Poetry

When I moved to Hong Kong, I was barely writing poetry. Despite studying English and taking poetry classes at university, it’s safe to say my flow of poetry had almost entirely dried up. In February 2025, I began attending the wonderful evenings at Peel Street Poetry, a community which reignited my love of poetry, and which continues to inspire me to write on a weekly basis. Each week, a different theme is given and below are some of the pieces I have written and performed in response. Enjoy!

Farewells

She said she was leaving
And I said 
But why so soon?

And she gestured gently towards her stomach
Which bubbled like soup on a stove

Im tired of being tumbled into the day
and thrust into the belly of the moon
With a body who has made me a stranger

Over and over and over 

Oh but you will have bad days
You will have days you’re determined to forget 
you’ll lie awake at night 
Squeezing your eyes shut —

replace replace replace 

You will have car rides that drag so that the air you sip feels thick like syrup, and you can’t quite catch your breath, can’t quite find the right words to make it better

You will have days that you waste

Days that feel so empty you will wish them away 

Whole weeks will run into each other so you’ll say 

‘Where has May gone?!’

And you’ll mean it.

But you also have letters to write
And streams to swim inside 
And mountains to climb 
And mango seeds to suck clean
Let the golden flesh seep through your teeth!

You will feel the most overwhelming joy 
At finishing a pile of washing up so large and toppling that it felt like a whole person had moved into your kitchen counter.

You have ugly dinners to eat
And books to read
socks to pair and tea to steep 

and one day you’ll fall asleep in the sun and forget that time exists and wake up just a bit tender and you’ll wonder if this is what you were truly placed here for,

Don’t you see 

The sun has already washed away your mistakes 
The trees are shaking awake 
The water glistens 
and you are shimmering, 
with everything that means 

you’re alive

Stay a while

There’s no need to rush 

Everyone leaves. 

Rage

Have you ever seen Killing Eve? 
He types, two dates in,
I think you’d like it 
It’s got lots of
“Female empowerment”
Like some fun movie theme
And not a war I wage on a daily basis.

Female empowerment 
One a hunter, one who kills. 
With thin, dark, blood trickling like rivers down her wrists. 

Less entertaining 
that squirming feeling of fear rising up my neck when laser-beam eyes lift,
like acid, 
Each cell of skin from my seat.

I am devoured 
On my morning commute.

Shouldn’t all media have female empowerment? I seer my message into the screen, fingers tapping with frenzy. Do you frequently enjoy the disempowered woman? 

Is my rage, this winding path of life I walk, with equal measures of fear and conviction, novel? 

Empowerment is fought every second across lines of yes and no, in every pocket stuffed full of confidence as the night threatens to swallow us, 

In, he’s a bit creepy, but he’s in charge, 

In, he likes it aggressive, and she just goes along with it.

In my student’s worksheets:
She is strong / He is pretty 

I admire my tipexed handy work with arms outstretched -
hope they don’t notice
The little cartoon girl pouting into a mirror, 
the young boy flexing muscles on a stage. 

In, you can’t prosecute someone for simply following you home, or taking photos of you, he is allowed. Have you considered wearing a disguise? 

In, ‘is pepper spray legal?’ *use my location* in ‘self defence classes near me’ 

In her attempt to transmute her voice
into something tangible, something solid to place on the table, 
something you don’t let flitter through your fingers like cigarette smoke. 

You overcharged me. Here’s the receipt. 

I will advocate for myself. I am not afraid. 

A quiet rebellion occurs with each step I take, it hurts, and you will never understand.

Ekphrasis

It’s time to look the other way.

Your grace was embodied
A swirling light
Within my dappled skin

And now I’m struck
Hot flank across metal
Heavy in a ditch

The hunter has come
To wring me out
For sacred stones

You were always being outrun

Now

it’s time to look the other way,
Hold onto my eyes,
not furtive or fleeting
But fixed

Look

From silted waters
in hallowed groves
to cool green streams
Coursing upwards

Look at the heat rising in the sky
The sun is calling your name
Asking you to dance

Iphigenia you can run
Unbind your wrists
Run
With hot tears racing down your cheeks
Your hair streaming into the wind
Eyes flaring
Fingers clawed
Wishing and wanting
You can trudge your heels

through curdled fields.
Run
and don’t look back.

Turn your burning spirit towards the sky

and bring your body with you.

Pride

My bio: 
Come and find out, I’ve been places
Just wanna have some distraction
I am continuously increasing value 

Together, we could:
Hv some fun,
Do shared activities 
I’m a rock climber with strong fingers that can massage my sister’s shoulders 

I appreciate:
Modesty and meekness 
But it’s not a deal breaker 

My real-life superpower is:
Long-lasting 

I'm allergic to:
Taylor-swift fans and people who believe in astrology 

We’ll get on if you like:
Hunting and Arsenal

My favourite quality is: 
mental stability 

My personal hell is:
Acrylic nails 
and 
unnecessary crying

Win me over by:
Not being a powerful character. When I meet people like that, 
I tend to want to compete, more than having feelings towards them. 

Peter loves: the gym
Thanos loves: the gym
After work you can find me: at the gym 

My thumb swipes through this syrupy world of unsolicited tricep pics and 
musing river photoshoots, 
dense and viscous like hot glue, 
with surprisingly rhythmic ease. 

Left left left left left left 

I am perturbed by a particularly engaging equation
What makes a relationship great:
When 1 + 1 > 2 

When suddenly, 

I am taken,
like the steam of sweet jasmine tea,
into a land of 

Nappers and yappers,
Snack-packers and 
soup-brewers, 

Together we could: 
Unfurl in glistening lagoons 
Meander down mountains 
And sun-washed streets 
Share pages and poetry 
Hold hands in museum hallways 
Find waterfalls and frolic  
Doodle and journal and 

I’m interested in:

What makes you feel alive? 
What lines, what rivulets, run through your skin, so deep you cannot possibility forget —
How do you taste home in a single spoon? 
How have you returned to yourselfagain and again and again?

I am whisked away
and exhale deeply.

Yin Yang

I am welcomed into the arms
Of another empty morning.

The air inside is soft and still
My skin, warm and unsullied.

Nobody knows me in this dazzling light .
My eyelashes have crept open, thread by thread, in silence.

I am yet to feel the dreadful harvest 
of being perceived,
by those stick-figure men 
I can see
dancing through the street
like small black scissors 
slicing through the thickness of the day. 

It is quiet, and I am free. 

But perhaps out there 
is quiet too —

The gentle hum of air conditioning  
punctured 
by the ringing of the crossings.

Where tender conversations drift like cigarette smoke, men lounging in the breakfast cafes, taking milk tea, women walking with vegetables, murmuring melodies, weaving through the trees...

The city clambers slowly awake, rubs its eyes, softly assembles its collaged body, sun-washed strips of mauve and terracotta-red lie back against a cotton grey sky 

But, still, I see —

thoughts and judgment and worries and fear and ecstasy 
racing through the air in swirls of electric blue and 

those plugged-in people

where all the possibilities of the past and the present and the future are collapsed into one singular screaming device.

Can they smell the scent of chestnuts, she’s roasting across the street?

And soon I’ll be thrust into choosing 
What me to offer up

Soft girl, cool girl, unfettered and unchained, sensitive and dependant, careful or carefree, jaded yet palatable.

My skin will itch
with all that meaning. 

I’ll tumble after those fickle pockets of everyday joy, 
try to catch them in my hands like butterflies in a net.

I’ll do life gamification until I’m flush with coins of productivity
and I’m scaling up on dopamine and I’m levelling up and glowing up and 

I’m exhausted and smiling. 

I squeeze my fingers against the cool, crisp, bedding and feel the silky air glide over my shoulders.

This stillness is mine. 
I savour my delicate sanctuary,
Perched on the edge of chaos.