THE SMELL OF PURPLE


she says
she can
smell yellow


she says
she can
smell blue


despite
not being able to
spell either colour


“Yellow smells the same as blue.”
“...like a wet kitty
drying by the fire


red smells like
Mummy
when she kisses


her kisses
smell different
when she kisses you


then she smells
like flames
with little orange tips


purple is my favourite smell
it smells just like
a magic spell!”


I kiss her
goodnight
like lilac(only lighter)


with little flecks
of purple
scattered here & there

I’m not afraid to lose.
It means I tried.
I have the right to choose.
Push shame aside.
Wipe away these blues.
Faith be my guide.
I’ll always pay my dues.
Let insults slide.
They won’t be able to bruise
this woman’s pride.

A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
I wanted to say,
lock yourself in a room,
scream until you have
a poem and no voice.
Open your veins and bleed
until you know that your bones
are pure words and sorrow.
Act as if you slit your own throat
and all you can bleed
are your own regrets
and all of the darkness
you boxed up for inspiration.
Write your mom a letter,
tell her you're leaving
and you won't be back for awhile
Because being a writer is traveling
through all seven layers of Hell
and denying anything is wrong.
Forget loving yourself
when all you have is a pen and paper
fused to your wrist
and Jesus is tapping at your skull
saying turn back now.
Warn the neighbors that if they smell burning
It's just your soul
clawing at the front door trying to get in.
Learn how to be alone.
Learn how to lose everything you have
in order to feel release,
learn how to only feel deceased
from now on.
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
All I said was
don't

stars do align
all in due time