WRITING ✍︎ — Connie Lê ★

TENDER 𓇢𓆸 writing came writing went ༘⋆✿writing took a nap ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎☾ ⋆
& i took some notes ✏︎ᝰ

⎺⎻⎼⎽⎼⎻⎺⎻⎼⎽⎼⎻⎺⎻⎼⎽⎼⎻⎺⎻⎼⎽⎼⎻⎺⎻⎼⎽⎼⎻⎺⎻⎼⎽⎼⎻⎺⎻⎼⎽⎼⎻⎺⎻⎼⎽⎼⎻⎺⎻⎼⎽⎼⎻⎺⎻⎼⎽⎼⎻⎺⎻⎼⎽⎼⎻⎺⎻⎼⎽

Writing only comes if I lived it.
Had a rush of words,
catch me so effortlesley.
Pushed on my tongue
when I felt like my voice wasn’t enough.
And if I’m sitting on my emotions,
contemplating a thought.
Well, you would have this dizzy-dazey,
broken but stitched together
of a mess I call writing.

Adored ✺

My body is being
discovered again, 
by kisses and touches
that are meant,
just, for, me.

I too, have felt
dissociated from my limbs, 
only noticing their presence 
through pain, cuts, piercings,
bruises, scrapes, and tattoos.

Not the sweet bites of my lips,
Teasing with flirtation,
charmed, with no expectations.
Not the supple curves of my chest, 
nor the soft underlines of my breasts.
Not the plumpness in my hips, 
nor the stretch marks on my thighs.

being feminine never felt natural.

My back heavy from the
weight of my ancestors, 
my muscles, strong from my days.

But here I am, adored, 
loved, not only by myself, 
but by another,
who knows how to
cherish my body.

-So kiss me, and I will nuture myself. (2022)

My ears perk ☄︎

from the the buzz of the city,
The neighbours rooster cracks at 6 AM.

I don’t need to wake up to
clocks who tick,
For my body knows when
the sun starts here.

I’m welcomed by a sister
and her mother on the street side.

Where I’m greeted with breakfast,
iced coffee, and their sweet smiles.
I’ve been here for a while now,
skin kissed by the warmth of the sun.

I hold my voice well, it dances
playfully of banter with the uncles
selling todays lottery tickets.

I flow through traffic on my vespa
without a phone or directions;
I’ve remembered my way round
these chaotic up beat streets,
know my place in a sea of
endless honking.

And after a long bustling day of work.
I sit back with friends as we
drink ourselves rowdy
at the smallest alley way
in Vietnam.

MỘT – HAI – BA – DZÔ!

We cheers to us,
and the day
that presently passed.

-A dream that is yet to happen.(2022)

I like you ༄

You can reach me
when I float on ceilings,
when I sink into the sea.

And you sit there, calm,
reminding me
that when I’m done,
you’ll still be here.

I light you,
and the world doesn’t burn.

I pray for the return—
not of the idea of normal,
but of my mind, whose stuck

on airplane mode,
while my body has landed.

You burn.
Slowly, I wake
from my slumber,
forgiving myself
for being
not. so. me.

I wasn’t perfect.
But no one asked me to be.

I pray for the loved ones
who’ve passed.
I can still hear their whispers
as I chase my dreams.

The sick become loss,
hate can be fought,
pain can be swept away—
under the stroke of a match,
the glow of a joss stick.

You are constant.
You are a ritual.

︎︎︎︎︎︎︎︎︎︎︎︎︎︎︎︎︎︎︎︎︎︎︎︎︎

*Mama can bring you flowers,
offerings of your favorite foods,
and I can make you an iced coffee.

I still won’t know you.
But I can imagine
who you were,
when you were here.

And maybe you’re proud—
that I have finally
slowed down
enough to catch up—
to me.*

-A prayer (2021)