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


vulnerable/ no protection

I realised yesterday that no matter what

how educated or where i go to school

how old

how pretty or ugly

how strong mentally or physically

i become

i will always be a woman

and i will therefore




nothing can protect me

and i realised that i had been fooling myself into thinking that i could escape it

it felt like i’d been d e f l a t e d

like the wall i thought i was building was just blown over

nothing i was doing was ever going to protect me

i’m scared and i’m angry

but mostly i’m vulnerable

what else can i do?

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

rambling thoughts .2

everything i think is a ramble

i remember another thought

and i think i’m so smart so i have to include it

even if it doesn’t flow or connect

i guess i’m finding my voice

‘wow that’s really smart write that’

that’s what i just thought writing this

so new and cool and everyone will want to read it

then you can make content good enough so you can post the link to it on your instagram

instagram is so cool its so original

oh brother 

now this is a ramble

i can’t fucking post this

i feel like i’ve been thrown for a loop

going on social media throws me in a daze of self doubt and near hatred

what do i do with my life and when will it be worthy of a post on my instagram?

i’m trying to be original and these rambles are my notes to a future self

or as evidence of my growth when i someday become a big famous writer

pretty proud, pretty sad

i wrote a poem when i was 12 and i was pretty proud of myself

i’m still proud of those words

so edgy and relevant

about race and war culture and the effects of how teens lose themselves in peer pressure

i read it in front of the whole grade

that’s a pretty big deal ya know

i think it was called pretty robots or something

i liked the one on race and war better but my teacher liked that one

i can’t find the poems tho

lost on a computer we chucked about 5 years ago

i guess that means i can just brag about how edgy i am and not have to prove it

or show anyone something that is probably shit

i still write poems and i still don’t show anyone

i just tell people they’re really good and deep and meaningful

but really they’re just sad and i cry whenever i read them

why am i so sad?

anyway, I’m a pretty good poet

i’ll have to show you sometime