- Best Piece of Creative Work - Poem "Matches":
“They’re a perfect match,” my mother says as she shoves me into the dining room.
My eyes rest upon a stranger double my height and double my age.
He comes prepared with a checklist:
Can she cook?
Can she clean?
Is she a baby-making machine?
And I answer each question with the eloquence and tranquillity
that I have rehearsed countless amount of times with the
pre-written lines of the script my mother has transcribed.
My parents have their own criteria as they nod in approval
at the bulky wad of wallets in his pockets.
4 brewed coffees later he picks me to take home,
like a shelved cereal box amongst many others,
as he examines my packaging with no concern for the contents,
and throws me into the shopping cart to then
walk me down the aisle.
“They’re a perfect match,” my father says when he hands me my bouquet
and walks me under the archway to hand me over to my happily ever after.
My parents wave goodbye and a tear escapes my eye when
I am shipped off with a mysterious man, my future sealed with a
sandpaper kiss.
From the first day that I moved in, affection was displayed
in the only form that he had ever witnessed.
Pots and pans batter me,
champagne bottles shatter my soul,
vein-popping fists knock the life out of me.
My throat shrivels up every night he returns home
when he towers over me, eyes bubbling with hatred.
Steam huffs from his nostrils onto my face with every roaring breath.
I remain paralysed in a corner when
Strikes rein on me with a hand overflowing with molten lava, him
declaring that “I’m doing this because I love you.”
In a matter of months, this place became a multi-storey mansion of monstrosity,
a hellhole, a place of lifelong suffering,
littered with lavish lounges, luxurious lipsticks and little liquor bottles,
the stench of vulnerability never ceasing to suffocate me.
But my lack of condemnation is not an invitation for your violation.
I yearn for the day when I can shatter a champagne bottle onto the floor,
and with a vein-popping fist write on the wall that
“I do not need something to match me with in order to be whole.”
And with a pot in one hand and a pan in the other, I can
smash open a window to my uncertain freedom.
But I am merely the floor, restrained to my place of establishment,
to be stepped on again and again,
only to cover the surface with a designer rug once finished,
no sign of the bruises that lay deep between the cracks,
because...
“They’re a perfect match”
This poem titled "Matches" was written for a school-based English assignment I was required to complete back in 2016. I have subsequently had the opportunity to perform dramatic readings of it in front of a number of different high schools for the event of White Ribbon Day, an annual movement that seeks to end domestic violence against women and men. The brief for the task was to compose a poem centred around a topic we were passionate about or what we perceived to be an injustice in the modern world. As a result, my poems' principal concern was the practice of forced marriages, a practice that is not only present in the contemporary world but is often rife in countries beyond our typical bubble that western society provides. As such, I attempted to communicate this by displaying the motivations of those orchestrating the process, and, perhaps more crucial, the emotional turbulence this procedure imposes to those victim to it; varying from pandemonium to eventual capitulation.
- Great Piece of Architecture - Alhambra Palace:
- A "Beautiful" Photograph
This photograph was taken on January 10, 2019, during the summer holidays where my family decided to vacation at Greenwell Point and its surrounding beaches. It features both my mother and father on a leisurely stroll; a luxury they rarely have the opportunity of indulging in due to their extremely tireless lives. The beauty that I witnessed at that moment directed my decision to capture this photo, which was taken without their knowledge, and even of their knowledge of myself standing behind them. However, I find that to be a fundamental facet of its beauty; the companionship and camaraderie that flourishes between my parents despite the challenges they have been confronted with throughout over 20 years of marriage is what I consider to be beautiful, however conventional it may be...
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