A homesick hydrangea,
sapphire as a bluebird,
navy like a day
that turns into a sourly sea.
Who I used to be is in another timeline
way across the tides,
indigo and conscientious
of what I left behind.

In Sylvia Plath,
I find a similarity in our solitude
There's rainy weather opposing
misty blue violet glooms
and all of the landscapes
no longer bloom for me.
They contradict the hope
growing upon the seaside.

I even astound myself
with my clear disinterest.
With each iris eye,
I forget the ones I hold dearest.
Even in sleep, my perceptions are
a skewed crescent
of a story untold,
kept in myself so close
yet so distant.

Shiny red apples are cuddled tightly by the leaves,  
Tag you're it and hide and seek went on for days.
Secrets told and wishes unleashed
On a rusty swing set stained with memories.

Chaos and noise consume the house,
Mud dripping from our dainty size one shoes
As she fills up the jug with water
And sprinkles it like sugar over the daffodils.

Plant pots are kept outside in the garden,
They look up and smile with their little green faces.
Perhaps they are her other grandchildren,
Although they can't remember the stories she always told.

Silver silk slips through my fingers like fairy dust,
The pink duvet is a sugarcoated blanket of safeness
In a world so full of witches casting evil spells
And creating vigorous snow storms.

Exquisite jewellery glittering from the bedside table,
Her makeup and perfumes excite ten year old me
As I sit at her mirror, pretending to be like her.
A woman with inspiring dreams and a heart of wonder.

The essence of her
in the early moonlight
swayed like a blow flower
in my hindsight.
When she was there,
my artwork became real.
The air was gentle,
her name was Christine.

She ******* her boat
and left it by the south pier.
I undid the rope -
sunlight filtered out here.
Her hand was my lifeguard,
though when I awoke,
within a distant star
came the morning smoke.

He only wanted to talk once
you were held captive by the dark.
When midnight struck, he had you.
His smoke circle eyes scanned
your red and blue body as if
it was a police interrogation.
You were young and in love.
What could possibly be wrong?

He only wanted to apologise once
morning escaped from it's chains.
When the scars become visible,
it was red roses and dinner dates.
Purple bruises, another excuse,
accident prone yet still in love.
The stars came out to watch
as you took off your clothes again.

When I squeeze out the contents like I'm a citrus reamer
Are the heavy notions of death meant to be?
According to the book I cut my apples into eights
Will someone tell me how long my death will take?

I wait to be transparently flat like the morning sun.
Is it meant to be when I'm still as fat as an out of date plum?
My life was meant to be pulled away a long time ago
But the hoover broke and so never cleansed me of kilos.

Is it meant to be that I will forever breathe the air of my house?
The sickening fumes often feel like family when starvation has clout.
It's common knowledge that a girl leads you, tells you how.
The only thing I have is a pen and a useless body now.

What it would be like to live in the sea -
Endless nothingness.

My spine tingled as i thought
of echoes from far away,
never close enough to harm me.

I’m the richest in rock bottom,
penny gold, the orange attraction.

I’m not afraid to be a silver dame,
alone with my scales flaking away.
Isn’t the ocean my sanctuary?

Lines are drawn across pitted skin,
She pulls her claws in, tying ribbon.
Mouth sewn tight so I can't speak,
I slide my wrists upon the sink.
My feelings are transparent;
This pain endured is like heaven.
She tells me that I deserve it,
And so I make another slit.