"I wanted to touch your hair..."

"why?"

It was just...

your cheek seemed,
so sad,

without my hand.

I'm crawling to the ceiling
with my eyes.

No don't look-
I can't stand it.

Even a stranger who
brushes my elbow makes
me shy away.

I belong in
my own bubble
of Strange.

we walk alone
our heads down
our pens in meadows
that no one else
has ever explored

we look upward
eyes towards
cloud formations
only known to
giants and gods

If we cry
the water nourishes
our paper, fuels
our muse
and sprouts seedlings
from the hurt.

But when we
die, our page falls
silent.
And this is why
we must always
Keep On.

Keats,
This is For
you.

but nobody will want me, she said
I am the purple duckling.
My feathers curl to the wind
My eyes, they roll like marbles
in the sun.
My feet walk backwards
to the beach to look for
glass instead of fish.

Who will take me in,
not to rip away my feathers
for fluff and blankets
but to hold me
in their laps and
treasure my wings like
jewels?

My pack is all green-wearers.
their beaks a matching row.
they left me under the
Ash tree and said
She'll never grow.

But if I hold up my candle
to the inscription that
is written on my fading
dignity
hope it will say;
Purple is also the colour
of strength and
royalty
not just eggplants and shells.
so roll their barbs off
your back
and  some
day you too, will
find your
Rightful Pond.

you sit on
my feet and
purr.
is it
because you
know I'll
always be
here?
or because
there's still
little bits
of food
to the
very top
of your
bowl.

you're so
utterly
lovely
why can't you
be good?

the way you
promised
your mama
you would.

again I wondered
what they saw...

how I don't
match.

the snowflakes in
my hair didn't
seem to melt and
my scarf dragged.

I felt strong
in these boots
but knew somehow
that I still
looked Weak.

But that
they didn't care
because the shades
of their own
worries stood
in their paths like
trees.

I ponder
why I keep fighting
other people's
giants.

I question
how it should
matter what
the outside
looks like

I conclude that
I do
because the
inside needs
so much ****
work that
it's a monumental
construction.

Like Noah's Ark.

Only there's no
way God is
going to ever
help me
with rounding up
that many
animals.