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Charlotte Wong Poem
Would you like to go to the coffee shop?
Where the smell of damp fills the nose,
As rain outside starts to shatter like dancing glass,
Leaving darkened stains on dampened clothes.
Would you like to go to the coffee shop?
With frosty hands that puncture from warmth,
Sniffling noses relaxed from fog,
Quavering shivers that slice through coats.
Would you like to go to the coffee shop?
Since roasted aromas fill the box,
Slurping echoes through the empty air,
Creaking vibrating from half broken chairs.
Do you remember that coffee shop?
The one where we first touched our cracked up lips,
You slipped right through my fingertips,
Dropped the cup as you whispered goodbye…
… like our favourite coffee, how bittersweet.
Copyright © Charlotte Wong | Year Posted 2016
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Charlotte Wong Poem
We were all born the same at different times,
‘Naked’ and closed eyes to the crime.
So why is she tugging down at her skirt,
In fear that we perceive her clothes as ‘too short’?
Yet wear non-fitted long skirts and be deemed as ‘unattractive’,
As they are not ‘appealing’ or ‘sexually attractive’.
But go out with shorter lengths and cropped up tops,
Labelled as ‘sluts’, ‘easy’, and ‘whores’.
Since when is having confidence and comfort in our bodies a crime?
Let’s not forget the effect on the men,
‘Not allowed to cry’ because it’s ‘strength’ they need to portray.
Tears streaming from a guy’s eyes are not what we seek,
For that shows ‘weakness’ in his mind it speaks.
Girls will howl that ‘boys will be boys’,
Associating them with cheating habits who treat us like ‘toys’.
Forgetting that our kind also does the same,
They are not as ‘simple-minded’ as most people would frame.
How much effort must it take?
To put on a facade just for our sake?
Of appearing ‘manly’ and ‘strong’,
‘Confident’ and ‘understanding’ of our emotional life songs?
Molding characteristics one should have before they can speak,
Isn’t it sad of this society preach?
That she must have traits that label ‘sensible’ or else perceived as ‘easy’,
Where she must keep her legs crossed or have shame to her name,
He must have traits that matches a lion’s roar,
Continuous fights until fist and mind grows sore.
Someone tell me, where is this rule?
‘Cause I’m growing sick of hearing this chatter,
Of how one should behave in this society’s matter,
Of society’s norms and values which is invisibly burnt into our minds.
Can someone highlight this ‘golden rule’?
‘Cause I’m growing aware of seeing the fear,
Where men and women cannot show their individualism because they are afraid,
Of being ‘judged’ so a false outer human shell had to be made.
Cause I’m growing angry of giving ‘the talk’,
To all genders for they feel broken whilst they walk,
As unknowing shadows are portraying ‘disgusted’ looks,
For they are not fitting enough for their ‘wanted books’.
And I’m growing worn and I’m getting torn,
‘Cause it’s like I should be embarrassed to have ever been born,
‘Cause I am judged no matter what I do,
‘Cause it’s as if a body is something you shouldn’t grow accustomed to,
‘Cause I am one with a different mind,
‘Cause it’s like my outer appearance tells you my stories inside,
But you do not know me,
And I’m not stuck like a ‘label’,
My clothes or my appearance do not define my own tales.
Copyright © Charlotte Wong | Year Posted 2017
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Charlotte Wong Poem
Child colored blue,
What do you see in those vast eyes of yours?
Pictured a black veil splattered with white,
You with a wandering soul have no place here.
Where is your mind, is it down here?
Alongside the lonesome society screaming in your ear.
Or is it way up high where the energy lies?
With constellations radiating the light that your mind portrays.
Living with a unique sense of being you lie,
Harbor the night in the center of your heart,
Feeling the sadness that should rip you apart,
But not tonight for you sleep with ghosts,
And you disappear back with the shadows.
Are you still here, little child?
Or are you once again dreaming beyond the clouds and stars my dear?
Copyright © Charlotte Wong | Year Posted 2015
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Charlotte Wong Poem
How does one explain?
The way the rivers of their scars all lead back to you,
For everything they felt was with heart wide open,
Breath-taking whispers with enchanted words,
Taken to the heart that was shackled to your lips,
Burns of your silhouette left on this blackening heart.
As your fingers clawed electricity down their spine
Don’t go! Don’t sleep!
Never let go of the hand so entwined into yours,
Because this must be love, this feeling so deep.
This was love, unsure you felt the same.
For it does not matter,
Your acceptance, your warmth, your affection
Just fool them a bit more...
...But how does one explain?
The way the rivers of my scars did not lead back to you,
For everything I felt was not with my heart wide open,
But instead I felt with caution…
With cynical eyes that this may shatter like the last.
Yet you, even with me tiptoeing amongst glass,
Poured more love than I have ever felt,
Back into my heart instead of taking.
There were no more breath-taking whispers with enchanted words,
But golden serenades that whispered through the cold,
This heart was not taken and shackled to yours lips,
As your words pierced the blackened nights,
Your footprints are left on this grateful heart,
Whilst your fingers traced secrets down my spine,
Don’t stop there! Don’t lose sleep!
Feel free to explore and leave my hand entwined in yours.
Because this is love, I know this time.
Non-naïve and a risk I’m willing to take,
And this is love, this time I know they feel the same.
For this time, it matters,
Your happiness, your comfort, your smile,
I shall always wish for that.
Copyright © Charlotte Wong | Year Posted 2017
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