In life, is there a certain amount of gratitude that we must have?
A certain amount of appreciation?
Should we only receive when we're ready to be grateful?

I find this challenging...
Being able to accept a gift of something kind, but feeling as if your reaction or emotions aren't substantial enough to support what you have received.

you dye your hair a new color,
dawn your favorite outfit,
and paint your face pretty
with palettes of persimmon hue.

you tint your lips a pale pink,
brush your cheeks with blush,
and line your lashes with liquid ink,
but your eyes are still dull and broken blue.

you glance in the mirror,
looking at who you are,
this body this heart this soul,
hoping to see a reflection of something new.

but nothing will change,
nothing will be different,
nothing can fix the ugly inside of you.


― you’re only as pretty as your heart is

how long
will your heart wait for me?
will it be forever
or until tomorrow morning?


― we talk of forever as if tomorrow is even promised

I come from sunlight,
      The sweeping of leaves,
      South London streets,
      Lurburnum seeds;
      Hot semolina,
      A spoonful of jam,
      Hands full of gooseberries,
      That's who I am.

      I come from rose petals,
      The sound of the fairs,
      The smell of candyfloss
      Mist in the air;
      I come from warmth,
      My parents hands,
      Outings to parks,
      Both small and grand.

     I come from knowledge,
     True and false,
     From nursery rhymes,
     And stories and pictures of God;
     I come from gentleness,
     A quiet afternoon,
     From visions of loveliness,
     Sewn on a spool.

    I come from two worlds,
    With different ways,
    A threaded pearl necklace,
    And sensible soles
    A mother and father,
    I think I knew,
    I came and I wandered,
    I looked at the view.

       By Mary **

Automatic trains,
drivers
no brains?
not sure I like it

Progress is depressingly slow
and I'm still playing at catch-up
you know what it feels like?
it feels
like I'm not sure I like it.

This is
not the end
it's
just an interlude.

When you wake up in the morning,
May your heart beat glad and free;
When you hopefully, as I do you,
Spare a thought for me.

Spare a thought for all the moments
We are yet to make,
Like the morning when in
each other's  arms we wake.

Spare a thought for all the times
We've made each other smile.
For all the times that we have made
Living so worthwhile.

Spare a thought for me,
For though it's not the time nor place.
I know I wake euphoric
After dreaming of your face.

Click
Thud. Thud. Rush.
Heartbeat, heavy. Blood pumping.
I can hear my pulse in my ears. Feel it in my throat.
Everything is frozen around me, and nothing exists.
Nothing but her.
Click. Freeze.
Eyes meet, but not with mine.
She’s staring at him with a feeling I know too well.
                                Longing.
Longing for him to notice her.
Notice her with more than just gazes and sugar-coated speech.
Focus.
I capture her eye-squinting laugh through my curved lense.
Frame by frame.
He must’ve said something funny.
Click. Freeze.
I see it in her eyes.
Her toes are always pointed towards him.
They stay, planted.
Firmly interested in his words.
Even though she always fidgets.
     Almost Always.

When I lie in bed half-sleeping
With my day in front of me,
I say a prayer that God will
Let me my beloved see.

'Let me see his tousled hair'
I think,
'Perhaps his lazy grin'.
The one that sends me to the brink
Of madness, love, and sin.