Grow
Grow
Grow

Grow your leaves and colours and fruits
Breathe your sunlight, swallow your water. Kick off your old shells like too-tight-shoes at the door
shutting on another strung out day.
Except you have no further use for them
You won't be wearing them tomorrow.

Grow
Grow
Grow

Appetiser
-
A fresh, hot glance in the mirror

To start
-
A lingering feeling of fat-shame served on a bed of between-wash hair with a  dash of blemishes

Main
-
An overture of ovulating positivity, a feeling of unfiltered joy and self-love.
Braisen confidence with likeability

Amuse bouche
-
Insufferable indecision

Dessert
-
A sharp (too sharp) sting of sarcasm washed down with a sweet apology chaser.

Funny
but not in a polite way
Witty
Daring
Razor-sharp
Basking in a round of warm-beer-belly laughs

Pillow soft
No-man's land
Lay down your weapons
on my shoulder.

Confident
Never bossy.
An everyday diplomat navigating courtesies
A heard point.

Attractive
******
On
   my
     own
       terms.
By
   my
     own
         rules.

Liked
or unliked
The choice is theirs
I have little time for it.

To be all this at once
or not at all
on my count

Take aim

We like to go to the cliff on Fridays
and sit three abreast
Staring out in to the abyss of sea and night and life
Having our thoughts and ideas and plans affirmed by each other
- for each other.
Fuelled by rolled up cigarettes and hope.

We know we are different
Special.
We are best friends.

We don't go to the cliff anymore
Times have changed and we have grown up and we are not as sure that we are as different or as special as we were then.
Maybe we have lost hope
We haven't lost the cigarettes yet.

But we are still best friends, the same but different
Older yet still young in our concepts of each other. Our souls as sisters, still sitting next to each other.

Three abreast. Three best.

You are a sentence uttered quietly
Hollowly
Under breath.

You are on-show from the flashy coffees to the rushed sandwiches swallowed whole, to the bottles of wine spontaneously indulged on on the commute home.
Yet you have never felt so hidden.

You make people feel things they don't want to feel on these errands.
These pointless tasks that amount to all.
Guilt
Shame
Annoyance
Discomfort
Concern

But there are more of you now than before.
A whole library of the same sentence.
The reply is always empty.

A luke warm blanket
That gives a new weight

A rhythmic sequence
Scshh, Scshh, Scshh, Scshh

A frustrated father
A shivering lump

A square glass box of joy.

A communal experience
A comforting one.

Back on dry land, body feels strangely weighted
Mind lighter than before.

Who could it have been?
You, who walked with me but wouldn't be seen

Who could it have been?
You, who came and went before we had chance to consider ourselves as more
than
whateverthatwas

Who could it have been?
You, who brought a tidal-term of tiredness, tension and too-tight-space

Who could it have been?
Maybe you, the ally.
The constant safety net who can crack the shell in two
Whose potential lies there bubbling, slowly evaporating
Like driving towards sunset

But it was you.
The realist could-have of all
The love I never felt I earned
because I didn't need to.
My best friend
It
    could
            only
                have
                   been
you.