littlefool - Hello Poetry

Our love was like a fairy light, I waited on the terrace but it never came back on. You stripped me and left me bare, wet, watched by a thousand sniggering eyes, my legs crumbled beneath me like your cigarette ashes. The wall we built so fast and high had now caved in forever. If I was the house you were the fence in front that was there every day but I could never touch or open. I tried to catch air for days but the tar that dripped inside my lungs would not let me. What are you now? How do your hands interlock? How do your lips taste? Who sees your eyes? Every day I wait for the light to turn back on Cold, alone, waiting for a Christmas light in Summer.

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Sep 11, 2019

Sep 11, 2019 at 5:11 PM UTC

Blue bulb

Our love was like a fairy light, I waited on the terrace but it never came back on. You stripped me and left me bare, wet, watched by a thousand sniggering eyes, my legs crumbled beneath me like your cigarette ashes. The wall we built so fast and high had now caved in forever. If I was the house you were the fence in front that was there every day but I could never touch or open. I tried to catch air for days but the tar that dripped inside my lungs would not let me. What are you now? How do your hands interlock? How do your lips taste? Who sees your eyes? Every day I wait for the light to turn back on Cold, alone, waiting for a Christmas light in Summer.

12

At the age of eight, I thought I was dying You held me close and you started crying Because you were not lying when you looked in my eyes at the monster you despise. For years you let it eat at your soul Now its child thrives within me, draining my energy, draining my happiness, tugging on my chest ringing in my ear. Eight years on I learned different monsters occupied the souls around me. Four years on I learned that this monster will never leave me. I learned this monster is good some days and misbehaves on others Because this monster it's not in me it’s part of me. It is just about how I raise it.

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May 18, 2017

May 18, 2017 at 4:01 PM UTC

Monster

At the age of eight, I thought I was dying You held me close and you started crying Because you were not lying when you looked in my eyes at the monster you despise. For years you let it eat at your soul Now its child thrives within me, draining my energy, draining my happiness, tugging on my chest ringing in my ear. Eight years on I learned different monsters occupied the souls around me. Four years on I learned that this monster will never leave me. I learned this monster is good some days and misbehaves on others Because this monster it's not in me it’s part of me. It is just about how I raise it.

22

I am trapped in a silver box of falling water and it hurts as it hits me but it also feels good I am drowning I can’t breath I want to break free to see what is outside of the box I look up into the sky from the box I see the blue sky and Sun I have hope but don’t know how to get there do I wait? do I try and do something? will I be here forever? When will I finally get out?

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May 12, 2017

May 12, 2017 at 6:53 PM UTC

Silver Box

I am trapped in a silver box of falling water and it hurts as it hits me but it also feels good I am drowning I can’t breath I want to break free to see what is outside of the box I look up into the sky from the box I see the blue sky and Sun I have hope but don’t know how to get there do I wait? do I try and do something? will I be here forever? When will I finally get out?

13

I see an array of silver crocodiles I’m scared they are unsettling why would someone make them? I pass them and look at them from behind now only to realize they are not crocodiles but butterflies I feel at ease now they are beautiful I’m overwhelmed I feel silly for thinking they were crocodiles.

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May 12, 2017

May 12, 2017 at 6:50 PM UTC

A Group of Silver Crocodiles.

I see an array of silver crocodiles I’m scared they are unsettling why would someone make them? I pass them and look at them from behind now only to realize they are not crocodiles but butterflies I feel at ease now they are beautiful I’m overwhelmed I feel silly for thinking they were crocodiles.

10

A Bird in a strangers town. Feathers of much to learn, Different colours all of which Are bright, However some, neglected by the light. This bird has come along way from home. The seeps in the trees And the tough of the storms Marks how much she has grown. The bird still struggles for her place For her nest, For the comfort of relief from a dream persisted by flight. Because the bird is uncertain, Of its track being right, If her feathers are made for the wind. She lives for the day when she can stop cashing pray And simply just lay.

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Oct 8, 2016

Oct 8, 2016 at 6:54 PM UTC

The Bird

A Bird in a strangers town. Feathers of much to learn, Different colours all of which Are bright, However some, neglected by the light. This bird has come along way from home. The seeps in the trees And the tough of the storms Marks how much she has grown. The bird still struggles for her place For her nest, For the comfort of relief from a dream persisted by flight. Because the bird is uncertain, Of its track being right, If her feathers are made for the wind. She lives for the day when she can stop cashing pray And simply just lay.

17