Sarah

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Sarah, 18, Singapore
(click the flower above for older entries)

Twitter: @sarahbananachan
Instagram: hisarahnademe

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Synthesis

Thursday, March 26, 2015 || 9:17 PM

i am collecting

blood samples:

a sliver, a river,

oceans of red

gathered in my palms.

ii.

how much

light does one

need? my heart

is dense with it.

iii.

this is why

we exist in an

endless symbiosis —

a quiet contentment

emblazoned; settled

into each self.

"... Thank you for

taking me in."

Patience

Tuesday, March 24, 2015 || 12:22 AM

(i don't know about this one... i hardly like anything i write these days)

you have

inhabited all the

spaces between

my breaths — i am

a vessel; hands

encompassing,

encircling, holding,

wanting, needing:

take me. take me.

is anyone there?

i have been waiting —

tenderness has

grazed my palms since;

a quiet song fading

into my skin.

where are you?

i still wait for you.

Just a thought

Tuesday, March 17, 2015 || 11:34 AM

..... I was reading my old posts, and I miss writing about happier things. About warmth, content, bliss. Writing because I cannot contain the joy spilling from my open palms. Writing because of the surges of warmth that spread to my edges and have stationed themselves beneath my skin. Writing because of the feeling of light in my heart. Writing because I am saturated in love.

Hopefully, one day soon. (P.S This does not mean I am not happy now because I am, I am, I am.)

An apology to a friend

Thursday, March 5, 2015 || 8:34 PM

(dayre excerpt #2... i usually just write there now)

I am so sorry — this has nothing to do with you, you are a separate entity, you are collateral damage. You are nothing but an innocent bystander yet your loose parts collide with my harsh edges — they leave rips on your palms.

There is something inside of me that has changed. Until I am healed, cracks no longer dispersed by light, there is no room for you in these altered spaces between my heart and my breath that falls short at your name.

Bathroom poetry

Tuesday, February 24, 2015 || 11:27 PM

you fill

my days

with an abundance

of light — you are

a calm settling,

a volatile hurrying

perched against

my edges.

there is both

fire and still waters

in your eyes.

ii.

two paradoxes,

two hearts.

and one me,

all for you.

This is the third time I am repeating this

Saturday, January 31, 2015 || 8:56 AM

You cannot, cannot, cannot make homes out of people. This is what I have learnt.

Step #3

Sunday, January 18, 2015 || 6:17 PM

I keep drifting back and forth between the spaces; I am trapped in this limbo with both my feet hanging over the edge. I will oscillate between two counts per minute and seventy-six counts per second. One wrong step and I'll slip into the abyss. One wrong step and I'll surrender both my hands to yours.

... I have to admit there is a certainty to this. This capacity for pain already stationed onto my peripheral. Perhaps I am holding myself back because I am afraid to be free. Freedom; what does that constitute again? All I associate it with is a lack of your prevalance.

I feel like I am not ready for that.

Not much left

Monday, January 12, 2015 || 11:05 PM

There is only so much room for all this — this tenderness, spilling from grazed; hollowed palms on to the laps of those undeserving.

Unbefitting not due to his worth: but due to the way he loves you less than you warrant. Your heart is a land and I will not let you have any less than the soil that nurtures it.

.....

I am deliberately prying open my wounds, undoing all the time I spent carefully stitching them up. I am rubbing salt in and letting it tear at my seams.

.......

If this is insanity, then let me be insane.

2014: a year in review

Saturday, December 27, 2014 || 11:27 AM

I know it isn't exactly completely the end of the year yet, but it is cutting it very close — and I thought it would be an appropriate time to do this. I haven't written something quite so personal in awhile (all my posts, while very raw and ache with a certainty of my own experiences, never seem to feel quite as ... close as when I am writing like this). Perhaps when I write like this, like I am having a conversation, I feel insecure. Almost as if something can be stripped from me and be left out to dry and shrivel — quite unlike my other writings where I feel rather safe encumbered in my own head.

I talk too much. Get to the point —

I've always been able to conclude, at the end of each year, that it was "the best one yet". An idealist or a hopeless optimist? Perhaps both. I had this unbending belief that remained deeply ingrained in my psyche: every year just kept getting better.

I feel like I cannot say that about 2014. This year.... has been one that has thrown me into strange terrain, shown me a self I never knew existed beneath all my layers of skin. A year with both the highest and the lowest points in my life. A year that has brought about the most change — in both experience and myself.

Several days ago this brief thought came floating into my head— "2014 is the worst year yet," and I resign to that thought. I resign to all the stickiness of 2014, the heartbreak, the second-guessing. The unfamiliarity, the shaky palms, the hollowed-out empty vessel. There were times I felt so... lost and desolate. I was always three parts confused, all parts weary. This year has not been.... easy, that is certain. I have been hurt repeatedly, I have let a dull ache reside in me for far too long. I have tasted far too much salt left stained on my cheek. I have let my hands tremble one too many times.

Yet, it is the year I have found myself. Beneath all that.... layer of stickiness, I found strength. That sounds horribly cliché, but it is also horribly true. It feels like I have been shot yet I've survived. I've had wonderful support and friends that have lifted me, time and time again, without complaining of the weight. I'm still somewhat a lost sheep but you know... slowly. Getting there.

So.... 2015. I've done resolutions already (I'm a resolution sort of person, I like the thought of a soul renewed). They are to 1) Be healthy and abundantly so 2) Spread positive vibes and warmth to everyone around me 3) Work hard for everything I want and lastly 4) To guard my heart fiercely and protect myself. Big dreams but nothing great ever stemmed from little ones. Here's to a new year — hopefully better than the last — and here's to life. I hope I execute strength, bravery and compassion. I hope I handle the upcoming year okay, and I hope you do too. X

Repost from my dayre #2

Friday, December 26, 2014 || 7:41 PM

I am all edges of all paradoxes — I am swathed in yeses and nos all intertwined and laced between my fingers.

I've asked this before and I'll ask it again: Why can't I be easy? I feel cursed with overthought.

2.30am poetry

Monday, December 22, 2014 || 2:31 AM

(these words spilled out so fast i was unsure of what to do with it... inspiration hits at funny times)

we collapse into ourselves

like bridges: taking us from

each bearing to another — stepping

stones between your heart and

mine.

every step is fleeting but what

comes with is resolute. the probability

of getting a six when all sides of the

die are sixes. the probability of

torment when you open your heart in

reckless youth and careless love.

we fumble, whispered nothings spilling

over helpess hands. we tremble, clutching the air with a fervour

reserved only for desperation

to grasp hold of something real.

with you, six lifetimes. i am

sure of it.

You (iii)/(iii)

Saturday, December 20, 2014 || 3:02 AM

This is the final straw. I fold everything — I am done.

A three part ode

Thursday, December 18, 2014 || 8:19 AM

all i wanted

was for

you to clue me in:

to your sins;

ecstacies —

leave your inhibitions

at the door.

leave yourself

in my hands.

ii.

you are

a paradigm of

second guesses:

you second-guessing me,

and me second-guessing

myself.

iii.

turn your

palms upwards:

let me pour myself

in all your cracks.

let me abridge

the spaces between

your scars;

let me erode

the expanses between

ourselves.

This

Sunday, December 14, 2014 || 2:30 PM

This took a certain vulnerability from me — ripped it out of my hands and pocketed it whole; fresh. This feels a little like sandpaper running along the surfaces of my skin, scraping off debris and divulging me with a new, glossy finish.

This is my birth — the sharp edges of all my pieces smoothing themselves out. They are converging towards the light, providing the promise of a soul renewed.

This wraps my tongue around each consonant of your name — I skip the vowels as if I want to take something from you — and leaves me nothing. You are none of my blank spaces. You are all my prior convictions.

Renewal

|| 2:13 PM

forgive me

if i try to change:

your breathless

admissions

linger on my

peripheral like

smoke —

my arms; they fold.

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