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       Hullo. I'm Dani.

           I mostly write poetry and devour milk tea.
           The rest of the time, I'm slaving through medical school. 
           Also, I have a bunny. 

           Nothing shmancy.
More about me here

Intersections

18/1/2015

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Picture


Our lives were always tangent:
A tango of touch and go
With photograph moments 
That never seem to fade.

Breaths slip 
Past lips,
Forward in time,
Down thin jumpers
And loose shirts.

Greedy hands stretch
From the back of my mind,

Rewind cassette tapes back years and years
To whispers exchanged 
Across three sided cells,

To eyes wandering past the present,
To eyes watching vague gallops of the future,
Oblivious to their empty pages,
Oblivious to today’s bliss.

You and I 
Patched up holes in each others armour
Made by careless words 
Yelled from rooftops
By knights and maidens
Too small for the platforms they occupy.

You and I 
Lay across intersections
At 3 AM,
Pretend the headlights were comets
And we were spaceships
Lightyear-speed-catapulting through space.

But the next season took you away,
Asteroid-stole you from my core,
And you explored your side of space
Unaware of the patch of grass I’d saved
In the event you’d land back down beside me,
Feel the breeze in your hair again,
Tell me how much larger Orion was from up there.

But we became parallel lines,
Fingertips away,
Weary from straining,
Forgetting how to pronounce familiar greetings,
Losing each other in shadows of memory,

Losing place
From where the years have filled us up
With new holes
We’ve learned to patch up
With hollow hands
Meant for holding,
Used for hiding.

Hands used 
For twirling telephone lines,
For hesitating over keypad letters,
For the backspace.

Hands used
To search 
For the backspace:

Days of carefree laughter
And nonexistent ‘apart’s, 
When we dreamt of free roads
And bare feet.

Days when hands were used
For intersections 
Between fingers

Forever searching 
For memories 
Of intersections 
With you.
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Wings

10/1/2015

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Picture

In the late stages of fetal programming,
We grew wings instead of arms.


And they called us strange,
Put us up on a golden stage
For others to wonder
How science went wrong.

Instead,
They dreamt of the sky
And the way the clouds felt against raw red cheeks.

They woke
With burned faces
And guns in their chests,
Seeking vengeance against invisible causes.

Their bullets meet chest holes
Of hollow dummies,
And the sparks
fuel lava in their chests.

So they turn their nozzles at us instead,
Aiming at our wings,
Forgetting we can fly.

Far away,
To empty forests
And distant shores.

We weave silken webs with our fingers,
Spin fibred thread between the trees
In place of treehouses.

You said we’d lay here forever,
Watch the stars prove their existence in the horizon,
Forget the way their presence serves as a mere memory

The same way we forgot
The location of our webs
When the guns found our beds,
When we’d left

Always assuming we’d known the way back.

The same way we forgot
Until silken strings grew heavy with dust
And dreams we’d left behind were laden with rot.


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Urban Fireflies

3/1/2015

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Evening arrives the way it always does,
Shoves the door open
Amidst suspended apartment dust,

Drifts through my bedroom window
With news of comets
Transporting space messages 
From eons away.

I hear the neighbours yell and argue,
And pretend they’re croaking toads
Professing love to potential mates
Instead of animosity, 
Or variants of hate.

The hum of the traffic below
Transforms into cricket lullabies,
Evaporates from concrete swamps
That rarely run dry. 


I try not to dream
Of babbling brooks 
And rolling hills.

I try to stay present,
Shove the pangs of discontent from my chest,
Lie to make today more bearable,
Lie to get closer to tomorrow

Where perhaps I’ll travel
To seasides and coasts,
Envelope myself in their salty wind embraces.

I’ll travel
With my arms buried in wool,
And my heart fortified with stone

To firefly coves
Far away from city lights

To make me believe 
In all I’ve lost
Faith in

Before I slip
Back into compact homes
Boasting more gold than fire,

Allow the sleepless night below
To sing me to sleep. 

Picture
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