And I am worried that I too will become bland and boring like your window box flowers.

I go to sleep when the sun is just about to rise,
I wait up for him,
God;
I just want to say “hi”.
See you at sunrise...

I’ve learnt that giving up on you
was the best thing for me
while I was still blooming

Today flower,
know your worth.
To bloom,
to thrive,
to be beautifully alive.

That breath that you take is my favourite sound.

Rose in a upright-full pose,
wear your thorns as your clothes.
Sun ruthless,
soil dry.
There really is no ‘good’ guy.
Be patient, be kind.
Another will pick you as they come by...

To be a sad blue sky on a perfect day...

The city a polluted mess,
yet;
flowers still grow here.

The sun inside of me shines different when I am in the presence among you.

Tonight you kissed the ocean.

You gave light to the waves.

You gave them everything they needed to dance towards my shoreline.

You were like the moon.
You had your phases.
Bad ones, good ones.
Ones that would end us.
Ones that would demote me from the sky.

When the worlds on fire,
on my mind,
you’re my desire.
[Hearts on fire]
In my field.
Flowers caught alight,
complementing my hearts burning delight.

I love the sun.
But sometimes he can be as ruthless as a gun.
Mean,
scorching.
Burning little plants.
Sometimes,
I’d just with he’d give them a chance.

I let the sun roam,
dance,
and dive all over my body.

Why can’t men be flowers too?
Even if he blooms a flower with black petals,
he’s still beautiful and rare.
He can still show affection and care.

You want love? Then go and find it- be it.
You want warmth? Fly to the sky, be the Sun.
You want happiness? Then drink a tin of yellow paint.
Don’t just wait. Be who you want. Do what you must to live a life that is entirely choreographed, painted and sung by you.

Influx of leaves is all that my soul would need.
In this light,
waiting for the moon to appear in the dark night,
I lay amongst the golden ages leaves.

The moon breaks through the sky.
Tides of ocean try to touch the clouds.
Nothing but silence.
No break to the air.
Only salt could be tasted,
Little to spare.

You are small. You are a flower.
Don’t let yourself fall beneath their shoe.
You’re stronger.
You fighter.
You handle the rain. You handle the heat.
You handle the changing seasons.
So here I am, yet to tell you;
You will bloom again.

I love how clouds look like draped curtains- the fairytale type.
I find it enthralling that most look like a heavy mass, puffy and angry- yet only a body of water and air.
I love how they live memories.
How they shape the sky, as if they were blankets- comforting.
How they wear and reflect the sunset.
How they never sleep, enduring long days and nights.
I love that there are so many types of clouds, almost like different races.
I love how uniquely (but simply) that they are made.
I love that they are live art, an installation.
I love that they are in this world, my world.

If the world stopped on its axel.
Would you re-spin it just to find me?

I shout aloud I love you- but you never hear.
Nor were you close enough.
I could never reach you,
Up and out there, living.
Most days I just wanted a kiss from you to taste your solar flares.
To risk my life.
To feel just one touch of you.
Yet, here we are, in one galaxy, living in different dimensions as it feels; with a hundred million miles between us.
Sun, why cannot we become one?

Why is it that when I cause you pain,
you always come back to me?
Is that maturity?

Flowers like you bloom well in the harshest conditions; environments.
So go and bloom in the desert. Go and bloom in the soggy wetlands. Bloom in the crevices of an ocean rock. Bloom in concrete.
Do what you need to bloom, to test the theories of others. To challenge. To live.

I want to kiss your lips and taste the pollen,
your care and love for nature is shown.

The raindrops race,
All falling in a synchronised pace.
They fall hard like tears,
It will seem as though this race will last for years.
The immediacy in their run,
Could almost be as fast as a gun.
With a bang to the window glass,
Half of these raindrops couldn’t be arsed.
Together,
The raindrops race.
Synchronised they fall from f*ing space.

My love,
Your heart.

The Suns flares,
The moon’s phase.

Your oceanic eyes that carry the storm.
My temper that will end us.

The flowers you gave me, dry.

Fundamentally,
these were all of the things that would make me cry.

Holding onto my last hope,
I watch as the flowers finally die.

I miss our love like the sun during winter.
What I have now learnt is how to survive during the cold,
and how much more I am enjoying the cooler months.

If you love me.
If you really love me.
Why is it that you look at the other stars, with such enthralling lust in your eyes?

For what it’s worth, rebuilding this broken star may take awhile, but it’ll all be rewarding when it shines again.

How easy it is to become a poet, when something traumatising attacks at our hearts.
How easy it is to write these words and feelings, but to never speak them aloud.

Looking at you was like staring into the blaring sun, first a subtle beauty followed by tremendous pain.

Love is watching seeds grow and blossoming into flowers,
knowing that only you have planted them.

The Sun rotates,
kissing the Earths surface.
Countries mould against its blistering lips.
A burning blaze,
Heatwaves,
Scorches,
Fires,
Love,
Lust.

The Sun was what gave life, it’s sweet love, others only saw as toxic.

The humid heat made people go crazy,
Others falling into a love daze.

Worn out. No gas, no flame.
No shimmer, no shine.
I, another dying star in the jet black sky.

I’ve heard it all before. Filling someone with love and leaving them, would be how you **** someone.
Just as it would be the same for planting a flower, but never watering it.
As humans, we live for love.

I’m in love with the sun
I’m in love with the sun
I’m in love with the sun
I’m in love with the sun
I’m in love with the sun
I’m in love with the sun

I’d prefer to be a star.
Lonesome in the enormity of the night sky.
At least I’d know that somewhere, at sometime, someone will always be appreciating me.

Sky babe,
Autumn leaf.
Hello to the small flower beneath.
Beneath this storm you stand strong.
I’m proud, darling stay safe, fight for your ground.

Having little love for yourself,
Is almost like having no room in your shoes to grow; or to be comfortable.
It’s the same as a plant needing a bigger *** to thrive and for its roots to grow.
Having little love for yourself doesn’t mean you need to hide in the dark of your own show; your life.
Having little love for yourself is like trapping your heart and mind into a cage together, seamlessly squashed, claustrophobic.
So of course you’re going to feel down,
And of course some days you won’t feel confident.
These days are aloud to happen.
But, you have to have power in yourself to let a new day roll in.
Unlock the cage, let the bird roam free for a while.
And breathe. And laugh. And stay social.
And do what makes you happy. And; most of all, keep the door to the cage of your heart open to yourself, and only yourself. And practice. Practise your love. Your self love.

The moon-
when she is dressed in the enormity of the thick, gothic black sky-
blanketed in stars,
truly is a magnificent sight.