Floral and flouncy she brushes through,
Energy radiating from her like a tiny perfect tornado.
Lift me up. I need her to lift me up.
I am silt today. No good to anyone.
A bloated mass of drained out goodness.
Whirl me pretty thing.
Remind me that I like to sing.
I do faintly recall, dabbing oils behind my ears
And popping colour on my lips.
But today I am grey.
I think I have no place in this picture.
I want to want it.
I want to crave the light.
But I have no sight.
She is the only link to what I once was.
If she were a color she wouldn’t stay between the lines.
She bleeds through pages and it is her blood I need.
Feed. Feed me.
See more. See more.
I need to see more.
Calling all “chickens and cowards”
Calling all those who are afraid
Calling all who lie awake at night
And who sleep through the day
It’s ok. It’s ok. It’s ok.
I am you. You are me.
We may never be free.
We may never walk unshackled in the meadows
Jump off the cliff into the sea.
That’s ok. That’s ok. That’s ok.
But you are reading me.
And I am reading you.
We don’t need constant light
To write. To right. To write.
So put down the whip you use on your back
The one that tells you , you are not good enough
Put down the app that makes you feel you are not living your best life
You are living.
Day by day. Minute by minute. Second to second.
You are a warrior. Fighting your own war.
The fear you feel is not your fault
Do not go gently into the vault
Take it. Wield it. Continue to fight.
If all else fails..
When in the middle of palpable desire
It is hard to imagine how anyone’s fire
can be set alight by anything other than want and wanting.
I quit that need.
I wish to move to less flaming coals
The ones that keep me warm but do not singe my lashes.
I have surfed the wave of molton rock and burnt my feet
I reached pinnacles that left my hair full of stars
As my breath became part of Saturn’s rings.
All these things… fuelled me and kept me shining
The love , the loss, the pining
And so on and so on.
But now my roots prefer the earth to be steady
And although I still sway with the wind , I am not taken with it.
I am no longer taken, no longer shaken.
A match is no good for a tree
You were no good for me.
Everyone should have a tree in a field somewhere
The one you would run to when the world turns black
The one in the meadow you pass on the train each day
which reminds you that some things are always still.
That in all the rush there is hush. There is lush.
I have a tree.
It’s boughs just right for hanging my coat
Its leaves gentle enough to give me shade but not block out the sun.
One day I will get off a stop early
One day I will clamber over the fence into that field.
One day I will lie there with nothing but a chirping to add sound to my sad day.
One day. Not today
All over my hands and feet
Stuck to the souls of me
Garbled grumblings of all I could be
If there was a word that should be trodden upon
Could. Could. Cou…
I’m happy enough in mesh.
One egg a day isn’t so bad.
Even if it’s scrambled.
Don’t project your squalid being onto me
Your no good agenda has not its carbon copy in my book.
There are those of us with no ungodly pursuit
Just a need to breathe.
Try it my dear. Have no fear.
There are only a few with bladed hands
The rest ? We just do our best.
Do not show your fangs because you were bitten once
Do not transfer the disease that is distrust
We will all be dust
So do not push me to the bottom of pool
Don’t lose your cool
Rise above without corpses in your wake
For goodness sake.
And when you fly it will be with wings not a flailing , borne of ill winds.
Let yourself be loved. Let yourself be loved.
We all deserve a crown
Don’t let yours be thorns
Let yourself be loved.
I’m pressed up against your atmosphere
Gazing longingly at your world
I want to get closer but
You are miles away and I would kill your air if I got any closer
There are holes in this o zone
And I can’t fill them or pass through
I’m neither here or there
Hot, cold air.
Cold. So cold.
If I look behind me there is endless black
So I stay.
Face squashed against the one thing you can’t live without
And the only thing keeping me here.
“I tawt I taw a puttycat”
But your mews were dampened-down growls
A warning to softened feathers
That one bite and I would be gone.
But I’m no birdie either
I’ll tweet a little but watch me soar
I have no time for snarl or roar.
I sing to the moon while you choose to howl
All is fair betwixt cat and fowl.
And the heavens prefer my voice
It’s not like you don’t have a choice.
Perhaps not your stripes, but you could sing too.
Bellow your song out into the blue.
But you would rather chew
If you suck marrow
You are left with bone.
So bare your teeth if it makes you feel brave
But while I fly over mountains
You dwell in a cave.
Bring me cider and crisps
And those little biscuits I love
I want to sit by the river
And drink like we used to.
Run your fingertips up my arm
Just to the top of my shoulder
Each day getting bolder
And kiss like we used to.
Let the sun burn my neck
What the heck ?
I was destined to leave either way.
Let us lie side by side
In the meadow deep and wild
Look me in the eyes and pretend we have forever
Just like we used to.
Please, like we used to.
Half finished knitting, lying like a sad multicolored cat on the table.
A half crudely cut curtain grimacing at me from the shadows
Projects I intend to finish but never do.
I do things by halves. Perfect halves.
That’s heart and soul and pieces of flesh.
And that’s why I’m finished. Complete.
You came into this halfheartedly.
And now I am at a loose end.
I cannot read others’ emotions
They weigh too heavy on me
The words nestle too long in my sad soul
I cannot take in extra luggage
I cannot carry the heaviness of a thousand writers
All I can do is emit, expel to propel.
I can only hope that a lighter heart can share my burden or at least let my words wash through them.
I am much too much a sieve.
I am too easily spent with others
You wanted me to straddle.
A limb in each corner.
One burning with the uninhibited heat
The other, pale in life’s banal never-ending joke.
You enjoyed the tearing, the pulling apart
Not of my body.
Ah but of my dreams.
Do you know what torn hopes look like ?
They are jagged. Shorn. Shook from their mother’s milken tit.
Left to mew in the icy shadow of your shrug.
But I am made of moss and I flourish where roses die.
I don’t cry.
Not for you, you wicked thing.
Made worse by no awareness of your hacking.
A shears sheds no tears when flowers fall.
But I am no flower.
I am the tower.
So shears to you my dear.
Make sure you look me in the eye.
No not down there. Up. Up in the sky.