Chressie was born on March 17, 1998, in Kota Kinabalu, Sabah, and is currently in her final year of university, where she is studying Creative Writing. Her love for language and poetry began during her childhood and has remained a central part of her life. At the age of 12, Chressie’s first piece of writing was published in her school magazine, a special edition celebrating the institution’s 100th anniversary. The piece, a heartfelt tribute to her late father, marked the start of her journey into creative expression and it gave her the confidence to explore the power of words further, finding solace and meaning in writing.
Plastered Walls
The problem with what-ifs is that, it keeps you on your toe
It’s like a surge of addiction where it has you coming back for more.
Like the questions that linger in your mind
Thinking of the chances you’re never getting by
If the person decides to come back, begging for a second chance of your time.
What if?
What if.
What if you accept then what would happen to healed sanity?
What would happen if you chose to refuse to second chances that some say,
Might be a second chance to eternity?
Does that mean you’re healed?
Are you healed?
Or are you just afraid of missing the opportunity you didn’t get to meet?
October
I hope you know, that once I find my way through words again,
It means the knives have whispered silent torments to my heart.
Once the ink reaches the paper,
Or my breaths halt over memories that I never want to re-live,
I hope you know you made this version of me.
Insensible, loss of words, uninspired
A broken glass crafted into a mess of art.
I hope you know that this version of me, hurts me deeply.
Libra
The moment these words are being narrated in your head,
Things are about to change.
When you read every verse, know that I’ve rehearsed our goodbyes
And replaying it over and over in my head.
Take this as a bittersweet confession
Where I am finally admitting that I wanted you
And that I loved you.
Selfishly, and so insufferably
As I am so sick of holding you so close in my head.
I wish you’d still listen to my songs,
Within the echoes in your dim-lit room.
And when you sit under the glowing stars and moon that light in the dark,
I wish it’s our written melody notes that keep you in tune.
