Swoosh, zgrrrr, yahooo, zooom!
I am full of vibrations;
****** energy pulsing in my womb
and veins, “I am alive!” they exclaim.
I’ve wanted these sensations to quieten,
they’ve driven me, frustrated to no end: to the end?
But now, can I see, them as part of me, don't frighten,
Welcome and celebrate them?
Alive to make sense of the sensations,
Alive to play with them, hear them, feel them,
notice them go up and down,
Alive to embrace as me: now found. Amen.

Why do we call it a heat wave?
No one is saying hello or goodbye,
The heat stifles; we are immovable.
It would be grave if we waved, ******* all energy as we try.

A healthy reframe:
to be jealous
is acknowledging
longing within,
when we detach
from that ache,
we become bored, disengaged,
angry and spew out apathy.

Rhythms,
Unashamed sounds,
Playing to the beat of their internal drum,
No fear of questioning,
But unleashing originality as it comes.

I feel hungover,
Ugly and fat.
(It might be
that I drank last night),
But it is more likely
That's because of
Gluttony.
I'm not chasing
Anything, anyone, anymore.
There's no anxiety,
Is it depression?!
What is this unknown place?
I know to be present,
Which elevates and calms
These feels,
So I'll sit and watch:
The butterflies and bees,
Release this heavy
state till free,
And embrace these sensations
just now, of me.

living foolheartedly,
open and free,
embodying all senses
to make sense of you and me.

is it curious that we spare our souls
through poetry,
but remain closed books to our "family"?

Safe and sound,
As the night spun around.
Safe and sound,
Tucked in bed, love all around.
Safe and sound,
Your little head in the cloud.
Safe and sound,
You can dream and scream aloud.
Safe and sound,
Turn around, cos the boogie man's only in your mind.
You're safe and sound.

Dear imperfect me,
You are your own, just be.
You wrestle with insecurity,
that you can't settle peacefully.
Dear imperfectly,
The way you are is how you're meant to be.

Don't close your eyes and pretend you can't see,
Cos when you do, you're missing free
dom, and the richness; vibrancy,
of what it means to be living, see!

  Dear imperfect me,
The devil wants you to be devastatingly,
lonely, to isolate yourself from me,
to run around, head cut off, me.
But dear imperfect me,
there's no such thing as superiority,
it's just what we do when we are achingly,
small inside, and out, dumb wittingly,
disconnected from reality.
Such a waste; insecurity, obligatory shame, we accept begrudgingly.

  Dear imperfect me,
Can we try something new, happily?
Can we live more peacefully,
seeing ourselves progressively?
As beauty wrapped, uniquely!
As unsentimentally evolving.

  Dear imperfectly perfect me,
You are, you are, who you're meant to be,
For now, until you're not; key!
Grab this truth wholeheartedly.

Brews and beats,
Dogs, with owners, walking the streets,
As locals taste the treats.
From farmers,
Butchers and bakers,
Tunes float above the crepe eaters.

A wander, canter, gallop or trot,
Your body becomes one with the horse.
As new movements pulse, pain is forgot;
Nature’s beauty relieves pain from the source.

Silence replaces the busyness of life,
The trees sound out their own tune.
Animals show us how to live,
And their movement illuminates how we can thrive.

Mosquitoes
Are pesky, little blood suckers
Aren't the ones meant to be eating tonight!
They weren't on the invite list,
But alas, they crashed the party
And gave me more love bites
Than I bargained for.

They outnumbered the guests,
And at my behest, I shut the party down.
I heard ‘Pink!’ protest: “Nooo, get the party (re)started!”
So, I did spray, lavishly, a perfume of Aeroguard,
but all that did was send shards of poison
in the air and me gasping.
O mosquito, this is no ode to you,
But an antidote to the hot air, mine
and sister summer.

Awkward and lanky,

not a boy and not yet a man.

Youth, litheness; potential

and yet, still teachable.