there's probably something
far deeper at work here
something quite important
and worth delving into
to be explored more
thoroughly
consequentially
consciously

instead i'll probably
just end up thinking about
that shoelace in my boot
the one that still
needs to be replaced
ragged and frayed as it is
and i'll wonder how long
i can ignore it before
it finally snaps
and i'm left with
no choice anymore

Ode to the Stream that sits stagnant
somewhere over Northgate Green:

I have sat by it and observed
Rippled currents falling down
Into murky shallows, an un-natural
Green, like mountain-dew
Breathing frothy spots of bubbles
That circle a rhubarb vape
And a sprite can and a
Heineken can and a
Little hopping Wren darting
Between curled roots.

I remember too,
The drips of
Rain water
Worming
Down the dingy
Alleyways of
My childhood,
Dripping down
Nettles and
Seeping into
Cracked brick and
Sodden dirt
And part of - now a -
Sordid cigarette packet.

And from some
Geography class,
I remember how
This water was
Reborn, once
In massive clouds,
Grumbling masses,
Sky's mother who
Shadows the

Bursting
Writhing
Violent
Rivers
And
Vast Fjords
And
Reaching Peaks
And
Breaching Skys
And
Once
Birthed
As torrent
Rainfall
Tearing
Massive wounds
Into tectonic
Plates

The
Blood of matter
And organism
And that which
Carries our ****
In every form

But that's not all. As, I recall:
The lifting motion of staring
Into 'etched lines of water'
From rain, tracing bulbous
Recollections on opaque glass
And knowing they don't
Know where they are going
And I bask in the significance of
This insignificance.

I close the book, its spine sighs shut,
the whisper of a thousand nights drawn in.
A chapter folds like hands in prayer,
but not all endings are so clean.

The lantern dims. The room forgets.
Yet on my fingers, dusk still clings,
not with fire, but with a bruise,
of words that bled with shaken wings.

I turned the page; it turned me back,
a mirror’s glance, a hollow swell.
The tale is done, but silence keeps,
what ink refuses to quell.

The parchment sleeps, but I remain
marked by the shadows love once wore.
We name it "past", but past is ink,
and ink remembers so much more.

So let the book stay closed awhile,
beneath the dust, beneath the rain.
The lines may fade, but not the ache,
of what was written in hurried vein.

Dear past self,
We didn't die.
We didn't give up.
We didn't see our last day yet.
We didn't **** our optimism.
And that's good news.

But we are immensely different.
You changed, and so did i.
You liked the sun, i like the stars.
You yearned for someone, i found that person in me.
You had a name, i named myself.

You will build yourself,
From scraps of fear and uncertainty,
To be the person you didn't know you could be.
You will build yourself,
Because your old mold didn't fit you anymore,
And you needed space to grow.
You will build yourself,
To grow wings and live again
Like you wished for last night.
You will build yourself,
Give yourself a different name,
And travel the world stronger than ever.

Dear past self,
I'm probably a stranger to you.
So many things happened.
So many things changed.
I can't say for sure we're still the same person.

You are a girl, and i am a boy.
You are Emilie, and i am Athos.
You are insecure, and i am confident.
You are hopeless, and i finally feel alive.

Life will **** you,
And you'll resurrect from the ashes
Like a strong phoenix.
Life will **** you,
And you'll put your shattered pieces back together
Like a gorgeous mosaic.
Life will **** you,
And you'll build yourself up
Like a Greek statue.
Life will **** you,
So you can be born again
And have a second chance at life.

Your spark will come back.
No one stole it.
Your wings will grow.
They always meant to.
Your time for change will come.
And it's going to be the best and worst thing that has ever happened to you.

Nobody knows it's empty,
The smile that I wear.
The real one is left behind in the past
Because I left you there...

Nobody knows I am crying.
They won't even see my tears.
When they think I am laughing,
I wish you were here...

Nobody knows it's painful.
They think that I am strong.
They say it won't **** me,
But I wonder if they are wrong...

Nobody knows I miss you.
They think I am all set free,
But I feel like I am bound with chains,
Trapped in the mystery...

Nobody knows I need you.
They think I can do it on my own,
But they don't know I am crying
When I am all alone...

i hated poetry
always dreaded it-
writing it
and reading it
i thought it was just word *****
but made pretty
with italics,
because it never made sense.

then i turned fourteen,
got a job,
lost friends,
lost family members,
grades dropped,
everything shifted.
i started listening to spoken word on spotify-
to quiet my brain
for a minute or two

but i understood them
maybe it was maturing...
or just... feeling more?
all i know is-
my brain flipped a switch
now i write
now i enjoy it.

i don't know why i ever hated
something this honest
something this messy
this beautiful.

Six weeks from now everything changes.
Leaving family and friends, colleagues and neighbours.
No more car or address, speaking native to strangers.
Just me, two bags, and thoughts as a burden.
I step into the dreams that I dreamt for so long.

— — —

Travel has always soothed my mind.
Backseat, between my brothers.
I look outside and explain it all:
That road heads north, look there’s fish to catch!
It doesn’t matter where I go, inspiration everywhere.

— — —

The divorce doesn’t matter, mom and dad seem happy.
Twice the vacations! Twice the presents!
Never talk about the other house, pretend and please.
It’s just a secret. A trade for love.
I lie well. Kids do.

— — —

When I grow up I will see it all, no secret can hide from me!
I am independent, I don’t need your help.
Who do you think you are for even offering it to me?
I’m smarter than you, I will find my way.
There’s nothing I shouldn’t be able to reach on my own.

— — —

We are doing great on our own, don’t notice the mess.
We don’t want a family, can’t you imagine the stress?
No one understands the way we think, how we feel.
Why even try connecting if it’s not meant to be?
We know the stories. We tell them. We believe them.
Isn’t that enough?

There’s no need to run, is there?
Look how well you’ve been doing!
Don’t ruin it chasing what you’ll never keep!
Are you sure? Not just impulse again?
Is it really necessary?

— — —

Bless you for all that you’ve done for me.
I wish you’d leave now, it’s time, but I’m sure you’ll stay.
Tell me all the lies I used to love.
Where’s the doubt and shame?
Show me if you are still able to be creative.

It seems easy now, a simple life.
Would I have even gotten here, if it wasn’t for you?
Tickets booked, goodbyes planned.
Or maybe everything has already changed.

Destruction, and then

the dust settles, the wind blows --


Of a new era?