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

In A Dream

By: Natasha Karenina Wijaya

I saw you last night

Do you remember?

You told me that I’ve become everything 

you wanted me to be and more

and that you were prouder of me

than you have ever been before

And do you remember what you said?

About how my temper reminds you of you 

and how you told me not to yell because to you,

I could be better

Do you remember how you made me cry?

When you told me not to grieve

because you couldn’t bear to leave 

if you didn’t know if I was going to be alright

And do you remember how I begged you to stay?

Even though I knew I was dreaming 

though a part of me kept hoping that I could stay

with you past morning

But you can’t remember when I woke up

Realizing that you were never there

and all the words that you said 

were nothing but fragments of my own ambitions

And you can’t remember how it felt

To lose you all over again

knowing that all the things I wanted you to say

would never come to be as now 

all that’s left of you and me    is 

.

.

.

me       

A Pictured Memory

By: Natasha Karenina Wijaya

Picture

staring straight ahead, left and right, 

Picture –

back and forth. The silent humming blue water, synthetic greens

Picture

bubbles forming abstract behind the glass. Fishes swimming around in square circles, 

Picture –

dazed and confused, they’ve been here before.

There were four, 

Picture –

or maybe more.

Picture –

Sitting there for what seemed like hours,

Picture

me sixteen years younger with nothing better to do than this.

The sound of her footsteps disturbs me

Picture

my mother with a spoon in her hand, 

Picture –

trying hard to shove it in me. The fish distracted me, or maybe 

Picture –

crying?

Picture

Her staring at me as intensely as

Picture –

I can’t remember.

Picture –

my first memory,

Picture

being somewhere I don’t recognize.

Picture

Being without a care in the world yet

Picture –

it’s a memory I can barely      picture.

My Last Prayer

by: Natasha Karenina Wijaya

It smelled like illness 

and an abundance of chemicals

in this cold, too bright room

with only curtains to separate us

People yelling and children crying,

everything I was feeling but wanted

so much not to hear

She was lifeless, pale, swollen,

like a belly-up goldfish in an eight-year-old’s bedroom

Where once were strands of brown waves

now remain stubbles as prickly as a cactus’ spine

Yet still she was as perfect

as the mother in my memories,

still she was far more beautiful 

than I can ever imagine to be

We stood there, still –

watching the screens as the

numbers grew smaller and the hills

on her green line slowly disappeared

The room fell silent as though we were waiting 

for the choir to start singing

A ringing started in my ears, constant noise

but still desperately failing to replace her pulse

With time, I let go of my clammy grasp

from her now stiff stone cold hand and 

find myself reaching up to wipe away 

a flood of tears that I didn’t realize

had found shelter upon my cheeks

Seconds and minutes began to stumble

as I tried my best to regain posture,

trying to hold it together 

until there was no one but her and I

Though not alone, 

I knew she could no longer feel me

Whispering,

mumbling cries in her ear,

I knew she could no longer hear me

A silent prayer, wishfully hoping

for a sign that she stuck around long enough

just to hear me cry goodbye