"are you okay?"
i blink.
i remember.
"yes sorry"
i look around, at my friends.
i remember i am here, not there.

the neighbour's phone rings next door,
the walls are so thin I can hear her answer.
my phone dings,
but my room still remains silent.
i should answer,
greet with the same answer I just heard.
but i don't move.
rare silence, contained only within my walls.
its not real silence, there is noise around me.
but not within.
so i lie still, waiting for that silence inside me to break.
then can i make noise?

red bleeds
blue spills
black tangles
red for heart
blue for tears
black for thought

daddy's little girl.
who's hand you always held.
who's hair you always did.
who's name you always shouted.
who's fault was it.
when we stopped being friends?
when we started hating each other.
i hate you for the making me keep the family together.
i hate you for choosing yourself over me.
i hate you for leaving my corner.
all my hate, still doesn't equal my love for you.
i still wish you would think about me.
am I still your little girl?

no thats not me.
i like to drink.
i like to club.
i like to have fun.
it was me?
i sneer at those who do, influenced by the one that doesn't.
do you like me now? now that that's not me?

i did it.
being done means a lot.
so why does it never feel finished?

Looking outside the window at tree, it sways gently
There is something soothing about it’s rocking motion.
Peaceful, it doesn’t worry.
Something slips through the cracks, as if the rocking breaks the mould.
The force in which some words come out, the spasm in an eye.
A head dips when praised, to hide the pressing of their lips.
Why must it feel this way?
Can one not rock just enough, never always ‘too much’.
Seizing forward with the rocks, grabbing onto threads to try stablise.