By The Ocean Where You Live

By: Natasha Karenina Wijaya

I stand by the ocean 

where you live

with a cigarette on my lips

I know you’d disapprove of

staring out further 

‘til I can’t differ

a man from a boat

the sun from the hills

[          ]I exhale 

as though it’s my last breath

hoping that you’d see

and snatch this cigarette 

and scold me 

or yell at me

or maybe tell me that you love me

but all I want from the wind

that blows ripples onto my skin

is just to hear your voice

once more

Where Mango Trees Don't Grow

By: Natasha Karenina Wijaya

(pt.1)

I can still picture you

in that white 

nightgown you wore so much

it had holes 

you refused to mend

waiting on that mango tree 

you planted that you swore 

would bear fruits someday

you would bask in the heat

of the sun

chasing the turtles

that kept disappearing

and the rabbit

you never named

and every morning you’d sit 

with a cup of coffee

and send me away

before you crawled

back under the sheets

(pt.2)

now,

your dress hangs still 

on the edge of your closet

with holes 

I refuse to mend

and the leaves of your tree

almost as stubborn

as you

has withered

before it bore fruits

and the turtles

yet to be found

probably dug graves

and filled themselves in

while the rabbit

you never named

sits somewhere else it calls home

and every morning

I’d wake up to the sun 

in this place 

where mango trees don’t grow

only to silently crawl 

back under the sheets

A Single Drag

By: Natasha Karenina Wijaya

lights gleam

from square windows

of the commons

shining dim like ants 

which I have not seen

faint noises of scrawling

in snow break

vividly into the night

echoing through

the window I left

unclosed

through the gap

I let myself 

a single drag of

temporary relief

and I watch the ash

as it falls six stories 

down to the ground

covered in fresh 

fully clothed snow

disguising the remnants 

of the bits 

of my flickering sins

from the night before

Under Shared Blankets

By: Natasha Karenina Wijaya

he lets me dream

of song instead of sorrow

he lets me see

the light in the darkness of the deepest of waters

he lets me speak

of loving instead of hating on       waiting

he lets me sing

aloud like there’s no one around

he picks me up

on the rainiest of days

through clouds hovering the sun

he builds me up

my ego like Lego,

he builds me a mountain of grassy snow-lands

he folds me down

when the day comes to close

and my thoughts still wide awake

stubbornly rejects the blankets

Burnt Out

By: Natasha Karenina Wijaya

he glances at me 

like the sun

grazes the grass 

of an empty field

with a crook

in his grin

and starry nights

in his eyes

singing to me 

that I am nothing

less than perfect

he screams excitement 

and fear

for a love so ragged up

it will not survive

not through the weaves

in the holes

or the threads 

that we’ve placed

to cover up 

the flaws embroidered

onto us

he smells like ash

burnt out

on a tray filled

up to its brim

like a cigarette

his love stings

and fills my lungs

suffocating me 

yet somehow

in him 

I have finally found

my breath

The Girl I Fail to Recognize

By: Natasha Karenina Wijaya

I see her but she’s

someone I don’t recognize

Her once bright wide eyes,

dissolved by the waves and replaced

by weariness and dark sketched lines

It looks as though she stayed up crying,

though it’s difficult to tell apart

her tears from the water which overwhelms

her thoughts and emotions, submerging her brain,

leaving her without –

breath

And I no longer recognize her cheeks

what once was flushed rosy

now erased pale white, blotched

with trickles of blue green veins

It looks as though all the color

had been scared right off her skin

When new realities have finally settled

and sends her flying deeper into some unknown,

lacking self-control

But once in a while I catch a glimpse

of the girl I do recognize

The girl I used to see in every

puddle, every turned-off screen, every mirror

The girl my tired eyes fail to recognize

in this poorly lit photograph,

a self-portrait of me

Voice of a Scarecrow

By: Natasha Karenina Wijaya

I put my eyesight on the table

trusting life’s cane to pull me forward

yet all I get are bruised knees and broken skin

as it hooks to trip me at every corner

So I take back my eyesight and replace it

with a set of cut off ears

though their glares and their stares keep me paranoid

of the things I can’t hear them say

I come back and trade my legs

relying on chivalry to help me with my path

but after rejection comes          rejection

and soon I find myself in a dim lit corner screaming hate

Crawling back to the table

I have nothing valuable left to give

Would you rather my mouth that gives no voice

or my burnt-out lungs no less polluted than a running factory?

Now I stand before the table, gladly holding

my beat-up heart in my hands

Desperate to make this final trade to escape 

the harsh disillusionment we call this world