When I was three
And my mother brushed my hair
She parted it carefully
And braided it equally.
Two fat plaits
Hung as even as my stare.

When I was nine
And the hairbrush was my foe
Wild curls entwined
Personality defined.
Hair tangling
Faster than it could grow.

When I was fifteen
And hair hit the salon floor
I just wanted to be seen
So dyed it pink, blue and green.
Hair chopped short
Little girl no more.

Now I'm twenty-three
No longer in the nest
My parting is messy
And my braids escapee.
A hairy reminder
That mother knows best.

I remember being lost,
being distraught,
being sad.

I remember grieving.

I remember hope, pride,
Elation
And the birth of my niece.
I remember the cold and wet,
The old faces as well as the new.

The music, the wind in my hair
And the oil on his jeans.
I remember the taste of champagne and marshmallows,
The warmth from the fire.

I remember traveling,
Our first date,
Good food
And the gentle pressure

Of your lips
On mine.

When I think of you
You’re the ideal idea
You’re everything I need
But nothing I think I want

When I try to sleep
And imagine you breathing beside me
I think of affection and humor
You’re a balm to soothe
Not a love to consume

We are not in love or lust
There is no burning need
Just patience, comfort
Body heat for a security blanket

Our hands do not fit together
Not two halves of a whole
We’re broken pieces
Odd socks and lost pen tops
We don’t match but we suffice

You don’t fill the empty parts of me
Which gives me time with myself
You’re the ideal idea
The half smile on a dull day

I have no unrequited love
No heartache
Only the knowledge what perhaps
Just maybe
I’m not dead after all

Battered boots
Old torn tights
The way she moves
She refracts the light
She will crawl inside you
Barely five foot in height
Smile dripping in sarcasm
A rainbow child of the night

She smells faintly of cigarettes
And someone you know
A halo of dark hair
Secured with a bow
She watches and waits
For a heart filled with woe
She cheers whilst she jeers
My twisted gasoline rainbow

Into a bug a drawing pin
Secured to collection of sorts
A neat inscription lies beneath
Latin, commonly known as, caught.

First and foremost, I want to be clear,
I do hope that is alright?
But when it comes to matters of the heart
I do not believe in love at first sight.

I find the whole concept ridiculous
A lie for those with empty mind,
I just simply cannot believe
That fate could be so perfectly timed.

So ignore my pounding heart
Like you would a naughty child
And when my knees go weak,
It is not because you smiled.

When I catch you looking
My mouth and throat run dry.
Don't try to tell me it is love
Because with me, that ******* won't fly.

I do not believe in love at first sight.
I cannot say it enough.
The only question that troubles me,
Is what is this if it is not love?

Tragedy rips through you like fire
And ***** all the oxygen from the room.
Lungs wheeze.
Cling to the earth, crawl forward.
There is no escape from the flames.

Sorrow consumes you,
Leaving charred remains.
Blackened and fragile.
The slightest touch,
Crumbles to ash.

Hope hangs in the air around you.
A breeze that scatters ash
To the ether.
Air that inflates.
Oxygen that rejuvenates.
It's the first breath
After being trapped in a fire.

I can’t decide which is worse.
The sickly sweet aroma of
Countless wreaths
Or the burning of
Formaldehyde running through my veins,
It doesn’t matter.
It occurs to me that my senses should not be this alert,
I shouldn’t be able to hear
The muted voices, the mournful eulogy,
I shouldn’t feel the satin lining protecting
My icy flesh.
I wonder what comes next.
Shouldn’t I have moved on?
I feel like I’m late.
My funeral drags on.
I anticipate the moment my body is given back to the earth.
Eternal slumber
Six feet under.

Sometimes a person gets carried away.
Sometimes it becomes impossible to control yourself.
Sometimes you don’t want to keep your cool.

We’ve all been there, it starts as a little ******.
A low level buzz that starts right at the base of your skull.
It spreads down your neck, across your shoulders
It slithers down your arms to the palms of your hands.
It tingles.
It grows stronger and your palms tingle all the more, desperate to take action.
You clench your fists to quench their thirst, but that just gives you ideas.
Your body is alive,
That little ****** has evolved, coursing through every part of you.
Jaw tightens, you contain it.

Sometimes you don’t want to.
Sometimes it becomes impossible to control yourself.
Sometimes a person gets carried away.

A myriad of expletives and insults rush forward.
You strike out, a beautiful and self righteous detox.

Anger.
It’s an eloquent little ******, isn’t it?

Sometimes I can feel my brain
Stretching and screaming
To get out.
It wants to hop off the
Meat wagon
And go on an adventure
Of it's own.

Happy Birthday Levi,
I hope you enjoy your day.
You deserve to be felt up,
in each and every single way.

I haven't got you a present
But if you join me when no one is looking,
I will put on something saucy
And give you a good...Hug.

Sometimes I think I died;
Unmoving, unblinking, unfeeling.
Poison sits in my veins.
It doesn't flow, it preserves me.
A grinning death mask
Hides what rots inside.
Empty mind, still heart.
Unaware of those that mourn what
I once was,
Unable to comprehend.
Hair grows, hours fade.
Yes, sometimes I think I died.
I'm just waiting to be
Laid to rest.

Your high heels glitter
But they don’t shine
With your jet black hair
And lips so sublime.

You look so perfect
But I see through the façade
With your steely eyes
And fists clenched so hard.

I know your intent
I can read your thoughts
Like a fly to a spider
In your web he’s caught.

So Miss Seductress
You have reached your goal
It’s just another client
Chipping away at your soul.

You’re back again, I knew you would be.
Your visits are how I mark each day as ending now,
The time between them stretches and drags,
Like a ******* great chasm of solitude.
I do feel guilty though, for enjoying your visits.
It’s selfish for me to enjoy something that makes you suffer so,
I see pain and grief contort your features with every minute that you stay.
It is not right for you to be here, with me.
They may be the highlights of my new existence,
But of what benefit are they to you?
I see you deteriorate before me and
I would weep if I could.