I became so much more delicate
when I was with you—
in body
in spirit
Some days,
a strong gust of wind could’ve scattered me
over the globe
like ashes in an ocean
You taped HANDLE WITH CARE on me and
ignored your own warning
And when I was shattered on the floor,
when I was left sewing together
what was left of my soul
Without you,
That’s when I woke up
and finally realized how much better I am
Without you
So t h a n k y o u
for teaching me
I don’t need anyone but
Me
— Yushan C.
Chivalry isn’t just dead.
We beat it out of us with a stick
(society)
and carved it from our souls with a scalpel
(normalization)
and now
We don’t know any different.
— y.c.
(noun)
1. Standing on a rooftop with you and your
daredevil smirk and unfaltering gaze; the
warmth of your hand as you took mine,
joy turning my world to a dizzying
kaleidoscope of scents and colours
2. Standing in an empty flat with pieces of you
and me scattered on the floor; feeling that
chasm opening inside me and knowing your
wouldn’t be here to catch me, not this time
(—Yushan C.)
I thawed, didn’t I?
Like winter ice in spring,
Mountain run-off streaming into brooks and rivers.
I felt the warmth of life—
Blossoms bloomed crimson violet vibrant blues.
The sun was on my heart; I felt it melt, felt it give.
Yet now, I stand staring into nothing searching for something;
I stare at the placid blue surface around me,
Not a ripple in sight.
This isn’t stoicism,
This isn’t strength.
This is calcifying into marble, is dying
With your eyes wide open,
Is stranding yourself on a lonesome little island and thinking it might
not be so bad after all, disappearing.
I thawed, yes, but now
I think all that was keeping me from sinking was the permafrost
And now, that’s gone, too.
(remind me: how did I ever mistake disappearing for flying?)
-
—Spring Melt (y.c.)
They say I’m too young to be sad
and to smart to stay so quiet
but
Who made me this way?
Trust me,
It wasn’t me
— Yushan C.
Photography by Hilde Engerbråten
Everything feels the same, now.
That is to say,
Everything feels like coming to life.
That is to say, everything
Feels like dying anew.
.
—resurrection (y.c.)
We make gods out of sinners and altars
Out of gutters. We bow,
Heads down in silent reverence,
To fools who beat back the nonbelievers with
violent and wrath and the pious
Call it righteous.
The gutters birth no good saviours; these
streets
Vanquish purity the way Heracles vanquished
the lion and Perseus vanquished the
serpent but they had gods on their side
And we have only demons.
—modern sins equate salvation (y.c.)
These days, beauty is packaged and sold.
That box there is this weirdly specific hair
colour whose name
sounds like a desperate student’s last ditch
efforts to meet the word count
That shampoo is a scent that sounds like an
overenthusiastic writer’s sensory description
That t-shirt is designed to make you look slim
Mirrors are our enemies
Make-up our allies
and we gobble it up,
Burying our identities in
Consumer debt and social expectations.
— y.c.
Writing excerpts and poetry on nostalgia, regret, identity, optimism—just about everything, really.Main blog: aceass1n
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