We argued over that Marc Bolan record
That I knew wasn’t mine anyway
We argued over that Marc Bolan record
It’s my demented way of passing the day
I love to see the lines on your forehead appear
They run so incredibly deep
I love to see the lines on your forehead, my dear
When you’ve got the bit between your teeth
So when I hear ride a white swan
I can’t help but think of your face
Fighting your corner for T.Rex
That cosmic dancer in outer space
Living reality is difficult,
Fantasies are what keep you smiling.
In the chamber of my mind,
Forever seems absolutely possible.
But what is this holding onto forever?
Even though each moment with you I spend as if it’s the last,
And think of no other space or time,
Later on I say ‘I want to be with you forever.’
These words will only bring the end closer.
Not closer in a sense that the end will come faster,
Though this can also be true,
But when it does come it is the biggest blow to the heart
I have known.
The hypocrite part of me is showing now,
For even as I write this truth of love,
I can’t let go of you…
Too many thoughts,
Too little space,
Too little time,
To think them through.
They're hard to explain,
In poems,
Words,
Or anything.
I need to let them all out
But they are stubborn,
Obstinate,
They just won't go.
They don't seem to pile,
They just grow.
As time draws near,
My mind disappears.
In a sea of thoughts
Unspoken,
Unheard,
Unknown.
There’s a constant, quiet fump fump fump coming from the space where my muscles fold into my flesh. I feel it along my arms and chest, underneath my cheeks. The pattering wraps around my thighs and crawls across my stomach. It’s desynchronized; it’s chaotic. It makes my skin feel as though it’s stretched just too tightly across my insides. And the fump fump fump speeds up. My skin is like tissue paper, and as the rhythm reaches a frenzied pitch, it begins to tear from within. Out of my forearm appears the slimmest, black appendage. It slips through like a straw through the lid of a cup. I lift the hem of my shirt and a fissure alongside my navel reveals a single wing beating frantically. Panic twists like ivy towards my throat as more splits open in my skin and the existing tears grow wider, but more than that - I am alive. I take one last great gasp of air, reveling in that feeling of life - that electricity that sparks its way through every cell in my body – and my skin loses the last of its papery integrity and ten thousand butterflies hurl themselves out into the world. Each wing is unfurled completely and the fump fump fump is now a chorus of twenty thousand delicate membranes embracing freedom. The insects push at their new boundaries and fly, scattered, to the long lost corners of the universe. And as the last spark flutters away from the epicenter, that place where I once had a body finally finds the silence. The stillness. And where I once had eyes, I close them. When they open once more, I am bathed in the sun. I am stretched across a leaf. I am fanning my wings.
Rippling outward till the waves stop.
Dropped from a 5ft 10" skyscraper with a *plop.
Perfect circles in precession,
stretching into regression
The placidity is eerie
as it returns with no sign of it's companion
The next one cast did a flip flop
across the liquid table top.
Those ripples again.
As if this lake had a brain,
it feigns space to detain
the stone and share knowledge arcane.
The last one I decided to swap
I traded the lake's ripples for ones in my pocket.
Its a reason to return to the lake
The reason behind the pebble's wake
Scientifically, I know the make.
How is done, now why is at the stake.
,
I stood alone with eyes closed,
in the perfect view of the sky above,
generation swept below my feet,
waffle laugh filled the street,
they talked, without speaking,
they sang, without sharing,
empty, their soul filled with darkness.
Free are the doomed, the idle, the fallen,
for they are breathless, of this stagnate air.
I stood alone with my psyche open,
with quivering bones, and steady thoughts.
Flash of time, was catching my breadth,
ties of love, care and passion,
left behind under cloud of dust,
they say when your time is here,
you see the flash of your sins, mortal,
only, under the dark of my eyes shut,
i saw the face of my fallen love,
the reason of my life, the reason for my death.
I reached my arm to embrace,
i took the leap, into the space,
my face kissed by gust, my hair filled the dust,
the sky felt departed, as i inched the earth,
no cause to commend, no regrets to mend,
i feel free, i see my wings,
i feel young, i see the springs.
today i fly,
behind i leave is a lie,
heaven or hell i can't care much,
for freedom my heart clutch.
The world went quite as I hit the dirt,
the sweet pain seized my soul,
blood set free off my vein,
my last breath, drifted,
as it rose up to the blue.
I lay there cold, untied,
with a halo of blood.
Shattered, unwanted,
bordered by the living slaves,
silent screams bury the unwanted grin,
hollow prayers crucify the reaching hand,
in the end there was just me,
in my death, I am free.
I watched you as you closed your eyes last night,
lying there unshaven. God help me it hurt
to think that this might stop,
that you might leave.
So inside me you are I fear
only bloodletting can ease
the pain.
Purge the emptiness and
accommodate the half- love
you bring to me.
Even that will do.
I feel its warm, slow trickle
seeping slowly through my pores,
over invisible scars that wept daily.
I've made a space for you
in this torn ,twisted, broken
and bruised shell.
I doubt you notice though.
You will if you look at my eyes
and see the colour of my tears.
Watch the slow stream
of blood-red stain my
tortured face.
I'll be
your valium,
If you'll be
my speed.
Always give out
the space,
We'll only take
what we need.
I'll draw out
the moon,
If you hang up
the sun.
We can melt
back down,
Into each other
as one.
©NDHK
There is this space that exists inside.
In between my ribs and just under my heart.
It's not in a place to constantly remind me of its presence there.
But it does get nudged from time to time.
It holds onto things I've tried to rise above, to let go of...
But never fully doing so.
Things like negativity and doubt and stubbornness...
Like self esteem bruising childhood judgements.
Like bitter regret of missing out on "I love you" before someone dies.
Like ignorant teenage decisions there was no reason to be making.
Like that secret you told and the one you promised to keep.
Like dutifully cleaning up after destruction since it was easier than starting over new.
Like the coltish grace of learning to be a woman without one.
Like leading a child with having no direction of your own.
Like taking that last piece.
Like hoping karma takes over.
Like waiting for a sign before walking away from toxic people.
Like throwing your heart out there with only faith and hope to be its wings.
Like innate fear of being alright with who you truly are.
Like disappointment for taking all these years to figure yourself out.
Those are some things that rattle around on a quiet and calm night.
On a night that finally arrives after strenuous days bleeding together...
They ghost in and remind you they're still there.
It used to terrorize the still moments when that happened.
No control over the flood of images and empathy associated with each and every reminder.
I thought it was in times like that, when drowning with the sorrows of yesterday was just as easy as an exhale.
But I was wrong...
I was mislead in my own thoughts.
Because when I was tapped on the shoulder by history.
It wasn't trying to hold me back.
It wasn't intending to maim my conscious.
I believe in fact, it just simply wanted to show progress.
To show the "then", compared to the "now"
How every piece of who I am today was shaped and structured in part, to everything I haven't let go of yet.
How do you know when your soul is weaker than strong but mighty enough to fight?
In being made to contemplate all the wonderful and fulfilling things and parts of who we are,
We also have to give credit to the dark pieces
The events and people that have burdened and burnt but never destroyed.
Like any balance in life we acknowledge both light and shadow.
Appreciation of the good in our lives is more fluid when we have proof of the struggles we've overcome.
Be it years ago or hours,
Seeing how far you've come from that which had held you under or has trampled your spirit.
It helps enlighten bit by bit.
And a step at a time is how we all move forward into who we're meant to be.
So i think, that space that exists very close to my heart but just far enough away...
I think I'm okay with it being there.
It may hold scars in the eyes of others
But I know scars are just golden reminders;
Of that which make us stronger.
For if one has no scars, what has one conquered?
©NDHK
What if we had roots deep down to the centre of luck –
wouldn’t we be laughing about rain and tears
and wouldn’t we keep growing if we embroidered
our thoughts with roots and luck.
What if the fruit at the end of the twig was happiness, without a question mark.
Wouldn’t we chuckle about the empty space in our mind?
How could we stop?
What if, instead of connecting dots we overdrew parentheses and footnotes with smileys and flowers and purring cats;
What if science and pain only existed
as cuddly monsters with toothache in children's books;
What if we found a rabbit’s hole leading us into a world where psychiatrists and gurus were nervous patients
in big waiting halls without flushing toilets.
Wouldn’t we be neurotically smiling?
What if we didn’t call ourselves falling leaves,
but started feeling eons of love upon our wrinkles.
Wouldn’t death then simply be a slight breeze
releasing the heat at the end of a wonderful day?
What if our hearts went on, free of age and weight,
circulating kindred songs beyond fixed identities.
What if I was wrong and every conditional was closer
to experience than arguments and miracles –
My dear: I unlocked the universal laughter;
I turned sadness into luminous gardens, into a slow waltz
to hear the non-dancers saying: Cheers! Cheers! Cheers!
What if we finally found the recipe for equilibrium:
Would we still be needing stock markets and currencies?
Or could we simply exchange syllables across languages
without losing the message of oneness.
What if we really had roots deep down to the centre of luck?
Yes. Roots and luck.
