blacked out: poetry excerpts

excerpts from poetries 2014-2022

not necessarily a 1:1 reflection of who i am now i have changed as a person

jessicamchl

2022

part one.

[…] i know that the grass is always greener on the other side of the wall, but i also am not colorblind. i, in fact, am very well aware that i am mowing a yellowed lawn and my neighbor grows roses.

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

whenever i get sad i think of writing and two or three other things are always following tell me, is life a broken record repeating over and over about the downfalls i'm passing? i waste my nights faking my sleep eyes closed and thousands attempts of counting sheep yet they fail, they always fail black sheeps are floating on the back of my head and i get to live wishing their presence dead meanwhile they also wish the same for me but whenever i get sad i get thankful about how tears are made colorless and i can hide them as long as i don't wear sleeveless a wipe or two and i'm ready to go just make sure not to tell your friends what happened and so and whenever i get sad i want to think i want to be able to think of a person to two a little bit of humor, a little more hue maybe a loved one would be good to fill up that place to be a flower amongst my thoughts, a diamond to embrace but the sad truth is that a loved one is a myth people tend to think more of themselves than others they are with "tell your parents," they said, if only they know how to count the tears i've shed and it's sad, it's always sad to know that you have never been placed first in the row you have lived with the status as a second option with the stigma tattooed in your forehead like a potion and so whenever i get sad i swallow it back to my stomach don't show it, people said, for the sad ones are always the weak ones and the weak ones become the sad ones swallow and swallow until i get so full i am close to exploding

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

but it's okay, i can bear a little bending bottling everything up like tiny bubbles in a coke except that the bubbles are suffocating, i choke and if they pop, they win and if the black sheeps win i won't have to fake my sleeps anymore and i won't write about whenever i get sad anymore

j.m., whenever i get sad

—

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

a little ode for those living behind the shadow of others— 00.23.

i am never sure about what i did wrong. everything seems right: the properly set-up CV, the beautifully drawn art, the nicely written poem, or the perfectly recited interview. what did i do wrong—no one ever sees me; why is that? maybe it’s my weird pronunciation. maybe i used the wrong red paint. maybe i wrote a weird metaphor. maybe my personality is too cliché. maybe this, maybe that, insert one flaw you pinpoint on the blurry mirror, insert another flaw you get after comparing yourself. you keep picking flaws like cherries in a garden; you notice them as well as a shepherd seeking his sheep. the inevitable: you get stuck in a loop of maybes blaming yourself—why, out of all outcomes, am i overshadowed all the time? when will i ever deserve happiness? heck, let’s not talk about how the world is unfair—when will i ever be worthy of the love they get on a daily basis? i know that the grass is always greener on the other side of the wall, but i also am not colorblind. i, in fact, am very well aware that i am mowing a yellowed lawn and my neighbor grows roses. when will i ever be seen? why am i nothing but a blurred out background character, there to exist and there to just sit? they said you will have to wait and soon you will shine by yourself but the director never tells me to stand up and act. when i look at the mirror, when will i see someone worthy of love? when will i see someone so full of happiness their cheeks grow red; when will i see someone so satisfied and fulfilled their smile lines prominent?

the shadow is getting too harsh these days.

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

—

it's funny to realize that you're becoming a part of me—so much of myself that i am no longer me.

it's funny to know that my hand still slips to open your social media at night, knowing that we and all we did were habitual: replies at 9 or later after you were done with work, and i would usually be around, head falling from the exhaustion, only to lift it up again with excitement from your notification. it's funny to know that the air you left still lingers around me. i still have two of your shirts inside my closet and it's funny how the scent is still distinct: a little bit of musk with a glint of sea. sometimes the threads in my pillow decides to recite the scent of your perfume and nights get harder to pass through. i got your favorite pillow wet, i'm sorry. it's funny to know that you still occupy me and my thoughts. i start my breakfast thinking whether you choose cornflakes or honey stars on that day. whenever i visit places i think of you: what should i bring home for you? do you need new wallets or socks? sometimes, oh lord, i stumble upon an elysian and you pass my mind. i know how you'd love all

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

these sights and you'd turn to me with those childish orbs of yours and a cheeky smile; i remember how you romanticized photographs and polaroid prints of beautiful places. and then it hits me that you don't need me and my gifts anymore. it's funny to know that i am still all into you. the thought of you accompanies me and gets me through the day; when i lose my way i close my eyes and you have found me.

it's funny that i still think of you in present tense.

—j.m., an excerpt of the thoughts you'd never know.

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

—

three minutes of me talking about us: a 4 am draft.

loving you is like a poem: so many metaphors in it about how you bloom flowers inside my chest and how fireflies run untouched inside my stomach, fluttering; enchanting. however, i am so blinded with the roses and the flutters that sometimes i forget how metaphors can be ugly. loving you makes me want to do things i've never thought of doing before. i want to press kisses on your temple down to your cheek to wordlessly tell you how much i love you when you are tired. i want to wake up at 4 am with you knocking my apartment door with a plastic bag of cheapskate snacks and we'd shamelessly travel around in our pajamas shorts. i had always wanted to die young but with you in my life i'd think twice. loving you makes me feel thankful. thank you, darling, for talking to me whenever my period pains me a little bit too much or whenever the movie is just too sad that i can't stop weeping. thank you for the bouquets at occasions (and sorry, too, for underestimating you and thinking you weren't capable of being romantic). thank you for simply being there. i have never been a fully religious person but for you i'd pray to every god only to thank your presence. but just like how not every movie is happy and not every books end well, loving you is also sad. darling, i want to

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

stay, i want to love you too much even when loving you gets me hurt—even when loving you is a pain. i sometimes forget how loving you is also like drowning in a forest of thorns and every time i move i hurt myself. i want to reach out to you, i swear i do, but i am trapped and knowing that you no longer need me stabs. knowing that you are one of the bravest people in the world but you are afraid of facing the future with me kills. i sometimes can't remember how loving you means having you as my sole purpose and that makes me sad. how am i supposed to have you as the center of my universe when you don't even think of having me as a part of your world? i can list ten thousands happy memories of us and i can name hundreds of places we've been to. i can recall every kisses and your hands are still warm on the places where you touched me. and yet, above all that, your heart probably doesn't belong to me. you sometimes can't remember how loving is not just about all of the above. loving isn't always just about making poems and hugging and sending flowers and roadtrips and kisses and everything. loving is about trusting someone and loving is about trusting yourself to someone. loving is about the two of us conquering problems; not me against you, not you against me. loving isn't just about everything physical, loving is about having someone deep in you no matter how long the distance is and no matter how she's asleep when you're awake. loving is about facing what you hate and loving is about conquering your fears. darling, you told me you love me, but you also told me you are afraid.

—j.m., and you said our love was fearless.

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

—

time runs, they said. but oh darling, i think for us time decides to f l y instead. i am anxious. i spend the rest of my days counting and counting and counting; my phone calendar has been opened too often but i am still terrified like it's the first time i face july. what if days turn into weeks and weeks turn into months and... and the time where we have to let go of each other comes? what if we are too busy floating in this mere happiness when we are just blindly a step away from separation and a beat away from tears? i am anxious. i become afraid of dates and days. i have grown so used with you beside me: with you accompanying me drink for the first time and you were the first person other than my parents to see my id card. so many people come and go but i will always find it the easiest to put my trust on you and to believe that you'd stay the longest. i have friends, i do; but talking about my problems to you is always the best even when i know you'd laugh at me. i am so used to click on your profile to give you a quick goodnight call, even when i know you'd slur at the conversation, and i can't imagine how my life would turn into without your presence beside me.

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

i am anxious. i am also envious of all those people who will get to see you everyday after the last day we see each other: how are they so fucking lucky to end up in the same part of the world with you, meanwhile i have to be thankful of the world to only serve me the same sky as yours? i hope we'd see the same stars and laugh at the silly constelations, i hope we'd share the same rainbows and we'd take pictures of it to send to each other. even when your university is practically on a remote mountain, i hope you get to see the stars from the non-polluted village sky, just like what we did on the rooftop of a hotel in vietnam. but no matter how technology advances and video calls exist and instagram takes its place, everything will not be the same as meeting you in person. sending you bacbac stickers will not be the same as holding your hand in public even when you are embarrassed to. tagging you in cooking videos will not be the same as cooking with you, even when you cook a lot more than i do. telling you about my hardships and problems and struggles through phone calls will never be the same as actually hugging you and being way too embarrassed to actually cry. but i still cry anyway. nothing will ever be the same without you, even when you are still blinded about the fact that you matter t h i s much. no matter how i hate separations, i will never not wish you the best; live your life to the fullest and never forget me, for you fill the biggest part of my heart and head.

—j.m., sad and terrified for the rest of july.

—

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

i. he makes me think in poems. ever since he entered the room, i knew he was the one whom worth my metaphors and he was nothing but the estuary of my thoughts.

ii. “make my hair,” i said, “breathe in the smokes of your cigs.”

the paper rolled still in between his fingers, its fire unbothered by the cold breeze of bandung’s thursday evening. even when the streets of the town was busily crowded, he merely stood across me, separated by the series of cars and motorcycles at the other side of the road as if he was waiting for the dusk to fall.

i wanted to smile, but i somehow shouldn’t.

he took another deep sip of the cigarette.

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

iii. several weeks later, i found out he had a rose tattooed on his neck.

his hair was sleek, swept backward; the collar of his white polo bowed down as if it were bragging its owner’s ink mark to me.

somehow i’ve been dreaming of a tattoo since.

(and a piercing or two.)

iv. and after all this time, i realized that i want to go home smelling like your favorite cigarette.

—

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

romanticized exhaustion

growing up isnt always about being six feet tall getting buff and all like what we see on tv growing up is not only talking about her curves and ass and his muscle mass its about gathering scars counting and marking small bruises sometimes it bleeds sometimes its a fracture and these scars they sometimes come in stretch marks on your thighs and pelvis they are the eyebags you earn after studying at 3 am they are the tear stain left on your pillow sheet that turned yellow and they are the acne bumps you fail to clear since grade 6 its about the romanticized exhaustion the mental note of how many glasses of coffee you have been drinking

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

this whole week and how it feels so familiar and natural to be caffeinated its about the 3.30 am alarms and how you build your body system used to waking up so early you barely had a dream

—

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

part two.

i don’t even know that i am afloat and still maybe i dropped my anchor somewhere amidst this aimless trip and as the dawn embraces the dusk engulfed in the middle of high tides i realize the ocean looks like your eyes

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

: i, a mortal if only i could just tell the entire world about you and us and… me. i’d love to create an entire turmoil and maybe people would whisper but then again nothing defeats my wish to show you off in front of your worshippers. “i want to kiss you,” i have said countless times, and you’d allow me to kiss you and our lips would meet and maybe our hands would touch inches of skins my eyes wouldn’t fall upon. you always kiss back. however, nothing is ever beyond that. i would only kiss you in your bedroom, in your closet, hidden from everyone and only seen by the kind eyes of the stars at dawn—only shone upon by the loneliest of the morning sun each day. and as far as i am grateful, as far as i would trade the entire universe to intertwine fingers with yours, i am nothing than a mere mortal with humane desires. darling, i want to kiss you like an announcement. i want to kiss you like your lips are my morning prayers and i want to kiss you just like how the sun kisses the sea, so proudly scorching its heat until the entire town knows morning has broken. prideful as a flag on the top of a ship anchored by its battleground, i want to lay my hands on you. i want to trail my fingers across the highs and lows of your contour, mapping them out and marking each inch, devoted. as if you are an enigma and i am a starved academia, i want to memorize the dips of your hips and i want to imprint myself in the smooth of your thighs. i want you to speak, to worship back; to lay your hands on me too. i want to proudly wear the scars you breathe onto me. everyone claims you and bids their devotion to your

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

marble statue but they will never come close to the fact that i am the one who gets to be your first kiss each day and every day. sung verses. rosary beads. symbols of beliefs

engrossed in concrete walls. intertwined fingers. prayer on the bedside in a lonely evening. the star of bethlehem. a mortal. love, even if your worshippers would riot and your church would fall apart like a tribute to french revolution; how would you feel if i were to admit that i would still want to kiss you?

—j.m., today and tomorrow and the day after tomorrow.

—

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

: i, a mortal bidding devotion, and when you touch, sweetheart, prayers and praises fall upon my bruised lips so easily like i am a devoted nun and you are the altar staircase where tears of desperation puddle on, kissed by the forehead of the miserables. the fingertips i once thought were cold, distant rocks happen to be the gentlest digits—knuckles full of love and warmth. you always let me kiss you there.

the lord liveth, and blessed be the rock,

and when you touch, sweetheart, i feel like i am finally myself. i have been cocooned into someone who is not me, into a façade so thick no light could seep upon the translucence of my skin. i was like jean valjean—a fugitive playing mayor—and suddenly you come like marius pontmercy, stripping me down to my core, shedding me out of my worn-out exoskeleton. you come out of nowhere, so fast yet so silent, like the slightest of the morning ray through a gaping window and without me even knowing i am suddenly myself.

and let the god of my salvation be exalted!

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

and as you linger, honey, i begin to talk as if i am no mortal. i begin to bid my wishes against your skin, silent whispers exhaled against your neck, as i pray for you to not ascend. the devotion of a mortal can only be so much until he changes, until he starves—until he begins to want more. for as long as my knees kiss the concrete floor to propose endless prayers and as long as my bruises turn darker, i

bend forward to offer my praises,

—j.m., i, a mortal, am made to bid my devotion.

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

: i, a mortal. (am i still a mortal?) stripped off of my human form, suddenly it is cloud nine i land on. perhaps it’s the way you land your hands on me, lips trailing tracks so lustfully i am nothing but a honeycomb for you to suck on. perhaps it has never been about me, but it is you all along—the god who ascended and returned. perhaps it’s me knowing how it is so easy for you to mold me; pliant as a putty in your godly hands. i have been reduced into the purest form of mortal: one’s thought, and i am nothing but mere wishes whispered on bruised lips, kiss me again, please? touch me. touch me here. once

again. take me as i am. do you want to hurt me? and beneath the rustling fabric, breath rushing in panic—are you already close, honey? you kissed me, it’s romantic. again. again. once again. crumpled bedsheet and crackling heat, you are so pretty, so sweet—i float once our lips meet. and perhaps it is the way praises rolls so easily despite you being the deity. pretty, you flattered me. o, deity—am i being a good mortal or am i making you dismal? o, deity—punish

me for i am tainted, i beg thee! o, deity… when i am afloat and away from my mortal body, with you beside me, why is it not scary?

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

stripped off of my human form, suddenly it is cloud nine i land on.

—j.m., tell me, dear deity—why does it feel like i am the one ascending?

—

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

sepuluh tahun lagi, ketemu, yuk? kita lihat kita sama-sama sudah jadi apa. sudah jadi orang, atau masih berusaha keras. gak apa-apa, proses orang beda-beda, linimasanya juga. sepuluh tahun lagi, kamu seperti apa, ya? apakah masih punya potongan rambut yang sama? gaya bajunya... hypebeast masih ngetren, gak, ya? atau malah kemeja ala-ala zaman tua? kamu akan cocok gandeng anak perempuan cantik kuncir kuda yang sedang asik-asiknya belajar membaca. atau kalau belum juga tidak apa-apa... jangan capek, ya, denger pertanyaan soal momongan dan tetek bengeknya. sepuluh tahun lagi, kita bagaimana? akankah kita masih ngobrol tiap hari, sekadar chat di line saja? atau justru kita hanya akan telepon seminggu sekali saja? atau malahan, tulisan ini akan jadi khayalan semata? (aku sih, maunya yang pertama. tapi terserah semesta, ya, kan?) sepuluh tahun lagi, ketemu, yuk?

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

—

dengan kealpaanmu yang satu minggu ini, dan pasca aku mengevaluasi, mungkin yang aku rasakan bukan sekadar atraksi. aku bisa menggambarkanmu mengisi bangku kereta di dapanku, sunyi, lengang argo parahyangan nomor dua satu, ditemani rel yang sesekali berderit pilu dan gumam anak kecil minta susu. namun, aku sadar, aku bahkan tidak tahu cara tidurmu. melipat tangan? menopang wajah? atau mengatupkan jemarimu? dengan ini, aku sadar, di balik perasaanku yang lebih-lebih dari semesta dan jatuhku yang bukan main dalamnya, aku masih belum mengenal kamu—kita dekat, sekaligus jauh luar biasa. tapi, aku ingin mengenalmu. aku ingin menghapal faktafaktamu seperti aku mengenal guratan di punggung tanganku. hal-hal kecil tentangmu; sepele tapi untuk tahu pun aku belum mampu. dan kalau kamu masih ragu, ini bukti jatuhku yang tak hanya canda: aku sering menulis, aku berpuisi tentang apa saja, tentang natal dan cinta dan patah hati pertama, dan, daripada orang-orang yang membaca dan mencintai karya aksaraku, tak ada yang membuatku lebih bangga. tapi semuanya fana—tokohnya hidup di otakku belaka. sekarang aku sadar, itulah mengapa aku sangat bangga berkoar-koar memamerkan diksi, namun giliran tulisan tentang kamu, aku takut setengah mati; karena sebelumnya semuanya fiksi dan mendadak kamu fakta.

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

—

why do you take me as your home?

i am a pier—a shore to come aboard. so many people have stepped their feet onto my bridge and oh how they loved their visit. none of them stayed, though. some did remain for a longer while in the small cottages, hands trailing beautiful patterns upon the scatter of sands, but as soon as dawn came they would walk out of their huts, hands clasping their briefcases as they bid their farewell.

but you. you, of all people, decided to make home out of this empty pier. you decided to step in and even though the air smells a little bit too much like salt and the rain does not pay its visit too often, you make this pier your home.

sometimes i wait. i wait for you to finally walk out, hand on the bag like everyone else with a little wave and a toothy smile as you walk to your ship, anchored prettily on the corner of the bridge.

but you never walk out. instead, you walked into my bed— hands full with love. and you handed your heart out to me.

(this is an unfinished poem left as it is.)

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

—

“you will be my biggest heartbreak,” i did say to myself when we started talking.

i have always known that i am never meant for the long run—i am not a good lifetime companion. one or two months are good but then i will become a boring person AND before you rebuke i’d like to make you see me: the living proof of said fact. i have watched people fall out of love from me, people leave me, people walk away from me... and i can never map out what i did wrong.

maybe it is me. maybe i am the wrong one in this position. maybe you really were an unreachable, high deity and i am just one among thousands and i can never be worthy enough to sit beside your throne. maybe i really was there just for a moment to make you feel something—to prepare you for something else.

but at least i got to make you feel happy, right?

i am still standing with the fact that i am not a good person. i am trying, yes, and i am far from malicious, but good is never a word to describe me. i am somewhere in the equilibrium of living and not, just existing; and i am not what you need.

i tiptoe around the thought that you might fall out of love.

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

—

i am a man full of guts and courage, but today i have found my biggest fear—i dread the day you fall out of love with me.

and if you ever think so, darling,

please do not come to my house with a sad smile, saying hey, i hope it’s okay but i have fallen out of love. please do not face me with your usual button-up, perfume fresh and sweet like the scent you imprinted upon my bedsheet, because then i wouldn’t be able to forget how beautiful you look and i wouldn’t be able to get the floral top note out of my nose.

and if you ever do, darling,

please bring all of me with you. i know we still have hanging promises and sweet words left on the landline but please don’t return everything to me anymore. please do everything you want with them—burn my jacket or tatter my t-shirt or keep my favorite novel in a box of memory. please do not let me see the things i have given to you because then they would backfire; they would kill me like a

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

ricocheting bullet because why should the things that reminded me of your loving hands become the things that reminded me of your cold back?

and if the day ever comes, darling,

please just text me your goodbye. please drop me a message or give me a letter to bid your farewell. please never see me again, because you know i don’t look pretty when i cry and i don’t want that to be your final glimpse of me.

—

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

in the midst of the universe’s glitch, i got to love you.

trust me, when i say i love you, i talk about you like you can change the weather and you create rainbows. i love you like none other, like a lonely orphan with the last piece of buttered bread, or like a throwaway beggar clutching onto the corner of his last t-shirt. i love you—my heart combusts every time i think about you, and trust me, darling, you make me feel like throughout my last life and my second last life i have never loved.

but me, me, loving you—isn’t that the universe’s biggest anomaly?

tell me, how am i not tainting the ground you walk upon and how am i not chipping the marble statue engraved with your name? how did you allow me to whisper lone prayers, shabby like a penny losing its shine, when your communion is a long table lathered with gold and the finest wine? my hands are calloused, my knuckles bruised—why did you decide to kiss them?

and as i remain with questions, as i remain with the constant spiral of thoughts running in my head, why did i get to love you?

maybe the universe glitched when you said you loved me too.

—

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

i haven’t dreamed much these days— but i imagined how your hand fits into mine and it felt a little too vivid.

i also haven’t slept tight these days; tell me, darling, was it the additional shot in my coffee or was it my incurable yearning? was i in need of chirping lullabies or your arms around me?

my head tries to picture the way your lips capture mine and it recognizes love.

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

(i)

i want to love you loud and proud. i want to hold your hand in front of our friends, i want to smile when you look at me instead of pretending like it doesn’t stir something up inside of me. i want to kiss you long and proud, i want to hold your hands and i want to pull you close. i want to drop your name casually in conversations without contemplating a little too long.

but i tiptoe around my feelings every time my mind slips into it: who am i to have such grand thoughts for such a wonderful person? why, out of all people, do i fall in love with you?

it has never been a slow fall—it was a sudden drop. it was out-of-the-blue like me slipping on an ice rink or me accidentally dropping my glass of ice. i fell in love with you not like the way morning broke. i fell in love like a beggar stealing, i fell in love like an explosion. i fell in love fast and all-in.

why, out of all people, do i fall in love with you?

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

(ii)

why, out of all people, am i like this to you? i have always been a master at pouring out my feelings; i want to dive into your head, i want to learn how loving you feels like. but when it comes to you i turn mute.

——

everything feels right like the way the snow kisses my front porch, but at the same time everything feels wrong like it’s summer. ever since this started i know your ship does not board long into my dock but i wish you’d linger for a little while. you are a sailor too fixated with his compass pointing north, meanwhile i am a pier far in the southwest.

ever since we started, i am left in shambles with my puzzled thoughts: how do you feel about me? what am i in your life? do you like it a little too much too when our knees brush? do you think about our kiss during your day? do you find yourself missing me when you work? do you remember the shape of my body when you hug me and do you think of it when you try to fall asleep?

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

i know a lot about you, but at the same time i know too little—i know how you have nightmares and i know how your mother gets angry. but, dear heaven, i don’t know what your takeout order is. i know your preferred side of the bed but i don’t know when i can hold your hand.

i have been trying to write something about you in an entire week but mere poems or long proses cannot describe the feelings i have for you.

—

jessicamchl — blacked out

2022

this is an impromptu ending note written in the middle of compiling these writings. i will not, do not, and cannot write unless i am experiencing a tsunami of emotions and this compilation will never exist if it wasn’t for my heartbreaks and daydreams. let this be an ode to those who have crossed paths with me: thank you for making me the person i am now.

jessicamchl — blacked out