Hold Me Down

“Make me an overnight memory”,
Give you or turn you?
Her body’s both smooth and slippery,
She said I looked like Usher when I let it burn through,
We climax then jump tracks.
Paper-thin notes scattered in our rooms and pockets,
Not just money but it makes you more complacent.
The world’s already at your feet though.
Let it flow in the warm and bright white-wine light;
take me there again and we’ll meet when the time’s right.

Current Playlist:



Introvert Interlude

Stealing posters from St. Kevin’s Arcade,
3 hour phone calls with my friends across the world,
Buying 6-packs of Tui on the way back home,
Drinking it all by myself in my room.

Crashing in my friends’ flats on Wednesdays,
Sleeping in carparks on Saturdays,
Walking past Church on Sundays,
Rising from Marlboro ashes on Mondays.

Driving down the waterfront with my friends,
Texting Mum I’d be home soon,
Reflecting about earlier times,
Contemplating about what we’d do for the day.

I really wish I could tell her how I’m feeling.
She wants to read the life I’ve written,
The life I’m living:
The ice, the women.

Driving down the suburbs by myself,
Had a bunch of Dad’s favourite albums in the front seat,
My textbooks were in the back,
Contemplating what I’d do for next year.

My best-friend’s in another city,
Going through the same thing too.
Maybe that’s why it feels like she’s still a bus-stop away from me,
Too bad my HOP-card’s declined.


This time last year,
I was listening to “Untitled (How Does It Feel?)” by D’angelo
in my bedroom,
thinkin’ bout some stuff.

I’m doing the same,
except now I’ve got a cigarette in my hand.

Breathing in and out
everything bad,
for a temporary high
that’ll only last in my head.

Maybe I still love her.

Week With Wine

I walked past the pub this morning,
my stomach hurts.

I was with some friends last night,
my liver was getting mad at me.

I was in the pub the other night,
“stop telling me start to get sober”.

I was there the night before that,
met her twice and I got through.

I was with some friends the night before that too,
Socializing with people like this isn’t really my forte.

And I was in there again the night before that too,
I’m really not the type to do this.

I was in the pub on Monday,
Charlotte baptized me in brown liquor for $8

Black Cow

I saw you last night,
playing the same song you showed me last year.
Have you changed since we went our separate ways?

I walked home the next morning,
playing the same song you showed me last year.
Maybe we haven’t changed much at all.

I thought about you this afternoon,
I hope I don’t dream about you tonight
or else you’ll be on my mind all week.

it feels like it was only yesterday,
when you left me in the past.

It’s been a stressful stretch of months for me
but I think I’m finally getting over you.


The warmth of Auckland’s coldest nights
Always talked to me with more enthusiasm in her voice
whenever I finished my night in Karangahape Road and the Niterider bus.
She and I exchanged secrets tonight
As we watched the streetlights of her nearby suburbs still shine brightly for no one.
It reminded me of how I looked down on my hometown
From an international flight back to her flat.
I was the city’s global and generational foster child.
As soon as I got home
I drove all over her streets
On a Japanese car named lust
So I could give her purpose and she could give me mine too.
I used to walk her streets as if I was scared of ghosts and criminals
Cosmic slap across the face
We were both the same
I had to learn the hard way.
I brush my teeth nonchalantly after my drive
My gums started bleeding
With the froth of toothpaste filling the inside of my mouth.
Have I really gone old before my time?
Where’d my immortality go?
You only live the life you create for yourself.

Coup De Grâce

It’s been lingering on in my mind;
the sketches I drew on those stick-it notes were still in your flat.
You kept them for yourself,
stored in the drawers of your study desk,
months after I drunkenly conceived them.

I drew similar things back in a depressing college phase.
Most of them were thrown away though.
I wanted to forget about them and everything attached to ’em.
Yet you kept them.

I fucked you because the feelings were mutual that night.
I hurt you because the feelings were gone in the morning after.
At least I thought so.
I treated you that way because of my past.
I grew some prejudices.
I didn’t mean to.

I didn’t realize you were different.
I just thought you were another one:
Another cancer,
Another brown-haired woman,
Another fair-skinned lady,
Another girl.

Well, here’s another something that I’ve made into nothing
And here’s another nothing that I’ve made into something
Can’t just leave it off this way…
I’m blem.
You’re Grace.

I wonder if you even knew it was mine.
Maybe you kept them so you could ask me about them later
when we came back to your flat last night,
or maybe you’d ask me about them in the morning after,
expecting me to still be in bed with you.

Instead, the same thing happened again.
I didn’t leave stick-it note memorabilia this time though,
just a text message thanking you for the night we had.
I didn’t leave a provocative drawing of you this time neither,
just a blank, ambiguous emoji.

In a way, they were the same things.


Conditioned Pessimism

Driving down Mt. Eden with William and Kwame. We were tailgating Max’s car for ages, he was taking us to a house-party somewhere as his plus-ones, or rather as his plus-threes. We all could’ve fit in Max’s car, but Kwame and I didn’t wanna ride with Max’s other friends who we weren’t too familiar with, and William couldn’t trust Max to sober-drive us back home too.

We picked up Sandith on the way. He smelled like expensive cologne, and brought a large bag with him of what I assumed was liquor. He always dressed like the streets were his runways, and the boys and I always teased him about it.
Tonight was no different. “Ooh, kill ’em, Sandith. Why you dressed up so clean and fresh for?”
He hopped in the backseat with me. “I just wanna style on these women tonight bro. Gotta dress to impress, ya’ know?” He replied.
I was doing something similar with my clothes for tonight too, but to be honest; I always thought Sandith’s fashion taste was just a subtle way for him to deny the social-class we were from and tell the world “Hey, I’m not a broke brown boy anymore. Bitch.”

Maybe it was the way he acted so pridefully and gracefully about his appearance too? The way he could articulate himself and dress sensibly seemed to intimidate a lot of people. I know it intimidated most of my friends when I first introduced them to him, and vice-versa. Regardless of our underlying fashion-motives or ideals though, one thing was certain: we never took any hand-me-downs. Since we all started working; Everything we ever wore, and everything we ever purchased, was bought with our own money. Kwame, William, Sandith and I were on the same boat. Our whole families were on the same boat.

Fuck that. The four of us all knew what it was like to grow up with an acclimated-taste to Budget-brand ingredients and shady Asian-supermarket brands. We all grew up learning how to make the most with just a little. We learnt to ignore the stains on the clothes our dads got us from thrift-stores. We never hosted Christmas-gatherings at our houses; we went to our richer family-friends’ homes instead. Our parents taught us how to pretend we weren’t hungry when someone offered us food. We grew up in small houses, and we shared our bedrooms with our siblings and God. And when we all turned 16: we didn’t get a trip to AA for our driver’s license test — no, we just turned 16.

William parked us opposite to St. Mary’s School in Ellerslie, and we walked the rest of the distance to the house-party somewhere along the same road. Max introduced us all to the host and his other friends there, but a couple of minutes later; William, Kwame, Sandith and I would end up hanging out together in the driveway.
Kwame turned to the fence and carelessly threw his can of VB over to the neighbours’ house. “G, this party is fuckin’ boring.”  He said.
The rest of us nodded simultaneously in agreement with him. “Yeah, what the fuck is this shit bro?” Sandith asked.

We looked out to the living room from our view in the driveway, and saw a bunch of dull, high social-class, white boys act like fools around girls who were equally as dull and drunk as them. We saw Max and his friends surfing around the same crowd too. Sandith and I laughed about it and sparked a little bit of banter between the four of us, trying to find a bit of humor about our misplacement in this uninviting party.

A few minutes later; the four of us walked back to William’s car without saying our goodbyes and thanks to the host or anyone else. We drove away to Lunn Avenue for some drive-thru food, Max chose to stay back in Ellerslie with his other friends though. We caught up with Christian and his brother, and we played basketball with them for the rest of the night. Turns out Sandith had prepared a spare change of clothes in his bag instead of liquor. William had some spare clothes for me in his car’s boot, and Christian had some clothes for Kwame to play in too.

5:30 AM.
Involuntarily feeling the coldest breeze of the Auckland’s winter through the open windows of William’s car, all because he didn’t wanna use the car’s heater so he could save gas and money. We bought a ton of $1 hot-chocolate from McDonald’s to try compensate though — I’m lovin’ it.
I wonder if those guys from that party will ever know about a night like ours’ and a life like ours’. I wonder if they’ll ever feel truly desperate and worried about the financial consequences of student-loans, overdrafts, losing phones, bad credit-scores, delinquent bills, car accidents, and being unemployed.
I wonder if they finished school with a feeling as if they’d beaten the goddamn system.

Fuck the way the world treats Minorities. I hated being fucking broke.

Asahi Arrows

One-night stands got my mind all fucked up.
A week of late nights just thinkin’ bout who lied to me first.
I’d finish by drinking cheap bottles of beer with Reagan and Dom,
outside of Jeff’s ash-riddled porch on a gloomy Sunday morning,
then repeat.

Listening to D’angelo over and over again too,
thinkin’ bout what happened between her and I.
One Mo’ Gin from Voodoo was our secret theme-song.

We started denouncing women from Hamilton and Catholic-schools
as the villains of our lives’ stories
who we had to hate and defeat.
It was so stupid,
and so petty.

I found it interesting how Dom kept throwing shots
from his glass house of drugs,
and incapability to face his problems when he’s sober.
I don’t know how he did it —
Ruth actually cared about you —

All the boys and I
made an oath to shun those types of women out of our lives,
but I had my fingers crossed behind my back,
because I couldn’t bring myself to completely despise
some of the women
who meant so much more to me
than most of these boys.