I looked at you

I looked at you
Like I look at rain in summer,
Like fresh-brewed coffee,
Pressed thick in winter’s hunger.
Playing chess on a ruleless board—
Close the doors—ignore the mess.

I looked at you, like I watched
The sunrises on Australia’s east coast, back then—
Too soon to be awake,
Till my eyes grew tired,
Shame aching my lashes.
Stay open. Stay open.

“Wounds close in time,” they said.
They said—I meant—I meant—
But my lids bent slowly,
Asleep by noon, covered
In blankets of ash.
Power-napping us
Into coma, into dust.

I tried, I tried—
But if love isn’t born as a phoenix,
It’s only gold-plated, fading into rust.

I looked at you.
You did not. You did not.
I’m sorry—you’re not.

You call me pretty,  
But I’m clay.  
Shapeless  
from the distance  
of missing, moving hands.  
When you see me  
(Please, don’t tell me when),  
Will you lend me yours again?  
Mold me a body,  
Mold me words,  
Like an artist molds his work.

Mum, I met a guy.  
He is like the mountains, born—all tall and torn by valleys.  
His narrow alleys got too close; he turned me into dynamite—  
I ran far, left loud and wide,  
But way too soon, fog obscured my view.  
Mum, my heart turned blue.

Mum, I met a guy.  
He is like the sea—you know how much I love the beach.  
But his waves got too high, never quiet enough  
To hear me out, to see me (in)complete—I reached out for his hand—  
Got overlooked, I drowned in blood, attracting sharp-toothed sharks.  
My dead body sank like a stone to the cold bottom of his deep.  
Mum, my heart shattered on his faded coral reefs.

Mum, I met a guy.  
He is like the salt caves.  
Breathing feels easy; for the first time, I’m smiling without sighs held back.  
Mum, he feels like the breeze of a warm summer night.  
He gets the moon, he gets the stars,  
Passed the test, he gets my dark and makes it less.

But Mum, I’m scared to die again.  
I’m scared of closing distance,  
And I get scared when it ends.  
But Mum, I met someone  
I think, I know,  
I’ll have to meet again.

Someone is seeing
A child in someone—
Is seeing a child in someone:

I’m turning rocks at the beach,
To find a crab beneath one of them,
A red one,
A real one.
Pretty in colour,
Pretty in eyes,
A fragment of life,
Small and hidden, waiting.

Amid the weight of days,
Density with no destiny
Buried in the sand,
Where the shining sun
Dresses itself in dusty lies,
An old, well-known fairy, fading
With each step of my footprints,
Melting with every grasp
Of my brave, clumsy toddler hands,
Clutching at cold necks;
Cold, cold for a moment—
One way.
You forget, you forget.
“You’ll never think of me again.”

Someone is watching—
Someone finds a crab,
Red,
Real.
I won’t forget.
I won’t forget.

The wind at the Costa del Sol blows cold through me, a chill that settles deep. Sleep-sand crusts my smile. Freedom meets insomnia. A warm stranger sits beside me, brushing against the numbness in my bones. The nights echo, dry and distant. “I’m sure you’ll be alright,” he says. I nod, a moment too long.

Boiling alcohol to thaw the emptiness. Red lipstick doesn’t lie. The sky reels backward, frantic — midnight, stars falling down on me. I may not be happy yet, but I’m close enough to hum my favorite song on an empty beach again. Home melts away like candle wax.

Loneliness slipped on her hands
Like gloves too tight, winter dragging
From March through August, blind months,
Mending her heart without her knowing—
She grows like weeds, unsmothered,
Mad girls laughing sharp as sharks,
Invisible, gnashing below.

Warmth lingers, hidden behind
The dazzle of her body,
Skin winning battles no one sees,
Inches of flesh, red lipstick
Sealing her letters to Monday’s dead skies.
She reads between clouds,
Grows like a sunset—
Blue bleeding yellow, yellow to red,
To black, star-pierced and burning.
She makes a wish.

Faces blur, monsters curl beneath
Her bed at dawn’s pale rise,
Her eyes, dry deserts, cracked
With secrets she’ll never show.

Winter’s here.
Winter stays.