Still here,
beating.

I stand over the girl from my past.

My shadow is a mass, but I am Liberty,
in her stance,
in her strength,
in the sunlight.

Twice struck,
second one has stuck
in deep,
enough to blur the world around me-
around him.

Never mind the darker hours
 (they aren’t important);
what is crucial, is the breath in my lungs.

If the past is but an illusion
and the present is all that I am,
then it’s an illusion that has made me strong;
all those things that didn’t go as planned.

I drift now, happy to observe life
as it happens around me,
as it whisks me along with it,
I’m trying to stay grounded.

And I love now, passionately.
Not with a flame, but now I am the sun.
I have my own mind,
but I’m made up of everyone.

I am human enough to feel
slow crushing of heart,
but I am angel enough
to not fall apart.

Twisted tummy
24 hours to get to you
I cannot chew
or swallow
or drink properly
it is all soggy cardboard
dans ma bouche.

Before I get to you
my heart stammers
a million times a minute
and I cannot
for the life of me
relax one little
bit.

Slow and steady
I attempt to breathe
but my body won’t be fooled
it knows you are nearer
to me.

My hair smells like carrot cake,
it holds onto things like that-
and accidental kisses
that were not very kind.

I’m sorry,
by the way.

I forgot your lips were trouble
and you have a troubled mind.

I am drawn to you;
a body to press against my own.
I know it’ll fit
wonderfully
into every curve and crevice.

I was prescribed
hot chocolate
by a woman who let me
cry in her chair
on two occasions.

On bad days
I make myself have a hot chocolate
not because they’re particularly my favourite drink,

but because having this hot cup of
sugar
makes me feel like I’m doing something
to comfort myself
when I don’t know what else to do.

Cloudy;
my world is
hazy
tound the edges.

I’m walking with a
vignette filter
on my eyes,
like glasses I can’t remove.

But I’m sober,
I think.
I’ve been high, yes,
most days;
but not today.
I’ve drunk, yes,
always too much;
always ending in aches and
some sorrow;
but that was last night;
not today.

I already know that tomorrow’s
forecast is cloudy
too.

I imagine her skin is like
the sun,
as it caresses my body
saying warmly:
-I am sorry for the winter,
and for leaving you cold.
I am back now,
I am here.

I imagine her lips are like
mine
and when we kiss I’ll feel as if
I’m falling
gently
d
o
w
n.
Dizzy with desire.

This is what I am now;
silver hoops and
wet wavy hair.
Naked.
Tan lines and stripy scars.
More bright thoughts than dark.
With a star, a chain and some string.
Broken wrist,
quelque fois je suis triste.
Big big family,
small small dreams.

je ne suis pas là
I'm nowhere
il y a des cordes à chaque extrémité de moi
I suppose I'll feel this forever now
parce que je ne vais jamais couper les cordes
no matter where I am, I will always be far from the other.

Daydreaming of quality time, alone.
Diving into bush pools and rivers,
sun-soaked,
wet rocks under-***,
hair slick down back,
drip on shoulders;
stronger now there’s nothing
holding me down.

Down I dive,
further- deep into peace.
I’ll eat air and drink my own laughter in gulps until I’m drunk
and fall off my rock
right back in the water-fallen ripples
again.

Let the tui talk and the fantails walk
behind me,
as I make my own naked trail
through fairy-forest vines,
over moss-mounds and thick roots.

With no cars, I can climb,
every tree is my castle,
every branch a limb
to protect me.

I’ll barefoot tumble down a Pinetree *****,
carve my poems into soft-bark trunks,
let the wind fuel my fire.

The roses are dead,
they had barely turned red,
in the morning
I rose to them withered.

The sun made no sound
as it stood from the ground
to illuminate
the absence of life.

Oh, it stung like a thorn
to see this at dawn;
my heart shrivelled up
like those petals.

“They look red to me?”-
the others can’t see
those dead roses
that sit on our table.

“It’s all in your mind,
the roses are fine;
so are you,
if you give yourself time.”

If I melt underneath you
you will pick me up again
and hold me close to you
like you always do,
how I imagine it as I cross the boundary
I have unintentionally laid down
between my own world
and our world.

It is true, though,
that I'd rather leave scars
on this body I possess
and leave tears in my heart
from the lovers I've met,
than to have never lived
or loved at all.

Life is a climb, a trip and a fall.

Kisses,
sweet fake kisses
on the keypad.
Kisses that
could be on his cheek.
Give it a year,
or a month or
maybe even a week.
I read a small quote
that said it's not love
if you only want them at night;
it's lust.
The quote said
something like that;
it's not love if it doesn't feel
right.

I'm in the process of banishing demons from my body.

You can see these scars on my skin,
where evil once settled in,
but now, let my healing begin.

I banish cruel words from my kingdom,
I free myself from wrong touch,
I cover my walls in strong ivy,
I tear myself away from your clutch.

I run t'wards the ocean before me,
I swallow the sun in great gulps.

I'm making a sanctuary,
a home,
and a safe place,

A place that is just for myself.

Don’t allow grey skies to dampen your hair,
soak up your shirt,
seep into your
socks.

Let the tears fall if they brew under-lid,
saltwater
cleanses and
soothes.

Don’t stay up late ‘til the birds start to talk,
spreading secrets
you don’t need to
hear.

Smoke always rises and wind blows you sideways-
even gorse ****
has bright yellow
bloom.

I am soft.
Soft like a peach.
Peachy like a peach.
Curvy,
pinkish,
yummy like a peach.
Soft like little kisses.
I love little kisses.

Strong.
I am strong like a girl.
Fight me, I bite,
not just peaches.
I am strong
of tongue and heart
and arms and legs.
Strong like carved muscle.
I love my muscle.

Wild children have been here
to throw glitter in the green,
in the sun it does shimmer
and glimmer and gleam.

While the dew does sparkle,
the birds babble on,
flitting and swooping
on rays of the sun.

Butterflies dance
between evergreen trees,
carried by birdsong
and the early spring breeze.

They flit and they float,
in the colour of honey,
the kind that is golden,
delicious and runny.

From your perspective,
the water lays clear and blue,
sugar dissolves on the tongue like it was never even there
and Daddy gave you a car that you care for respectfully.

Letters get placed nicely into your hands
and that pink mouth of yours says lovely things,
born in spring,
it must be nature on your side.

From your perspective,
it's no wonder you walk uphill
and tremble when asked to stand still.
Who would ******* when you won't **** yourself?
But I can see
why you're still never lonely.

You insist on some insomnia
before you fall asleep
in your radiated room in Daddy's house.
Eyes that match the sky
on your side of the day,
you're that part of the valley
catching the sun.

From your perspective,
sunflowers only need to face one another
and they grow like fools in your garden.
You're insured for those faulty organs
and I bet it's nice to lie over a safety net at night.

I love you;
despite everything.

Despite all the times I’ve
broken down into nothing.

Despite every shade of green
I’ve ever turned.

Despite the space and time
between us like a hopeless
black hole.

Despite the nights spent
sitting at windows, waiting and
wishing.

And despite the fact that
everything about this is killing me
from the inside out;

I love you.

The weight of your head,
like the whole globe on your shoulders,
the world on one neck,
the ache of one body.

I’m tired, like all of the stress simply sits on my dreams

while I’m trying to sleep it away,
but I don’t get a break-
not even one day.

At least the bowl isn’t red anymore,
at least the sun is alight.
But I’ve ached for a year now, and it’s still so unclear how
I will heal, or if ever I will.

Keep sunny, keep yellow,
like the lilies in bloom
which sit on the drawers
at the end of my room.

The weight of my head,
like the whole globe on my shoulders,
the world on one neck,
the ache of one body.

I want to be this
wet white dress
hanging alone on the line,
on such a gentle
Sunday morning.

Why do I want to be this dress
so badly?
Every time I glance it’s way
I’m surprised with the jealousy I feel.
I must be jealous of its peace,
I suppose.

It has no need to do anything
all day long,
except hang there
and sweetly dry
in its own time.

Another morning, girl wakes to the sun
sitting on one cheek.

Born again, her lashes dense with dreams.
Could she roll over
and delve into emptiness
for just a moment longer?

Girl rises nonetheless, girl folds herself into clothes.

How to live repeatedly, relentlessly
without knowing for sure what it is that girl is living for?

Is it just another day in which to smile?
To soak up knowledge? Or to
leap right over the edge of comfort
and say something she truly means?
No, she couldn’t possibly do something like that.

Do thoughtless humans lead better lives?

Outside, memories fall on girl like sycamore seeds.
Reality, girl knows, has only just begun
to stir up the world she never thought could be so overwhelming and
underwhelming
all at once.

Small reminders swallow girl whole-
that no one truly knows anything.

She’s wondering now, if she can actually feel
the shape of her soul becoming a
xenomorph (unusually and irregularly shaped).

Sun rays will wake girl once again,
zigzagging across her skin.

This could’ve been me.

I could’ve been a consciousness
trapped inside a tree.

Instead, I have a body,
these bones, this blood, my flesh.

Why would I ask for more
when I could’ve had much less?

To both crave and hate touch
I find this too much,
it’s a cloud sitting over my mind;
a sensation I can’t unwind;
a binding I can’t unbind.

I can dream of the heat,
but can’t seem to repeat
the same urges whilst I lie awake;
each time feels unbearably fake;
I give so much more than I take.

I am etched with ink,
stretched from yoga
and a dangerous habit of thinking.

I am balancing,
edging my way
along this
lifeline
which someone has placed high
above all of my years,
so that I am trying
(as hard as I might)
not to look down,
and
t
   u
      m
        b
          l
            e
into the past.

We love like we won’t ever find love again,
Like love doesn’t come around each turn

and each bend,
Like love isn’t hidden in every stranger we meet,
In every new city
and every new street.

We love like the world would collapse if we didn’t,
We love like we do because we don’t know any different.

What if I were in love with you?
What inside your world would it change?
Because for me, it gives such a different view.

For me, you make appearances when I sleep,
and I don’t know if it’s my imagination
or if it’s you trying to speak.

I know that you live just down the street-
you probably never even think about it,
but I always wonder whether we’ll meet.

So, what if I were in love with you?
It might explain why you’re always inside my mind.
Why you seem to be lost in there-
stuck in a maze, or you were leaving it but left something behind.

I know that right now you’re with someone;
with someone who’s kind.
You seem really happy.
I know that love like that can be hard to find.

So, what if I were in love with you?
There is nothing for me to do-
I’m embarrassed enough and I’m tormented, too.