What is your dream little one?
Said the mother to her son.

I dream that I dream that I dream
Of a light that will not beam.

What are your fears my dear?
Letting out a little tear.

I fear that the weather as warm
Will not melt the ice storm
I see in your eyes.


-Watercolour

There in the garden
I waited and waited
So patiently.

I waited for hours,
Days, almost a century.

There in the garden
I could have died
From longing.

Many a thing occurred
Before my sight.

Many died,
Many were born,
Some were reborn.

I waited for days
And the sun stood still.

It was only a minute.


--Watercolour

this feeling of emptiness,
this state of being,
isn’t a conflict between feeling dead and alive.
it’s more an ethereal, metaphysical
sensation of not really being here.

in the past two years I’ve changed identities more often
than I have had the chance to find out whether the mould fits.
I’m adaptable, for sure.
disciplining my thoughts and personalities
towards serving productive ends.
I know how to give people the me they want -
the happy, loving, family me;
the productive, efficient, smart me;
the me that’s gotten her **** together;
the me who has her life in order.
but I feel amorphous.
shapeless.
less and less
anthropomorphic.

less and less
concretely human.

as I focus on the tangible accomplishments,
on numbers and approving looks.
as I condition myself in a certain way
to succeed, I feel like I’m losing
something concretely human.
an element of constancy
in my personality, a key indicator of
concrete humanness.
it’s not that I’m spineless -
I know how
the world values the opinionated, the fiercely independent.
I just feel

faceless.

shapeless. no identity. no humanness.
no concrete indicator that
I’m actually here, in the real world.
that me existing as me - whoever she is -
counts for something.

I have dreams that I once was
A free majestic albino peacock,
Jewellery trapped under a rock.
I have dreams that I never was.

I have dreams  that I once was
An old tree covered in snow,
Winds that took an eastern blow.
I have dreams that I never was.

I have dreams that I once was
A poor little drowning fish,
A silver ring left to tarnish.
I have dreams that I never was.

I have dreams that I once was
A lot of things and one thing,
But I never was anything.
I have dreams that I once was.


--Watercolour

I found us
And I killed us.

I shouldn't have.


-- Watercolour

Sometimes I want the oxygen to stop

~ dependence , a six word story