my name, more river than rain

L.Y. Rinn, Malaysia

my name was not given to me; rather it was bestowed upon me

like some prophecy, a pre-determined destiny

or a mockery that reflects how a fate set in stone

is akin to a river trapped in an eternal flow

through a course it did not choose of its own free will. my name

霖 is an idyllic cottagecore painting of sixteen mandarin brushstrokes

depicting rain pouring over a forest with

all the benevolence of a storm running itself dry

in a bid to please all that live under the sky

the rain in my name, it is a lie.

it whispers promises of freedom on my tongue and wind in my hair

of petrichor and earth lingering against bare skin and yet

i have never felt this caged before, so foreign and detached from

the fire that scorches through my veins. it demands to be made known

but i choose to drown out its indignant roars and

bleed to fuel the rain.

i am more river than rain.

more dying drizzle than incessant tempest

more placid peace than bared teeth

more guilty conformist than ferocious fighter.

like a river i am bound to an endless cycle of melancholic monotony,

of ignorant intolerance and aimless anger, of having to take

my feelings to the grave. may heartburn and the bittersweet irony of it all

haunt my soul buried six feet under, with my corpse

as the sole witness to this shameful sin.

in this land that would have split my veins and spilt my blood

for loving another woman, this love of mine dare not speak its name.

and the love that dare not speak its name, it will hold its tongue forever.

(it will not speak of why i only ever fall in love when we know each other

like the back of our hands. it will never answer when asked why i only

ever catch feelings when i can bask in a comforting silence that fills out

the space between her and i with years of shared laughter and intertwined fingers)

it will soak in its silence and weep, more river than rain.

i am no surging storm; i am the wrecked ruins of a river.

i will carve conformity into my bones and bend over backwards to please –

i am their perfect daughter after all, ceaselessly compliant, always adequate.

this is the stage i have resigned to for life; the riverbed that confines me

i will learn to love a life of fastidious facades, meaningless masks

and pretending to fill the shoes of a girl i could never be

if it will satisfy my name, the name my parents so meticulously built

from scratch, stroke after stroke of expectancy and expectations –

i would let myself bleed out before i would let them down.

my name, drawn to be rain,

though i am more river

than rain.

unknown (i want more)

L.Y. Rinn, Malaysia

a ghostwriter of history

forevermore uncredited

suffering perpetually in

'behind the scenes' of stories told

and after aeons of being

overshadowed//hidden//eclipsed

you'd think it was my comfort zone

safe and sound from those prying eyes

but will i soar and crash and burn

if i want and yearn for something more?

L.Y. Rinn is a Chinese-Malaysian poet and writer. She writes about the internal conflict between queer identity and societal pressure, listens to Ruelle's music 40 hours a day, and dreams of stories about lesbians in magical realism.