As an art teacher,
I often explain to my students
the techniques behind creating contrast.
I explain how by making something
really, really light,
they can make the darkness all the more
I wonder if the same applies for vulnerability
(maybe I should teach science, considering how much I've left open to be dissected)
and if so, then I'm not sure I'll be brave enough to face the juxtaposition
oh what a position I'll be in
when the darkness finally catches up.
Only ever one step ahead.
I'm seeing a consistent theme in my poems as of late.
Much deliberation needs to occur, apparently.
When did we go
from short "hello"s sitting at gym tables,
to carved initials in date night tables?
from formal handshakes,
to slipping your hand into mine every time we wake throughout the night?
from nonchalant nods and casual smiles,
to melodramatic sulking on the couch
and cuddles that test just how much
of you I can hold all at once
curled up in a ball?
When did we go
from stilted conversation
to discussing the entirely vast pitfalls of the Australian education system
watching a Ted talk that-- SHH be quiet or we will miss this part!
When did we depart from the logical and begin navigating the magical?
from minimal communication
to domestic allocation
from "your house"
to "Let's go home. "
When did we cross the line of inhibitions?
it feels almost as if
we are slowly, gently,
teasing love out of each other
the footfalls of a timid deer
leaves crackle underfoot
but it doesn't *****
only ever moving closer
we lift each other higher
as if where we once were
is a devastating flood
both unwittingly escaping
I'm afraid to return to the water
I don't want to loosen my grip
for fear of falling
for fear of losing contact
I've only just learnt how to look you
in the eye...
Now we hold onto each other,
striving to reach new altitudes,
I choose you.
STOP BREATHING IN FIRE
you might be made of clay
but you're FULL of air bubbles
that life he breathes into you
will have an explosive end
and I'll be left to pick out the pieces
search through the kiln
sort out the rubble
and I'll have to explain to yet another sorrowful student
that their art was defective
the mirror doesn't seem to be listening when I try to teach it a lesson
what a silly student indeed
You need to stop swimming.
that drag on your foot
is only going to get stronger
when your arms tire
and you can move no longer
the current will take you
and you will learn
that the lifeguard
was only a cardboard cutout
glistening in the sun
a false beacon
with a love that grows soggy
with each passing wave
and with a groggy slur
you swallow mouthfuls of salty water
you will learn
too much of anything
will see you drown.
I should just avoid the water altogether, but I think I'm addicted to getting carried away. When I look down at the hands wrapped around me, holding me up, red hair billowing in the wind, it's finally clear that I'm the one carrying myself away.
Sometimes I just enjoy the act of writing
watching the loops of words
create worlds and wonders
queries that continue to loop in my subconscious
Will I ever come to a resolution, dear poets?
Is there ever a final destination
and do I even wish to find it?
Perhaps I shouldn't ask questions
that I don't desire to know the answers for.
I'll settle for repeating
what I've heard before
and refuse to lay down the tombstone
on the looping language of remorse.
Loving the aesthetic qualities of a handwritten poem, as of late.
It seems to be all fun and games
for when I reminisce on the day
the tame looks and words are amplified
pumping out a beat much louder than my body should be able to hear
yet I sway to the rhythm
drawn to the pulsating
reverence of the music
and as you pull me in for a kiss
captured for a moment by the visual farce that lies within your glasses
I see my face reflected back at me
I can't help but think that maybe
I don't love you
just enjoying a fresh perspective on loving myself.
I'm as terrified as I am exited.
I like you
I tried avoiding it
But I've been organising washing my hair around when I see you
So there's no denying it
The facts when laid bare
Read a clear tale