• Victoria Chwa

The Outlier

the edge of a sea of sober pensiveness —

I stood, silenced.

caressingly strangled at the hands of restriction,

I fell into dormancy.


the oasis that is out of my reach:

watch as they bask in the warmth of sunlight and

ignorantly laugh at unimportance and

preoccupy themselves with meaningless small-talk that

defines their very existence to

justify the mockery they make of us for

what we are.


wicked.


winter’s dawn:

no sunlight came to our side but

bitter chill —

and northern lights become mere myths.

the world of greying navy skies and white ice

in which we condition ourselves to survive —

turns the fire in our hearts

to ash.


Darkness holds your hand

like a mother would her child.

“Shut out love, my dear”;

“is there goodness here?”

then, to your ear, she’d whisper,

“when you cross the invisible line that

protects you,

the end is marked near.”


Originally Published: 26 Jul 2015

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