I spy
with my little eye,
something beginning with I.
I wonder
if the kids younger
than I, know what it is to wonder.

To dream
of all that's unseen
and the places they've never been.
When sat
do they know how to relax
with just their thoughts as they plait,

their hair
or ears of a teddy bear
adding a bow for a flair,
to see
all their creativity
at the age of only three.

And how
parents let them plough
through screens without
a notion
that this motion
is only just a token

gesture
undress her
she's no saviour.
As she
believes the he
is here to set her free.

Romanticise
see the prize
a body plasticised.
Naïvety
meant to be
girls don't you see.

Plastic
elastic  
please don't be sarcsatic,
she dreams
to be
the perfect thing to see,

but don't you see
it's not meant to be
she.
That girl of only three
now forever ****** to be,

Perfect.

A statement
not a standard,
so please don't do this to her.
Ignore her
for her
one day she'll thank ya'.

I spy,
with my little eye,
someone. Who wants to cry

I'm jealous of you.
Yes you who I have cursed and cried over.
You have love.
You have life handed to you on a polished silver platter

but you don't see it.
You don't grasp it and run with it.
You stay in ordinary
dipping in and out as you please.

You have opportunity,
endless yet right there, at your fingertips.
But you let it pass by,
falling deep into the pits of possibility.

People would **** for your opportunities.
The ability to succeed limit free
I'd **** for that.

And yet you push it to the back, of your mind
leave it behind
for no-one to find
or see, just dream
of that possibility
you disregard, I mean please
tell me you didn't do it with ease.

Tell me you wanted to grasp it,
run away into the wind and hit
every target and every goal
of your story untold.

Tell me it taunts you,
haunts you and follows you
everywhere you go
it begs you to show
that talent, buried deep.
just a peep and it'll go.

Tell me you're tempted,
to tempt fate and take it.

Tell me you regret it every day,
the luck you threw away
without giving destiny a say.

Tell me it hurts.

Tell me you hurt
as I put in the work
every waking hour
waiting for a shower, of luck.
just one drop is enough
to make the tough enough.
To give me the chance to succeed
in all that I've dreamed,
let me redeem just one dream.

Tell me you have a dream.
A dream worth destroying us, to redeem.

I am stuck
in a rutt
the identity
which no longer feels like me.

She doesn’t clean
is hardly ever seen
making a healthy choice,
so when she does they rejoice

clap and cheer
supposedly sincere.
She knows they care,
but it’s because of that she doesn’t dare

change her ways
in all of her days.
so here she sits
digging herself a deeper pit,

of low expectation
low appreciation
no admiration
just pure desperation,

to get out
so she can shout
‘I’m free
and there’s no one here to see!’

A place of her own,
a carefully curated home
where there is every chance
of a little spontaneous dance,

or kitchen karaoke
okidokiartichokie.
Anything goes
an endless prose

of dreams,
finally redeemed.
Tidy places
and new friendly faces

which have no clue
'cos they’re new
and there’s no one here to skew,
the way in which they view

the life she created
and now holds sacred.
The food she eats,
the place she choses to sleep.

She is kind
and likes to find
hidden spots to go
and let the ink flow.

And she can share
her work with care
because she doesn’t have to care
who is going to care.

If they think
she is starting to sink,
or not doing enough
behind the endless bluff

then go
you're not someone she has to know.
Nobody new
will turn her blue.

That doesn't mean the people she knew
turned her blue.
She put herself in that box,
but then forgot

how she got in,
as under her grin
she started to grow.
Beyond what she could show.

So go,
somewhere unknown.
Be new and sparkly,
find someone to kindly

sparkle with you,
and never allow the gloom
anywhere near
wherever you steer

together.
Find a new forever
that is not set in stone
and will allow us to grow.

Never get stuck
in a rutt,
the identity
is now forever free

Is it bad if I say that I like death.
The absence of life in a body
holds something comforting to me.
Not the fact that they are gone
but that there is nothing I did wrong.

They are gone,
now belong, in the memories
of what they used to be.
And held close in my heart
are all my favourite parts,
which I cannot control
but chose to enrol,
in the memory
of what we used to be.

Love.
Love is not linear,
it bends and weaves, so sincere
as my tears fall with the leaves.
That road engraved in my brain,
you'll say I'm insane,
but I want to drive down it again.
Revive the possibility,
of holding you tight to me.

Leaves flutter,
love letters to you
and your perfect view,
you are my latibule.
I won't let you live alone.
So now, I gift you my home
and await the day, that I can return.