Poetry Trauma

I need more trigger warnings for happy poems than for sad poems by Kika Man

Here is the open grave for all the pleasant poetry I have not written.
I bury you; you keep jumping on my back.
The nerves in your neck are dark purple, ready to explode.

The moment they do, will you make me drown on your dark blue blood?
All the ink gushing down my throat, pushing down on my lungs.
You threw me on my knees, and you demanded to know why.

The soul cannot bear to lose what it has seen.
I know not the joys of writing a love poem, dedicating my whole self.
Is that why you thread down my spine, pushing it apart, slow like the silk mouth of a coffin.

I hurt you but not so you could puncture holes in my stomach,
closing them with nightshade. You are the most beautiful, fulfilling thrill of feathers.
Gallows of letters spelled flawlessly. The moon to guide my ship.

To suffer by the hands of the incapability to plead happy
is to be burned paralyzed. To be torn apart with a pair of tweezers.
I dream to embrace you, though it may shred us into ashes.

Kika Man 文詠玲 (26 May, 1997) is a writer and a student from Belgium, and also from Hong Kong. She has always been writing and playing and learning and reading. To them, all of these are one and the same. Kika writes about mental health, traveling and dreaming, about her mixed identity, about music and blueness. Alongside writing poetry, she is part of Slam-T (a spoken word & slam poetry platform). They have majored in Eastern Languages and Cultures: China at Ghent University and are currently chasing after a degree and PhD in Gender and Diversity and Cultural studies. Kika’s first poetry book will be published soon in 2021-2022.