I like the smell of smoke that lingers in my hair after dark. I like walking alone at night, past rows of flickering streetlamps, the illuminated windows and sounds of people. I like loud music, heavy bass and the sweaty press of bodies in a club so crowded you can’t hear yourself think. Breathe in deep the liminality.
I like sunshine, sitting backlit so warm your hair burns with heat. I like soft and warm things. Running my fingers through the fur of a cat asleep atop piles of unfinished work at 3am. The solid weight of an arm slung across a back. I like the feeling of incandescent joy that bubbles up from a place of deep security.
I dream of open floor plans and French windows. Staircase railings corrugating slow; slippery floorboards and cabinets silver-stained.
Rooms filled with nothing but light. Secretly, ashamedly, I dream of finding love – a love so transformative that I too become someone worthy. I dream of finding surety, planting my feet into the earth so deep that nothing can falter me. I dream of freedom and the sky.
I dream of finding words so perfectly balanced they drop as keys of a piano. Watch how they bloom like the first crocus of the spring.
Tiptoed upon the surface of a lake, I slip in and make no sound.
May 17, 2025
May 17, 2025 at 10:24 AM UTC
the light through the window and pours past the wooden floorboards, flowing over the walls and stain-glass and here I am again, hands clasped tightly, and the open air and breathing deep as though the taste is somehow different here though I know it not to be true and the hush which I am afraid to break;
to break is to bend and I, unyielding, cannot fall here – what else is there – a failure of faith in the faithless and beseeching someone out there to listen. And the stone that falls the other way and I am witnessing another day and it perches upon the watch and it must be Tuesday again.
May 19, 2024
May 19, 2024 at 9:43 AM UTC
This poem is death to write
Everything about peace is a blight
Upon moods of melancholy that strike
Hour and season alike.
Each of my sentences grow too stout,
I think I am nearing burn out
I must conclude about this rhyme,
I don’t give a ****
May 13, 2024
May 13, 2024 at 11:56 PM UTC
the red lights blinking in turn and the late night trucks and darkened windows and light, these small lives and what else can there be and surely this isn’t it don’t I have more to come and the moon – only is the moon – and no stars, only cloud, and even without cloud – no stars but for light pollution, the lights on the horizon and how the sky darkens above you until the moon and everything flat and empty like a scene from a play; when will it start, prelude and setting already and I am here and no where and alone see I, these meaningless transcriptions, not even that, but flat and empty, grey as the light that comes up the window.
Feb 22, 2024
Feb 22, 2024 at 7:17 AM UTC
I haven’t been dreaming anymore.
When I was younger, I heard this voice. On the cusp between sleeping and wakefulness, I heard this whispering in the darkness.
Making no words, yet I understood.
Somewhere deep in my chest, I knew.
But as I’ve aged, I don’t hear it anymore.
My efforts to remake this feeling, this eerie unsettling comfort.
Like turning memory to stone.
You’ll never forget, but it will never be the same again.
A language I’ve forgotten.
Only the impression of it remains.
The ache of it with me. Always.
Dec 2, 2023
Dec 2, 2023 at 2:47 AM UTC
my lover i wrap in lace;
in pink ribbons and skin milky sweet,
splayed across our pillows,
she makes a pretty picture
when we ache together,
her hair veils us in sunlight; soft, diffuse
we share a breath; a prayer,
entangled like some strange, eight-limbed creature.
Jun 21, 2023
Jun 21, 2023 at 5:49 AM UTC
somedays i feel like i am drowning at sea,
clinging on a wooden plank for dear life
but i am the ocean - dark and merciless and oh so hungry
and the flimsy plank, tossed helplessly in the currents
and the person clutching on so desperately
May 15, 2023
May 15, 2023 at 7:54 AM UTC
im in love with the way you write
you make me want to believe in things
i had long taught myself to forget
Apr 3, 2023
Apr 3, 2023 at 8:55 PM UTC
today, i woke up and i was happy
for the first time in a long time
a sunday morning, marmalade mellow
there were goldfish drifting - fat and amber
blushing leaves in the fall
oh, the joy of movement
of floating, breathing, existing
entangled, cocooned
in its gentle swell and fall
and i was simply happy
Sep 28, 2022
Sep 28, 2022 at 8:56 AM UTC
my world is coloured in shades of apathy
i want to sleep
Sep 1, 2022
Sep 1, 2022 at 8:12 AM UTC