Caitlin: Poems

Dec 2018 · 253

Caitlin Dec 2018

I sit, bare in underwear, amongst overgrown grass,
sliding against my slippery calves;
It will cling to my skin when I stand.

Head tilted, to a grey glinting expanse of energy,
Towards liberated memory
Of all natural occurrences.

They trickle down my temples, whispering to the past,
“Yesterday I was a mere dew drop,
Now hail my momentum and power”.

I may be deaf to the drunk drum beat in the backdrop,
But here I feel my own past cast off,
Water shedding, relaying my skin.

Whoever happens upon the milky figure,
Will mistake my smile for a shiver;
But pearls don’t chatter in a cold shell.

Dec 2018 · 196

Night-time Climb

Caitlin Dec 2018

Night-time Climb

I want to climb a tree,
Or perhaps I want the tree
To climb all over me,
Brush my skin with a tender touch
Of leaves in a light breeze.

Perhaps I want to be a child,
To climb fearlessly and fall fast,
Twigs scraping and snapping,
Echoing against the open globe;

Then lie there for hours,
The tree tangled in my hair,
Catching stars between branches,
Glazed eyes shining back
Through the black shocking sky.

Perhaps I’ll stay inside.
I lost the guts of youth.
Hitting the hard, frozen ground,
Will hurt less than my lack of courage will do.

Dec 2018 · 253

Drink me in water

Caitlin Dec 2018

Drink me in water

Drink me in water,
I’ll poison your tongue,
With the ease of cruelty you teach.

I’ll swell up your lungs,
So they ache like mine,
Expand your ribs and rattle your heart.

I’ll spill from your lips,
To wash out the alcoholic
Breath that beats a condensation clouding the glass.

But first, drink me in water,
So I can see you sober,
See the horror in your eyes when you realise the **** is over.

Nov 2018 · 348

Armoured shell

Caitlin Nov 2018

Armoured shell

What you were, the locals cannot tell,
Which leads me to believe
Either this was not your true place,
Or this was not your true form.
So I ask, who owned your egg-white shell?
Did you live here or leave,
Rock and stone scouring your case,
On wave crests which held you borne?

Fin sand encrusted between each bone
In time has worn you white,
Washed together with salt and sun.
To reshape and recolour.
What remains is a skeletal clone
Of your previous sight;
Those years you grew have come undone,
But does this make you duller?

There’s intrigue in your fossilised figure,
Which left to its own devices becomes less and less familiar.

Jul 2018 · 239

Constructed chaos

Caitlin Jul 2018

Constructed chaos

Cloudy sheild unveil yourself,
For your protection leaves life too dim;
Fighting the elements is a necessary sin,
For those who love chaos.

Drink me under, pull me in,
To stand and face the bright battle ground.
To relish in the glorifying sight and sound
That nature feeds off chaos.

Human nature, I do mean,
For we destroy to gain control,
Mindlessly directing our brain, heart, and soul
To order our incorrect perception of chaos.

Jun 2018 · 569

Sip after sip

Caitlin Jun 2018

Sip after sip

**** blood is alcoholic,
The buzz drips all the way to your toes,
That hole in your stomach is filled
But still light,
Light enough you could drink your fill,
Even if it burns and bites.

Red whiskey,
Hiding in the cracked corners of your lips,
Lingering
just to remind you that later you’ll want to pour another glass.

And you have to take pride, have to laugh, to go with the flow of the buzz,
Because otherwise you’ll accept it’s an addiction,
And the burning liquid will turn cold,
And tasteless.

Mar 2018 · 1.9k

Lucid life and death

Caitlin Mar 2018

Lucid life and death

Unwavering in front of a sliver pistol,
I challenged the bullet
To fire between empty eyes.

Lucid, in limbo, falling with neither time nor space,
My head expanded
Filled with nitrogen oxide.

Blinded black velvet, floating away from expansion,
I strained my eyes open,
To see the other side.

Blanketed black silk covering every corner,
But a pinprick hole torn,
A lazily winding light.

I have incredibly vivid dreams. A while ago in one of them a man broke into the house and pointed a silver pistol towards me. I began to lucid dream and decided I would stare him or Death in the eyes as he shot me. The dream was so vivid that when i was shot I thought I was dead. I tried to open my eyes to look him in the eyes and make him feel guilt so he would spare the other in the room with me but, when I opened them, all I saw was blackness and a pinprick of light winding around my room. I was awake but, I still thought I was dead. That went on for ages and it was so peaceful that I was incredibly happy to be dead. If that is what death feels like then there is nothing to fear.

Feb 2018 · 404

Insult, Illusions, Incompatibility

Caitlin Feb 2018

Insult, Illusions, Incompatibility

Turning pages in parks,
Rowdy boys cut out Insult
To little girls quivering off swings.

I could get up and leave
The war between the young,
The kings, fighting to hold their castles,
But meet Incompatibility.

Mother tore track so far
Away from ties of passion,
The threads lay bare and useless in cars.

I remain in the air,
With my Illusion blocking.
Just me and blue: the swing, the sky, ink,
Dripping from my tongue, past and present.

Hip flask, a hand to lips,
Working like headphones to drown
The children’s clamour of hands and hate.

But effects don’t last.
Before blackness hints at stars,
I’ll find myself returned to Insult,
Incompatibility,
And reality,

#childhood #life #cruelty #coping

Feb 2018 · 380

Perfect material for memories

Caitlin Feb 2018

Perfect material for memories

The blanket does not hold a child,
But a matured pattern
Of further possibilities.
It’s wool worn, patched,
Ripples and changes.

Now the blanket blows out the stars,
The wind rushes to echo,
To send a shiver of laughter.
Each fiber breathes, shimmers,
Catching the loose sound.

Fresh dew fills the blankets warm hair,
So blonde it shines through water,
To reflect lights scattered above.
Laughter shatters, fractures,
Skipping to the sky,

#childhood #memories #perfection #laughter #happiness #indifference

Feb 2018 · 279

Nothing taken nothing gained

Caitlin Feb 2018

Nothing taken nothing gained

I know how the slow dripping tap feels,
And more.
I know that sink won’t fill.
Not if the drops linger.

Water does not have a memory,
It forgets.
Or pays no attention,
Each orb the only world.

That reflection clearly has no eyes,
I hope.
Or it would see the sharp
Pain its coldness caused.

But as it clings to each droplet I
Wonder,
Do you try to savour
The reason for each drop?

Now I see, each droplet is a waste,
Insensitive.
So why do I listen
To you cold dripping tap?

— The End —