I stand for the forgotten, the ones nations have forsaken,
Left to die on the open seas, or in the hidden camps,
Or in the care of those my country has paid to keep them quiet.
You will not keep us silent,
We will shout and scream until the voices of those across the ocean are heard
Until they are lead onto the podium and given the right to speak again, the right from long ago.
I will stand for my brothers and sisters, aunties, uncles, my family; spread across the earth who seek the shelter of my homeland, and I will welcome them with open arms.
And you will not stop me.
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 6:15 AM UTC
It feels a little like knowing that you're the steady choice,
Not quite spontaneous or risky enough to grab their attention in the first
Moment,
But warm and always there
People take advantage of that, falling in and out of love, but always Knowing that there's the soft warmth waiting for them at home
I fear that if I ever marry, that my husband will stray, seeking out more
Adventure while trusting in the quiet commitment of me
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 4:30 AM UTC
You’ve left a handprint on my heart, from where you reached in and nurtured the burns and scars and helped life to grow again. you held your hand out to me and lifted me up to dance with you, a slow waltz that I had to learn as you lead me ‘round the room. When you left me to catch my breath, the fear of leaving you almost paralysed me - and the realisation that I must nearly broke me.
You showed me what it was to live, and to live in such reckless abandonment that I knew I would never belong in the place I once called my home. you redefined home for me, showing me the truth of “home is wherever I’m with you.” Your sunsets were painted more beautifully than anything I’ve ever seen, and the way you always lead me to the artist behind such great sky-paintings left me in awe. Who else can teach me to fall in love with two beings at one time.
I still reach for your hand subconsciously, lean in to rest on your shoulder before I realise that you’re no longer with me. You’ve left me homesick, wondering where home may be, the place where these itchy feet can finally rest. You’ve filled my mind with reminders of cities, people, prayers and dreams, and I’ve found that as long as these thoughts rattle in my mind, sleep and rest are impossible.
You’ve shaken me to my very core, and all that remains is that still beating heart, with your palpable handprint glowing in the darkness
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 8:07 AM UTC
PSA: this is not a good poem, this is an explosion.
pacing
internal dialogue echoing within my fatty brain, overweight from months of stagnant vegetation.
one repetitive sentence feebly attempts to remove the attackers
“go away go away go away go away”
running
linoleum floors squeaking as my slippered feet find their grip,
praying that these feet don’t lead me to a kitchen full of knives, hungry to meet the stretch marks striping my newly obese thighs.
i’d rather have scars than these purple proofs of my inadequacy
the familiar hair-band meets my forearm for the first time in an age,
my vegetated brain slowly recognises this pattern from once before and the skills from months of therapy begin to kick in
breathe in
breathe out
falling
wondering how on earth i will live for seven more weeks
desperate to make my voice heard
but stumbling into silence as my head slams the wall and bounces off the floor
leaving me stuck in my own harrowing mind,
one that is far too tired, lonely and ill to fight for much longer.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 10:50 AM UTC
a city is now renewed
(like a small child taking its first steps towards a redeemed life,
humble and beautiful in its vulnerability)
this city, this late-blooming flower, known to all as one worthy of the highest
praise
praise to the creator of firey orange skies
praise to the ferocity of a beating heart
praise to the quiet sounds of our people rising up,
because the ruins are coming to life
now watch, as He rebuilds.
restores
renews
rectifies
revives.
but.. for something to be revived mustn't it first be dead?
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 3:58 AM UTC
naturally,
after we leave,
everything seems to get better.
not that we took it for granted
no, really, we didn't.
we were:
test subjects
guinea pigs
a band of misfits searching for the positive
yet somehow remaining apathetic.
I somehow expected you to be like us
a little less caring
a little less bothered
that's what I expected, not this..
subdued insecurity manifested in your eyes
they keep darting around
looking for answers in a scallop
or in the bottom of a coffee cup
silence where you should be laughing sits
hanging heavily on your shoulders,
making your natural slouch even worse
...I wonder if you noticed that your eyes are getting bluer
we learned once in english class that films use blue to represent anxiety
that the churning sea is symbolic of a churning mind
we never learned that you can spot that in a man
so lost in his worry that he can't see
...his eyes are getting bluer.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 3:09 AM UTC
“Closure”, he said.
She watched a door close, happy to be on the right side of a shut off room, leaving the room full of babbling thoughts & sun-spots.
Together, they watched their own rooms be hidden from sight; his, a grand oaken double door, covered in intricate carvings and inscriptions - ready to fling open at just the right moment to shower a chosen woman in love.
Hers, a small, worn, yet loved door; sky blue with chipped paint and a nine-pane window, the glass clear as a mirrors surface & similar in its ability to give all who enter a view of themselves and their desires. This door would creak open again too, and slowly release seemingly infinite amounts of love, steadily trickling from her heart.
Both doors would one day open again, maybe together, maybe by each other, but for now, they were closed. Hopeful lovings not yet open for viewing. A promise still growing in the ever-lightening hidden rooms.
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 7:32 AM UTC
It's an overused platitude to say that everything reminds me of you
A banal cliché to be the girl who cries herself to sleep
But, when it happens, you can't fear the overused phrases
You have to learn to accept that you will spend some days watching a whole season of a sitcom he showed you one day
Some days reading through old messages
Some days crying
Some days healing
Not all days are dedicated to your hurting heart, not all days are meant to be for hurting
Most days are actually for sunshine and reading
For painting and writing
For prayer and for hope, because you are not your pain
I am not my pain, but...
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 4:15 AM UTC
Snap your fingers,
Tap your bag,
Grab your hair,
Scratch your skin.
Walk as fast as you can,
Don't run yet,
Don't look back
Don't fight so hard
Hope that he'll help,
Grab your hand,
Just to hold you down,
Keep you here
Watch the blood drip onto the keyboard,
The welts and bruises on your forearms
You were meant to look nice before you leave..
Leave this town and this home,
Leave these friends and these lovers
Ha.
Lovers.
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 1:24 AM UTC
Dearest Max,
Handing out the words like christmas presents
Poor, yet rich in both presence and spirit
Oh Rudy,
Giving bread that you had once stolen
Confident, yet reserved under the Book Thief's gaze
My dear,
You're presenting me with dilemmas
Don't you know?
Reminding me of literature is not the wisest play
When my heart lives inside these pages
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 5:16 AM UTC