The Soldier

He is amazing. His eyes gleam as he breathes my breaths.

The work he does can be seen on his face.

Each pearly breakout stems from the hardships

he faces for us, for my family. Each scar,

a memento of a battle with himself; stuck between

presence and protection of the ones he loves.

The dirt and grime of the forests he crawls and eats

and sleeps does not compare to the fondness of

her heart back home. Neither injuries nor hurt can compare

with the lost cheers of the boy’s first goal or the absence

of the small one’s first words.

The badges and awards tells of the tough decisions

made in the field but the white gold he proudly bears on

his face reads the hardest one yet.

He is Man. Strong. Resilient. Admired. Protector.

Almost impenetrable but the dots on that smile of re-unity,

they are the gateway to his soul.


Agnes Lee
Topic: Acne (day 29)

The Smell of Her Locks

I brush her gold luscious locks and dry them

roughly with the towel. As my fingers run

through her silk, I get whiffs of the shampoo

she uses. Rose has always been my

favorite flower.

I carefully pull her fringe back behind those

dainty ears and twirl the ends of it between

my pulsing thumb and long index before setting

them down nicely at the side of her face.

Her lips still wet from her shower.

“Make sure my hair is neat for my guest.” Don’t

worry Missy, my hands know how to make you

glow. I braid her mane into two rows, intertwining

her threads tightly. A little pain is interesting. She

may command me, but I hold the power.

In an hour’s time, she will stand naked in front

of the banker’s son and he shall see the glorious

curls I am so familiar with. From the other room,

I will tear into those blond screams with

savage hunger. Just one more hour.

Agnes Lee
Topic: Hair (day 25)

Pink Is The New Black

Pink is the saltiness in my eye.
Pink is the shivers down my spine.
Pink is the tension in my shoulder.
Pink is the fingers going colder.
Pink is the anger in my fists.
Pink is the lines on my wrists.
Pink is the blood on my hand.
Pink is the betrayal of men.
Pink is the hate in my heart.
Pink is my soul torn apart.
Pink is the vacant broken shells.
Pink's for the fallen in hell.

Agnes Lee
Topic: Pink (day 24)

The Husband

Our marriage is like the desert –

almost bearable in the day. Seemingly

never-ending as we drag our feet through the

terrain. Exhaustion takes over words. The vows,

unable to withstand the blazing heat, buried deep

three yards behind. We communicate with stares of

resignation.

Life goes by on routines; dry. He – the office and

back. I – the living room, the study, the kitchen and

bed. This cycle repeats until a storm hits. Then it is

every man for himself. The fit survive but only the fittest

last. I, will live. As the thirst becomes overwhelming,

I shall quench it with tears. Luckily for me, he cries

like a man.

The nights are freezing, usually with the kid between

us. The calendar marks our next appointment; two

minutes of our minds fixated on sand in uncomfortable

areas. His wedding ring like a noose as I gasp for air.

Only he can make me feel as dead as I am alive.

I would not trade him for anyone else.


Agnes Lee
Topic: Desert (day 20)

Nails

We have an unorthodox relationship.

I shield you from the cruel hits of life with my own being.

I suffer pain so you don’t have to but I do not mind at all.

I believe it is what I was meant to do.

You dress me up now and then.

Your favorite is the polka-dotted overalls, red with passion
and green with envy. I wear each outfit proudly. I believe
this is how you express your devotion.

But your love is possessive.

I sometimes venture and try your limits. You’d surely cut
me off, keeping only what’s close to home. I want
to see the world. But I believe I shall never
leave your side.

Agnes Lee
Topic: Fingernail (day 15)

Love is neon coloured

"When a person is in love with someone, that one person stands out brighter than anyone else. So no matter how many people are around, that one person will be the only one to stand out in your eyes." 

-G Dragon, 2012

Jiyong can't remember when exactly it started but he has always been extra perceptive if Seunghyun is nearby. Perhaps it's the deep rich timbre of his voice or the mischievous twinkle in his eyes that make him stand out, but Jiyong finds himself naturally gravitating towards his hyung. During interviews, concerts, even when it's just the guys recording in the booth. He can't help it if he clicks better with his hyung. Who else would Seunghyun look for when he needs a cigarette break? Honestly, he's being such a good dongsaeng doing his hyung a favour. And Seunghyun is such a good looking man. It's only natural to look, right? Jiyong can't help it if his eyes are naturally drawn to beauty. It's the artist's condition. It is also of course absolutely natural to want in on his stupid jokes, to try and catch his attention, to want to stay pressed up to his sides all the time. Right? After all his hyung is very tall, and very charming, and also very handsome. Jiyong honestly can't help it. Even when he's surrounded by thousands of people. Maybe especially when he's surrounded by thousands of people. Seunghyun just... stands out.


No not this one, no that's not gay enough. No, Yongbae hyung's in this shot. Seungri sighs again and wonders why he's so invested in keeping his hyungs in the closet when they're just gonna start screaming and banging on the panelling at the next available chance. Don't they know how obvious they become when they start acting like lovesick preteens?! The fire alarm could go off right over their heads and they'd still be giggling at each other. Seriously, where is all the credit due to Seungri! Their wonderful and caring maknae who's ruining his chances with women simply by always having to promote Nyongtory. Not that he doesn't like the attention Jiyong hyung lavishes on him. But it's certainly different when the attention is directed at Seunghyun hyung. Jiyong hyung literally blossoms in Seunghyun hyung's presence. Seungri often feels like he (and the surrounding scenery) automatically become ten shades darker whenever Jiyong hyung gets that fond look in his eyes. He would be retching into his mouth if he wasn't so busy trying to deflect the attention away from them. Finally, he decides on a sufficiently intimate photo (that also happens to capture his best angle) and quickly uploads it to Twitter with the caption "Nyongtory! S2! Jiyong hyung saranghae!!" before he changes his mind again. The things he does for his hyungs!


Soonho awkwardly twists his fingers while waiting for the coordi noona to be done with addressing the costuming department. "Ah, noona... So sorry to bother you again but uhh the management was wondering if you could give Jiyong more sunglasses for when he goes on stage or for interviews?" He doesn't tell her that it was actually his own idea, nor does he tell her the reason though he's sure she guesses it. How would he explain it anyway? Jiyong keeps making puppy eyes at Seunghyun and it's getting a bit out of hand so we need to cover him up. "Ah... Eyebags is it? His eyes... are too... revealing?" Definitely too revealing. The way Jiyong looks at him you'd think that the sun was going to start shining out of his nostrils or something. Or that Seunghyun was a precious historical work of art. Groaning internally, Soonho remembers Jiyong's comparison of Seunghyun's half naked body to the Statue of David. These kids...


Scrolling through Instagram, Seunghyun notices a phrase from one of Jiyong's old interviews. Love is neon coloured. He never really understood what Jiyong meant by that. But then again, Jiyong was a much more exuberant person. Much more careless with his heart and his feelings, and much less afraid of showing them. Seunghyun isn't sure if he would dare to attach such a vibrant colour to love. What if it attracts the attention of others? What if they disapprove of the colour? Or even worse, want it for themselves? Seunghyun frowns, mindlessly scrolling past post after post. When he finally looks down at his phone, he pauses. It's a silly photo of both him and Jiyong in Singapore last year for the YG Family Concert. Jiyong looks nice here. So bright and happy. He double taps on the screen and feels extra pleased when the heart icon appears.

- WenZhen

My Sexy Binoculars

I see you in the kitchen.

Our sexual tension is unbelievable. 

As you peel the onion, do it slowly.

I'd like to perform. 

My sex grows for you as your soup

simmers. You stir your pots - sometimes
with one hand, sometimes two.
Naughty girl.
I can't wait to delve into your world.
Tears, the size of virgin pearls,stream
from your eyes as you cut into the

bulb of my deepest desires.
This is sexy.
I like it when you cry.

At the core of your tight messy bun is a
thick manly rod. I see you sweat in our heat.
They trickle seductively down your
forehead, to your kissable cheeks, to
your kissable neck. Leading me closer
and closer to your pleasure gold.
You gasp desperately for air in the
midst of the steamy passionate room.
I hear my love juice calling out as
your kettle screams my name. 

Quiet now. Mr. wedding ring is in. We

have to keep it down. 

You place your wooden spoon into

your mouth and lick the gravy off

it. Every single drop on every

single inch. 

Monday, 5.30pm, apartment 6D. 

I look forward to Mrs. 7D tomorrow.  

Agnes Lee

Topic: Fetishist (day 12)

The most malleable metal is gold

If you were a metal you would be gold. Shining proud as day, lustre never fading.
Your beauty is unparalleled because it is timeless. Other metals, lesser metals, may have their time in the sun, but they could never hope to replace you.

Gold is not fragile, simply because it yields. It bends to the whims of stronger hands, true. But there is grace in its easy surrender, for it to be transformed into something new, something beautiful. No, gold is strong because it adapts and changes. It bends but does not break, like wild grass in a storm. You are not weak if you succumb to their taunts. You will come back stronger than ever.

You are gold because you are number one. The pinnacle of excellence. With all eyes on you, you shine brighter than the stars. Despite so much pressure, you climb ever higher. People just want to watch you crumble and fall. Nonsense. Gold doesn't crumble. They can try to hide you, shame you, drag you through mud. But after everything that happens, you will still shine; beautiful, as you are meant to be. Do not be afraid when people try to change you. The essence remains regardless.

- Wen Zhen

Gaping heart

A tribute to my cousin, Chua Guo Wei (1993-2015).

When men of men ask of space

They talk the stars of stars that glow and shine

No. Space is where he used to place

Where now I cry, I weep myself blind

Where his smell still lingers on the sheets

Where his ghost still haunts my dreams alone

Where my regrets redden, blazes and heats

'Cause space is a cruel, gaping black hole

Thus with the devil, I’d readily sell

My soul and life and material things

For a ticket to the fires of hell

As Saint Peter sounds the judgement ring

If for a minute, you may rise

And watch me breathe my final sigh.

Agnes Lee

Topic: Space (day 10)

Orthopaedic love

"You have really great bone structure you know."

Jiyong pauses mid snuggle. "Is this you... Hitting on me."

"Umm"

"So... what about my bone structure" Seunghyun decides that Jiyong really needs to stop with his shit eating grins, they're awfully distracting.

"You have ummm. Really nice... Elbows."

"Elbows"

"Elbows."

Jiyong does have nice elbows. And ankles. And knees... As an orthopedician, Seunghyun can't help but notice. It's in his nature to do so. He notices that Jiyong's humerus tapers rather thinly towards the joint. The thin layer of muscle that envelopes his arms only serve to emphasise the jut of bone, especially when Jiyong unconsciously flexes his double joints. Like now.

Seunghyun's eyes follow the movement of Jiyong's arms as they stretch above his head, delicately intertwining at the knuckle before being pulled upwards, his elbow knobs gently jutting out both ways. He counts six notches in Jiyong's spine and three ribs before they are covered by cloth.

"My eyes are up here"

Seunghyun's head snaps back up, feeling sheepish. But Jiyong's eyes are warm and full of unconcealed affection, "stop ogling my bones".

"But you have beautiful bones" Seunghyun catches Jiyong's hand and raises dainty fingers up to his lips. "Phalange... Knuckle... Carpal... Wrist..." He murmurs each name into smooth skin and kisses the corresponding bone, committing them to memory.

"You're so weird" Jiyong pulls his hand away and turns, cheeks pink.

"But I haven't reached your elbows yet"

"I'm gonna be late for work." He pauses at the door. "Maybe... later...?"

"Later..." The thought of seeing Jiyong again so soon fills him with inexplicable joy. "Okay. Good."

"I'll see you tonight then" Jiyong laughs and quietly shuts the door.

Seunghyun thinks of elegant bones and delicate joints, of slim arms and knobbly elbows, of gummy smiles and bright laughter. "Tonight."

- Wen Zhen

Family Myraid

Inspired by my amazing grandmother

4 years 6 months and a day - I have not spoken a word. The

corners of my bed define the purple sky where the pink and thistle

mocking birds fly. Olive greens and orange daffodils dress me

today. They smell of bitter honey and brown drops of caramelized coffee.

Kids? I had 7. He promised me the rosy world and I gave up mine,

shooting tiny stars out of my coral womanly womb. Grandchildren?

More than my mind can count. Under the layers of bleach,

I sit atop the mattress that cores my red. I used to sing the shadows

away. Now I watch the gray world pass by me. Ivory walls with

hypnotizing indigo drawings. I see their work more than their

peachy looks. They see their work more than my hazel eyes. I've not
seen my face in 4 years 6 months and 2 days. I see only the devil.

The lines paint my story. This one on my thigh represents an

effort, golden ages ago, to impress the sweet invalid on the left,

who now walks with one leg, pees through a tube and lives on

a tiny orange bottle of pills. The navy cadet I adore now counts

the digits, in rows of four, every cadmium sunrise. He thinks he will

win the turquoise world and make good his promise. Idiot. This

one at the corner of my eye comes from the littlest. When she

moved, the vacuum drew a stream for the crystal rivers. This last

one between my milk machines is favorite. Ignore the nipples,

abused and chewed up in burly love. This line, now sienna, burns

still. It conceals proof that they chose to give me life. Parts

of me is laced with silver silver, parts with steel steel but the

bisque pacemaker is best. It represents the fuchsia unity I long

for so dearly. There is little opportunity for that now. But soon

they will buy a box, together, that sends me to the fiery gardens.

I don’t think they know my favorite color.

Agnes Lee

Topic: Family (day 8)

By His Grace

"Stand still." and I do. My body only moves as
his tongues commands. He defines me so. His word is law.
I, a mere sheep, follows his voice. They call him Master. He
yields moments with his hands, arresting parts of me. If I
listen well, he will make me immortal. Years after, they will
chant his name but it is the form of me they seek. He creates
timeless angels with the earth, not clay but wood.

"Beautiful" and I smile, just for seconds. An indiscretion
never to be made again. One day, I will be adored by thousands,
bought for millions. My body would be seen by the wealthiest
supreme and the richest poor. No one will see my porcelain face.
Many would hold my robust palm, full of grace, but none will
feel my tender caress. Brilliant! They would exclaim. The
details are exquisite. Unforgiving bastard.

"Stop wandering." My arm aches with the control he reigns. His
furrow speaks his displeasure. Was it for me or her? He is talented.
His chisel hammers repeatedly hard into me. His eyes have left
their lingering gaze on every indentation of my flesh. His mind has
played and replayed with every position of my thighs and my flaws
and my scars. His fingers has touched every inch of my brown skin.
I see him grow art with his wood. I smirk.

"They are going to love you." Show off. He blows the splinters
off my nails, intricately manicured. By His grace, I will soon hold
the power to make the fools drool and the politicians think. My feet
will wield their minds, entrancing them. Hypnosis will be the spell
they gladly come subdued. My breasts will entice their lips. My arse
will make them heave. My sex... Shhhhh. They are going to want me.
But they will love him.

They will not know me. She will be rejoiced as I roam back in
the shadows I came from. He has made an angel out from me.
He has made her perfect with every curve and every line. Her
presence, as large as her self, glows under the artificial lights.
He signs his name - six strokes that seals the digits in his
wallet. I pick up the change with my bare fingers.
"You are not worth the money".


Agnes Lee
Topic: Grace (day 7)

The Curse of Being

I love you, but I must kill you.

Your drunken delirium of colour will fade.
My gossamer touch, butterfly kisses,
fingerprints on your skin are your death:

Your life, for your art.

We are told, from our birth, that you, your kind, are prey.
Keep your distance, guard your heart; do you want it to break
every single time? Take them as liars, sweet ones, pretend
You do not see the ardour in their eyes, hearts razing to the ground
for you.
If you fall, you fall spiralling, and you will never hunt,
Never live again—
You will hate what you are.

Don't bend to them, to what they call love:
Be strong as steel,
Hard as rock.

But you, your soul singing through your script, move me;
lose me in our brief but fiery ceili.
Pure metal gives, igneous rock melts:
I, at the end, must face the fading of your haunting,
brilliant eyes,
Watch you wither like the cereus:
here tonight, and dead by dawn.

My greatest failure is love.

I looked back, I let my heart be swayed, moulded,
marked by your hand:
Never hunt, never live again

And once before so proudly fay
How gladly now would I burn my wings
set myself among mortal things
to love you yet another day.

{Claire}

Dear Charlotte

Inspired by the birth of the new royal, HRH Princess Charlotte Elizabeth Diana

Dear Charlotte,

You are as breath-taking as a bloom in autumn;

your eyes glitter like the first dew of dawn. Now,

as you look upon the lands, hopefully you'll see
the innocence of men as pure as your smile.

Raise them up,

with all you can.

Take a knee always, if need be,

to lend a helping hand.

Care with all your heart, your flesh and time.

Be malleable, Charlotte. Be fierce, be kind.

This world will tell you how one should

speak and sit and suit and show.

Be flexible, little warrior,

but also be bold.

This world wants you marble –

pure and pristine on a pedestal.

Marble is stunning and marble is exquisite,

but marble is too tenuously breakable.

Petite fearless fighter,

do not be afraid to bend.

Go out and greet the world;

experience, and understand.

Bleed the blood of our soldiers,

cry the tears of our poor,

feel the suffering of our homeless,

and you’ll make us sunnier. I am sure.

Be love, dear Charlotte, for it is expansive and strong.

Spread it wide, my princess. May you breathe life, live long!

Agnes Lee

Topic: Malleable (day 6)

The Transplant

Your compulsive eyes could capture my soul

in a glance. I suffocate by your gaze.

You are a thief.

Stole the glue that holds my sanity and

I fall, for the umpteenth time, from grace.

I wail for the element of me that absconded with you.

My frame rejects the piece of you that fused with me.

A pint of wine twice daily

to suppress the immune response.

This is a diagnosis I readily appreciate.

Agnes Lee

Topic: Tissue (day 5)

Tomorrow, Please

I have always been loving you. When you drew your first breath
in my arms, I touched a miracle. You made
physical pain feel indescribably amazing.
When you took your first steps
into my embrace, I witnessed light. You wobbled
towards me with hands outstretched and from
your eyes, I saw trust -the first in your circle. It was
enthralling. When you first held my hand and planted a kiss
on my cheek, I felt love.
When you first called my name, "Mama!",
I heard music. My innocent sweetheart, you are a work of God's.
I am Mama.

Remember how you used to come back to me everyday?
The sweetest voice is never too far off the motorized
clink-clank of the yellow metal capsule. "Mummy!"
and suddenly, the sun shines a little brighter, the grass grew a
little taller and the flowers bloom a little bigger.
I remember when you told me you got a gold star for
English. I wore my pride as a badge atop my motherly
breasts. I remember when I was called to school to
watch you receive your awards. I clapped loudest in that
auditorium. I cheered longest. The moment captured, framed and
proudly displayed on our mantle. My little genius, you are a work of God's.
I am mummy.

I recollect when yoou wanted to be a princess -
puffy green dresses, silver tiaras, golden glitter and fairy wings.
You were celestial.
Then, fashion changed and princesses were dressed with
blood red lips, black eyeliner, mini skirts and cropped tops.
You were celestial.
I recollect when you would come home and weep. "Mum".
Girls can be a mean bunch. Boys make you miserable.
As I heard the sniffles of your door, my heart pounded with you.
As I heard the whimper of your room, my heart cried with you.
As I heard the exclamation of your tears, my heart broke with you.
My stained-faced child, you are a work of God's.
I am mum.

I'll always love you. As you heave through the ventilators
in my arms, I wished for a miracle. Your silence make
the pain in my chest feel almost unbearable.
When you threw yourself into my embrace and I heard
the empty bottle rattle on, I longed for light. You wobbled
towards me with hands outstretched and from
your eyes, I saw the life seeping out of your soul like
the white froth at the corner of your mouth. It was
fear I never could imagine. When you held my hand and planted a kiss
on my cheek, I prayed for salvation.
When you gasped my name, "ma",
I cried for mercy. My broken perfection, you are a work of God's.
Who am I if not for you?

My baby, please do not go today.


Agnes Lee
Topic: Procrastination (day 1)