Creative Writings Poem



If you swipe the calendar

Roll the dice to 18 – 3 – 18

Cut its day’s wrist, there you’ll find

the fourteen-year-old version of me

cursing for another living year


Be not surprised by my purple thorns

the thoughts of death had grown

into a monument of piled masks

Spell the mantra every reveal, still


My villain regenerated

as it reflected resistance

to the last page


Switch my body night

Paint my heart obscure

Scar my skin slanted red

The devil hid me and had fused


confused me about my identity.



Author: Agnes Seraphine

Editor: Sitti Aminah Intan Utami, Vonna Meisya Saputra (QC)

Illustrator: Angelita Dayang Diva

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