By Marilyn Monroe

"I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best." 

Ode To Him

He is in his sweet
Eclipse. Of tinted dreams
In drenched sunlight,
Bloated

And suffuse.
I breathe his
Love, this and the
Dark curve of his lips.

I sit like a drop of dew
On jonquil's leaves; and
Each day, I scout for
The proverbial cliff,

Invisible, looming over
Me; shadow cast.

By Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

If I love you, what business is it of yours?

The Savage Garden

From the depths of daedal chaos

Sprung the ultimate beauty

Of a savage garden, sweet

Beyond mortal coherence.

Ephemeral flowers find themselves

Weeping - 

Maudlin, insipid tears

On petals red; 

But still fall quiet

By the dawn of the morrow,

Stiffened and alone.  

Happy Birthday Wenjuin

THIS IS DEXTER HEAH WEN JUIN. 


Oh and before you say anything, I didn't draw that picture. She drew it herself and posted it as her profile picture in Facebook. Which proves my theory that she is an alien from the outer space. Albeit all methods of torture, she refused to admit that she's an alien, so... guess we'll just have to live with that.


Anyway, I know for a fact that she first came to earth eons ago when there was nothing on earth but plants and erm, whatever there was eons ago. And there was also a giganticman spaceship-eating flower. It trapped the spaceship in its tendrils and gobbled it up. Poor Wenjuin was stuck here and she later evolved into a human.

Happy Birthday, Wenny. Hope you find Mr. Nice Hands 3. (and tell me immediately.)


I think this poem suits you. The Crazy Woman, by Gwendolyn Brooks.


I shall not sing a May song. 
A May song should be gay. 
I'll wait until November 
And sing a song of gray. 

I'll wait until November 
That is the time for me. 
I'll go out in the frosty dark 
And sing most terribly. 

And all the little people 
Will stare at me and say, 
"That is the Crazy Woman 
Who would not sing in May." 


P.S. Can't resist a cupcake picture.

PB and J + John's Birthday

It's official. All days of a month (exp: 1st of January, 2nd of February, 3rd of March and so on) will be our Food Day.

A food, for example, PB and J sandwich is chosen and all members have to eat that particular food on that particular day no matter what. It doesn't matter if we're together, the important thing is to get our hands ON THAT FOOD.

Here's proof that I had my PB and J sandwich:

Oh and HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JOHN DEAR. Looking forward to tomorrow's party.

Oh and lastly, the picture of my lemon poppy + blueberry muffins.

Aren't they pretty??? Too bad they sucked. But I'm gonna rock it the next time I make them. I swear on the River Styx.

Mais Je Reve

Shunned, living in
Watery dazzle of the
Moonlight; pond

Sucking hard at the banks
Of yesterdays.
And the mutant butterflies

Of wishful dreams
Extend their glaucous silky
Wings - into the sky.

Indelibly provocative, these wings
That paint our heart and
Vanish, out of sight.

P.S. Rach, poem updated.

Sonnet IX - P.N.

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. 
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets. 
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day 
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps. 

I hunger for your sleek laugh, 
your hands the color of a savage harvest, 
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails, 
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond. 

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body, 
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face, 
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes, 

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight, 
hunting for you, for your hot heart, 
Like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.


~ Pablo Neruda


P.S. Sorry Rach, no inspiration. Will update a poem when I have one.

The Watercolourist

Soul haunting,
The deluge of leaves
Leave behind
Watercolour love.

I'm stuck wandering;
Heartbroken, piangevole.
Weaving in and out of
The cemetery of kisses.

Only to realise
Too far, too late that
The season had turned her back
On me.

And all that is left
Is my watercolour love.