I’ve heard it,
Familiar tune sung with foreign words.

I’ve seen it,
An image painted with strokes unfinished, of wrong, awkward colour.

I’ve felt it,
Sensation lost, only traces buried under my finger nails, too long.

It’s there,
Then it’s gone.

I’m learning to love,
Not the boys in the movies,
Not the men on the shows,
I’m learning to love, not lust.

Love for myself.
Love for every tear I cry,
I’m learning to tell myself I’m accepted,
I’m human.

I’m allowed to be sad.
I’m allowed to want to scream.
I’m allowed to ruin your day with my truth  
Like you have ruined mine.

I am allowed to take
Because I give too much
To have enough to
Love myself.

And I have to love myself.

Brought into existence for
Thought's sake.
Never to be uttered.
Never to exist in a
Shared plane.

Stop holding back tears.
Didn’t you learn that dams never last long?
That SubSahara would **** for you water
Be it salty.

To you I’ll preach the cautionary tale of Tokyo.
That the untreated quake or break,
Drowns.

And if, by chance, you aren’t
The cherry blossom that stands
Despite tsunami

I ask,
Beg even.
That you stop holding
Back tears.

These fabrics,
Unforgiving, Unkind.
I want to tear what does not fit me.
Scream "Why do I not fit?"
not even a little bit.
Why do these mirrors shine light on my ugly?
"Why am I ugly".

I hate your phrases of,
'Life is a marathon' and
'Shoot for the stars'.
You tell me to imagine that life is
This, fantasy.
So what 'inspiration' am I left with when
the last page of the story book
Has been turned.
When I'm told that the stars
are actually out of reach,
When I tell you that I’m out of breath.

How can I begin to make my way in this world,
When you keep trying to change it?

I feel suffocated by the world around me.
As though everyone I know
Has wrapped their hand around my
Throat. A chokehold of a thousand
grips. Every time I squirm,
The grip tightens. Every time
I beg for final release, they loosen
A tad. They won’t grant me
Mercy, an easy out.

So I'm stuck in chokehold.

Sometimes,
The thought that keeps me alive,
Is the knowledge that I
Haven’t really lived.

It’s not that I’m boy
Crazy. Or desperate for a crush.
It’s just driving me
Crazy. That I’m so unbeloved.
And I don’t want to be a
Maybe. I want to feel like I’m enough.
Cause when it’s
Daily. There’s pain
in the absence of touch.

I’m not ******* boy crazy,
I just want to be loved.

Unfastened too quickly
I caught myself by surprise
That I could yell out your name
And pretend I was the same.
I know your bed
But I forgot to learn your game

‘Love you!’,
Spoken quickly,
So that the absence of ‘I’ cannot
Be heard.
I, is personal,
I, is suffocating,
I, isn’t real.

I refuse to say
I love you.

What if I said that my image of life is a marathon,  
But that I've always struggled with stamina.

What if I told you I feel out of breath,
Stitch in my side,
Thirst, begging for a rest.

What if I told you I hated running.
That it hurt my knees,
Made my ankles ache.

It feels like life is running and running,
Changing lanes,
Cutting me off,
And I can’t keep up in this
Marathon.

I splashed in a puddle
And I drowned.
The mud tainted me and the droplets wouldn’t dry.
The damage so heavy I shrunk in size.

The puddle grew,
Till I was swimming in a Pool
Of tears sourced from innocent eyes.

Before I could believe,
I was floating in a sea
with gusts of wind, I felt I could no longer breathe.

The waves multiplied,
So great I thought Noah was nearby,
Yet he didn’t respond to my shouts or my cries,

And so the whirlpool got me,
pulling till I let go
and drowned.

And as you may predict,
Today I still swim,
Yet I have seem to have left the tricks of the puddle,  
And joined the River Styx.

If you were mine,
I would own you.
Control you. 

You couldn’t hurt or heckle me,
I wouldn’t allow it.
You would only love me.
Endless, unwavering love.

So you must not be mine.

The moon stares at her reflection.
It’s different today.
Today, the people see her half full.
Days later, she is halved again.
She’s unsure which version to believe.
For half the world shouts ‘quarter’
And a quarter shouts ‘she’s empty.’
A phase they call new moon.
But the moon doesn’t feel renewed,
She’s tired, she’s confused.

She’s unsure which version is true.

To be so
uncomfortable
In your body,
The skin feels itchy

To choose a duvet
Over a dres,
out of fear it will
Display all that
Is wrong.

they call it dysmorphia

Self imposed blocks to
Self preserve to
Self help to
Self love.

In blurred sight,
I see your faces in the light,
and we're looking at each other
in -3.

I wish I could help myself
The way that I help others.

Maybe it’s because,
I love them more than
I love myself.
Maybe it’s because
I see the beauty of tragedy.
Maybe it’s because,
If I don’t have the sad
I have nothing.

I cannot understand
Why, with but a second’s notice,  
My stomach turns to clay.
Available to whoever wishes to mold it.
Guilt races worry,
Sorrow faces rage.

In the end, my clay is left mangled and alone.
For when guilt, sorrow and rage are bored
They leave, perhaps for a return on a new day.
Yet the clay remains deformed.

The feminine urge to brush your hair,
Make chamomile tea,
Hug you gently,
And tell you all will be well.

Shrill phone calls.
Never knew nothings
could be so loud

I'm sorry I wasn't there,
Mr judge.
I tore my achilles heel
On a run.

I told the doctor to prescribe
Me some ***.
It's been a while since
I've had my fun.

And though I know it will not
Solve my sorrow,
Nor my fear,
A drink will disguise my
Worry lines and tears,
as Laughter.

Will you sue me for
Neglecting my minor,
Her name, Emotion.
For tort, is what I have been taught.

Or will you understand.
that mine is a mind of commotion.
Tequila, *****
My love potion.

And as potato and sugar become
Addiction and Sin,
I ask that you find it within
Yourself to understand,

We're an act that I can't
Disband.

It seems it's impossible for us to agree.
You, with a respectable law degree,
I, with experience worth writing symphonies
Over

And over again
I turn to wrong.
Today I have paid
with a toll to my brawn.

Thus, All I ask, is,
Will you sign my cast?

The sun shines in black and white,
Birds sing despite the broke song,
Suffering prolonged.
The river flows to flood the town,
Melodies can’t swim, so they drown,
A day of down.

And since you have been gone,
Everything feels wrong,
And Nature. Seems dead.
The sweetest chocolate, bitter,
The warmest day, a shiver.
I beg to right the wrong.

The wind blows in turgid air,
Emotions, all withered but despair
Our tragic affair.
The paints dry and spoil in colour.
Artist cease to prosper and inspire.
And I am stuck, infinitely,
In an existence devoid of happy.

And since you have been gone,
Everything feels, off.
And nature,
Is, dead.

Whispers in the wind
Carry what you don’t dare to say.
On ‘tempesty’ days,
That wind brushes past striped curtains,
A draft, it lands in my home.  
It carries a guise of unwelcome
But really,
Really, it invites me to listen.
Words are swallowed by this stubborn air.
But what it wants to be known is known.
I know.

Passion isn’t a fire fuelling,
But rather an itch that cannot be scratched,
Until what you must do,
Is done.

Im bleeding white
Porous ache
Poisoned.
Tell me you’re defending
Tell me  I’m barbaric
Tell me to stand by your side
Tell me that’s the only the way that’s right
Tell me to grieve your loss
Tell me that mine’s not real
Tell me I deserve it
Suffocate me.
Conceal.
I’m immobile.
I can’t feel.

I check to see if people care,
By ignoring them all day.

It seems perverse,
I know.

But if they notice,
And call me to inquire,
I know they think about me.
I know that I’m not forgotten.

One hand on my voice box,
The other smothering my mouth.
Your expectation is deafening,
Can’t seem to get my thoughts out.

A twisted love story,
I thought that you would save me.
But instead, you poisoned me with
Your confidence and bravery.

If jokes are meant for laughter,
Why does their delivery feel amiss.
Why does it feel as though,
I’ve been lured into the role of accomplice.

The victim, my integrity.
The perpetrator my ‘try hard’ smiles.
Next to you it feels as though
My character is constantly on trial.

It may very well be my fault,
A result of insecurity?
Is it that your character’s so perfect,
That I’m reduced to complete inferiority.

We have this image of what mental illness looks like.
A girl with sunken eyes and dull skin.
So when it creeps up on you,
It can take forever,
To refocus your eyes,
And see that the girl
Lives within you.

I’m angry at inspiration.
It breeds expectation,
And don’t you know that expectation
Is happiness’ enemy?

3-5 working days,
an estimate,
processing.

I think the world,
chips off pieces of us,
So that we become these unique shapes.

So that, one day,
we’ll find someone,  
Who’ll be able to
Complete the missing pieces.

I want to craft something beautiful to express how I'm feeling
But I'm too desperate.
I need an immediate release.
There's no time for beauty so
A careless rant will have to do.

1.

Please don’t ask me how I am.
I don’t want to
Lie
Today.

I want to exist in coffee shops.
In riveting conversations of the world and self.
In piano concertos, melancholy music lyrics and brush strokes.
In days spent lying under the sun
then evenings strolling down a seaside pavement
and nights spent dancing without a care.

I just want to exist in lines of romantic, perfected poetry.

I have so much love to give.
I thought a boyfriend might be the answer.
Silly of me, not to see,
That the person that needed my love most,
Was me.

He noticed that I hated avocados.
That I would push them to the
Edge of my plate of salad.
Every time I saw him he would ask, 

“Are you eating your avocados today?”
I would say, “maybe”.
Because, maybe they would taste better that day.

We played this game for 12 years.
On my 13th year I started to love avocados.
They became trendy.
I spread them on my toast,
They were the dip I loved the most!
But on my 13th year,
He wasn’t here
To ask about avocados.

Anxiety is like a soft whisper,
that tells lies
to all elements of
your being,
And convinces you they’re true.

I trust that you mean that you love me.
I trust that you mean that you care.
It’s just that, your love doesn’t mean a great deal
For you are not burdened by longing or despair.
Your love, to me, is a like.
It’s not binding nor Shakespearean,
It’s soft, you find me a delight.
But you have never compared me to a summer’s day.
Nor have I heard a Sonnet grace your lips.
To you, Love is a casual declaration.
We are a ‘situation’
In which you find it appropriate, nay proper
To say I love you.

But you don’t mean to say it, I love you.
At best, your love is a like.

So, I finally got it.
I almost started thinking I was invincible.
Everyone was dropping like flies,
But I was still standing.
Well, look at me now.

Is it crazy to say that,
I’m kind of relieved?
My fatigue is now ‘legit’.
Need for a pause is ‘justified’.
Staying in my room is ‘government solicited quarantine’,
not hermit behaviour.

No doubt, when I first found out I cried, sobbed even.
I was to be cast out of society.
Now, I am keen to transform my bedroom into a disco floor, an art studio, a music booth, a cinema.
What else am I supposed to do for 10 days
locked in my room with Covid ?

I’m not sure,
When the words
‘You’re not enough’
became so familiar.
But these days,
They’re all I see

It hurts,
When I’m trying to tell you something important to me,
Something that isn’t easy to talk about,
And all you’re doing,
Is searching for the punch line.

When will you see that my hurt isn’t a joke.

Cross, Skip -
Child’s gallop -
Through man’s field.
Field of red lights,
Field of smoke grown.
Eyes closed,
‘Top 10’ beat.
Run,
Run, run run.
Past zebras and yellow punches.
Past Pipers, squares and other shapes.
Get to the green.
Trot, canter, gallop.
Get to nature’s field.

Every time I start to think
I’ve accepted the goodbye
At quarter past nine,
When the hues of
Pink and purple
Begin to seep through the
Once untainted sky,  
I start to cry.

On this beautiful summer day,
I question why the sun’s departure
brings such fierce grief.

Why as others, in awe,
Capture photos and spread them
On their instagram wall,
I cannot bring myself to say goodbye.

Perhaps it’s Apollo’s enchantment.
In Ancient arrogance
Did he spell his light,
So in its absence I beg and
praise his name?  

Or, is the knowledge, that without the
Relativity of the sun’s size,
Everything appears so
Large, Troubles heavier.  

It seems to me that the sun
Convinces that I might have some
light of my own.
So that when the sun sets I will continue
To be radiant,
To emit a glow.

Yet as she falls and greets another,
Some miles away,
I seem to rediscover,
That the glow was
Unfortunately, just
A day show.

After repeating the same word
over and over,
Notice how it becomes
Foreign,
Deformed,
Meaningless.

And it’s because of this
phenomenon,
this truth,
that I refuse to come
Back to you.