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Faye 1d
156
Birds sitting in treetops,
chittering so loudly it sounds like rain
and when they rise suddenly
and soar across the sky
the day becomes night.

The thunder of their wings
is interrupted by the flashes of light
the spots in their formation
bring forth the idea of lightning
striking across the skies.

A black moving mass
unanimous in their direction
headed to the sun,
going after the luminous and leaving behind the dark,
with their teasing shadows that blind the eye.

The wind picks up
and takes them with it,
to be seen come Spring,
their feathers falling now
like leaves from branches,
to the ground.
Second poem of the autumn season
Faye Sep 15
153
The mist on the fields,
Is as thick as the fog in my brain,
It’s early but it’s been hours since the sun set
And rose, like I did, waking slowly,
Moving across the planes
To get where we’re going.

The mist is outside, the window a barrier
Between the damp blinding confusion,
And the refulgent interior of the train,
Somehow, like a plague, it crept inside
At the beginning of the journey,
The first time the doors opened,
And all the eyes are dampened,
With uneasy fatigue, belonging
To the early risers and the late sleepers.

It curls around ears, settles on the skin
And sticks to the cheeks of the tired,
The lonely and the quiet travellers,
Who have a purpose, but no soul
And it settles on their hearts,
It blinds them all day, or,
Finally gives way
When the day comes to an end,
And the night lures them
Like a friend,
Waiting with open arms to receive them.
Faye Sep 15
152
I fall in love with strangers on the train.
The descent as quick as the commute,
Our eyes meet and it takes a glance
And I have fallen in love with the way you smile.

With the colour of your eyes,
And the way your lashes crown them,
With the expressiveness of your brows,
And the way I seem to drown in them.
Faye Sep 14
151
I look into the mirror
And I lose myself
I blink and yes, that's me.

Is it really?
I look a little fake,
My paint's cracked and flaked
Off at the front, my eyes have lost their colour
And my mouth's all wrong.

I thought I had brown hair,
But what's that black and white
Slate I see, staring back at me?
Am I copy of the real thing?

Gepetto, I want to be a real boy,
I feel like nothing more than a toy.
Faye Sep 14
150
Lately, I seem to lose everything
Important to me, or to society,
My cards, my sense of self, my mind,
I'm looking up symptoms of illnesses I don't have, but ****, there are signs. (None of them new.)

I hear fragments of voices,
Suddenly surprised by thoughts voiced by my own mind. If I was a race car, I'd have flown off the tracks, crashed into the side, safety cars too late, there's no nick of time, to arrive at the scene.

The mechanics gave me an oil change,
A new set of wheels for the big race,
Testing went well, but suddenly,
I've lost my head start, first place
And it's the motor that's strange,
Something difficult to replace,
The system's crashed and all it needs,
Is a spark,
And it'll all be knocked straight
out of the ball park
Faye Sep 14
144
I don’t want to cut myself open on a stage,
Make my blood curdle on command.
Applaud me, will you?
This idea of sisterhood, this union
At the end of the play
One lives, one dies, and one has the glory
of letting the curtain fall down
Down on the story
Performed to move people.

I’m not a performer,
Not a thespian, actress or Janus,
I have the one face and that’s all I’ve got,
Like it or not.
My clothes are not a costume,
There’s no cue for me
That tells when to go on.
I speak now, with lines rehearsed
To keep playing the fool
The one no-one listens to.

Do you like me?
Do you like me?
Do you like me?
Please applaud.

I am not an act, waiting for an audience.
I do not respond to applause,
There’s no curtain call,
No stage light in my place
That tells me where to fall.

I can’t keep playing
Can’t keep pretending
I’m the one who decides to walk out
On all of this, now.
It’s the final call, that one last bow
And thus ends the show,
See you next week, with all your friends in tow.

A standing ovation,
A brief revelation
I don’t want this, quick,
Act like it’s all part of it,
Stumbling’s funny, err on the side of performance,
Don’t reveal the truth, don’t bleed on the stage floor,
It’s all fake. All pretend, I’m no actor,
but I perform every minute of the day.
I’m not sure my heart’s real.
Faye Sep 14
145
A fat *****
Sitting in the seat, in the row in front of me.
His suitcase takes up another seat, left across from me.
This **** takes up four seats and it’s too much wasted space.

There’s so much space in the classroom,
I made myself quite the spectacle when I walked out
Ran into the teacher right behind the door, waiting
To see if the screening went well.
I’d seen it three weeks ago,
I told him so.

Made myself quite popular in one go.
Seems like it is my ego, (but the truth is, I really don’t know)
That prevents others from sitting close,
It’s fine, I don’t talk to them,
I couldn’t stand to.

Less than thirty minutes till Hoorn
A few more hours until bed,
And then all of the routine can start again,
I dream of a future, but when I’m awake
I’d rather not be a part of it.

Don’t want to participate.
I have nothing useful left in me,
There’s nothing I could say,
That would sway/ persuade the world
To turn the other way.

I’m no earthquake, no rain or thunder
Lightning strikes me, not I the sky,
And it’s in the dark that I cry.

Days have grown shorter,
Nights longer,
And the sun doesn’t set early yet.

There’s ten of me
Sitting down on my chest
Steamrolling down my back
And flattening me into the grains
Of the ordinary, common experience.
(Perhaps I’d like that best)

In the wee hours of the morning
I close my eyes and plan and plot
I stew until I’m blue in the face
And I’m itching to leave this place,
It’s then that the cuts and ropes
The drownings and falling downs
Lull me to sleep, and I breathe out
Sweet death, and when I wake again,
I live and take another breath.
First day back at university was fun.
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