrist said he could tell I wasn’t white from looking at the pigment in the back of my eyes… he said he wanted to ask my heritage and would have never guessed what I told him

He said I look “yellow like him”… I didn’t know what that meant since he was Greek.

I don’t get what it’s supposed to mean when people (adults) tell me things about myself and my race

Am I meant to be complimented when people say that “my mix is so interesting”

I don’t get it

My optometrist also said that everybody is mixed now and that none of them are really that interesting

I try to play along with these conversations but in reality its just a routine part of my day

It feels like when people ask me about my mix (aka where my parents are from), theyre really asking why am I not more white looking? Why am I not more brown looking? Why am I here? Why should they be interested in my existence on the MOST superficial and basic aspects of my existence?

Being mixed has shaped my entire view on the world (naturally) because I don’t really belong in any nice neat box to check off

So when one of the first things I get asked by strangers/ doctors/ anyone is about my racial mix, then it kinda makes you feel like shit

Like my value is in this answer and that I better make it interesting

stuck in a rut

how do i create

where can i create

who will come with me

create with me

journey with me

it feels discouraging to create alone

wheres my family in arts

i feel like I’m waiting for the next stage

but every period is a stage that I’m waiting to pass

when will i create

when will i live




Bath time 

Dec 19 2014

Anger was born in me

As was joy and love

But death planted its seed at the same moment life did

And they’ve grown in unison

Collaborating and working on their fruit

Whilst I try to harvest the balance that creates harmony

But I wasn’t born a gardener

I wasn’t born anything,

Just dirt


Jan 4 2015

Like a flower on the neglected side of a mountain

Waiting, but not wilting

Withering and shivering in the thin air

Deprived of what it never knew it could want

Like a flower

But not a flower

For a flower has no wants, only needs

No matter where is grows

A flower will always spread its seeds

(and that is hope)

Breathing too little

Air too thin

Lungs too small

Slight tremble as she holds the page of her will

The one she wrote after a long walk

Emotionless as the words that flow

Death is never too far and she is never too careful

Death is never too careful

She is never too far

Faint as she thinks of the great sadness within her

The one that she suppresses until the tea goes sour

When the bath runs cold

Until the stars disappear


Of when the sun bursts and space takes it back

Time and self being 

Dec 17 2014

Do not discuss the past

And do not discuss the future

For who I was is dead

And who I will be is not yet born

The present moment

And the current me

Do not mourn

And do not celebrate the passing or creation of a self who was not true

For the one who writes this, the present me,

Is a fool and a fake

And knows nothing of right now