she gives me
   with no expectations of getting returns,
thumbs up
   reasons to go on
loving all the
     days grey cold
or sunshine warmly
     in unconditional highs
I wish to lift her up
          sanctify
our love
   fight our demons
live forever
   propose
eternity
   to her.

when I close my eyes
   feel right through my toes
is the best
               that song that claims my heart
makes the tear run from my eye
                I feel inside
whether I understand or not
      just plays
again again listening
   after all the echoes
are my feet,
                tapping

I've been hiding for so long,
I've always been here.
Waiting for somebody to notice me.
I smile, I curve my lips,
But nobody gives me a second glance.

That real smile weeks ago has diminished to a fake,
A mask, I wear,
Concealing my true face.
They've pushed me to the sides,
As if I had never existed at all.

Since they didn't care for the real me,
This is who I've become,
A fragment of their nightmares.
That girl nobody cared for, she's crying,
The tears running down her face.

"nobody cares" "shut up"
They've all said to her.
Nobody gave her.... nobody gave ME...
A second glance.
I was a girl nobody cared for, the one swept underneath the bed.

Don't look under the bed at the girl with the hidden face,
Her face streaked with tears,
A broken and shattered heart.
She used to be real, but they turned her fake,
Nobody ever once cared.

But SHE looked.
That one girl... with the short dark brown hair,
Her eyes flicked with gold.
She looked under her bed, where the outcasts were sent,
And she actually saw me, instead of seeing past.

She had a smile that even a billion words could not capture,
She looked at me and said,
"Why hello there. I care about you."
And again the girl under the bed started to cry...
But this time it wasn't from sadness.

.
A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's the tears that trickle with radiance through words.
     It's a treasure trove that hides but longs to
     be found.
          It's a book shelved high that wants to
          be read.
               It's the freest of all birds caged but
               unbound...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't beat to the capable strokes of the artist.
     It doesn't pump in the most vibrant of
     colours.
          It doesn't wield a paintbrush to
          translate its thoughts.
               But it can see through the eyes of
               painters...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't conform to the conventional parameters of lyrics.
     It doesn't bind itself to the requirements
     of musical harmony.
          It doesn't follow the conventions of
          genres.
               But it sings its voice loud without
               restrictions of melody...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's an open secret, that whispers in metaphoric codes.
     It's an exploding universe, that merges
     back into galaxies.
          It's a sought after painting, that boasts
          of unfathomable beauty.
               It's an everlasting song, that echoes
               within the poet that embodies...

A quiet park inside the urban sprawl,
it held a wooden walk where lovers stroll
and old men totter by as mothers call
their children closer, reaching hands to hold.
Sick of heart, sick in his heart, he walks;
a man not old, not young, not in his prime.
Inclines his head in passing, will not talk;
each step a war on body's soft decline.
What used to take ten minutes takes an hour.
The humid heat hangs heavy in his chest.
A bench invites beneath an oaken bower;
perhaps a moment's respite would be best.
His aching legs won't do as they are bid,
so he sat down to rest, and rest he did.

Learning the art of absent love
she absorbs herself with a
perspective only to be seen through
the glasses of rose tinted sunlit skies

Planting seeds of love
she lays amidst meadow fields
staring at pastel palettes

Drifting motions as, her hand lifts
her finger tracing clouds
as painting upon a clear canvas
where her art knows no boundaries

Singing herself lullabies
her soul fed by stardust
her eyes wavering, flickering
& finally closing, into a dreamscape
of mysterious lucidity

Her longing eased, escapism from
a skipping heartbeat bleeding for attachment,
awaiting the blooming of flowers
which follow a winter of freezing hearts
now pining to thaw.

© Sia Jane