Sometimes, I feel like a trinket on the mantelpiece of your life,
a small sentimental reminder,
my significance forgotten.

You search your mind for why you ever picked me up,
with delicate, fumbling fingers,
all those years ago.

And I'm lost in the chasm of your memories,
all you can see now are my scuffed porcelain cheeks,
my chipped shoulder blade.

The wonder is gone;
you cast me away,
as if I had always meant nothing to you.

He was as bright as the sparks
dancing above the flames,
He burnt amidst the darkness,
Singeing those who were caught
In a trance,
He was mesmerising and magical,
Exciting and ephemeral.

I daren’t breathe, or,
I could ***** out his light.

Bruised knuckles and shaking fingers,
These will always remind me of him,
Of a boy that I can no longer claim to know.

Bruised knuckles and shaking fingers,
I always hated the fact that his hands
looked looked how I felt.

Bruised knuckles and shaking fingers,
the sign that I hadn't got there in time,
I hadn't stepped between him and the wall,
the wall that he so desperately want to crash against.

Bruised knuckles and shaking fingers,
it always ended this way;
the feeling still lingers.

Sunflowers, canaries, bumblebees,
jaundice, sour lemons, warning signs.
A colour is a colour, until its not,
so she hid herself in yellow.

Is it but a coincidence,
that she shows herself to be sunshine?
To distract from the storm inside,
she paints her outsides bright as day.

The yellow girl twirls in her room,
perfecting her flawless routine -
her performance as a sun ray -
ready again for the next day.

But when that yellow mask comes off,
prepare yourself for a downpour;
because no one ever taught a hurricane
not to rip others apart,
as they tear themselves to shreds too.

Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow,
like the sun, like the scorching flame.
If only I'd seen the warning,
I would not give myself the blame.

I wish, I wish, I wish,
That I could love the skin that I’m in,
And I wish, I wish, I wish,
That I didn’t have to plaster on my grin.

I dream, I dream, I dream,
Of another life, or another time,
And I dream, I dream, I dream,
Of a world where you are mine.

I hope, I hope, I hope,
That I’m not to broken to try,
And I hope, I hope, I hope,
That I’ll live before I die.

n.b.

Caught in this space between (life) and death,
Trying to muster the (will) go on,
To (get) back the joy in my hollow eyes.
I wish I were (better), stronger, enough
For (my) loved ones, who anchor me when I drift away,
They call out, “(Darling), come back to us”.

I take solace in the flowers,
They bloom and are beautiful,
They bring joy and meaning,
They smile at the sun, turning into the light,
Perhaps I wish I could be a flower,
They are all that I strive to be.

Your chest feels like a cage without (love).
You are left without the (and) between your names.
The (warmth) is gone, an emptiness in your heart
destroys your (will) to live and will
(ignite) a frenzy of hatred, a soul-blackening sadness
(in) your mind,
thinking in terms of (your) and not you’re
and **** the colour from your (life).

It will devour the wish to (give) before you receive,
and (it) will feed on the the sad sentiment that is driving you to destruction,
it’s a (time) bomb, and we must do something.

n.b.

There’s a whole world out there,
Full of lipstick stains and fairgrounds and cities you’ll love.
It has people who share their love as freely as a child,
And people who keep it hidden inside the barbed cage of their heart.
Once you are loved, you’ll feel it in every fibre of your being,
The depth of your soul,
And it’ll put a rose tint on life.
Dare to be present, my darling, and the world itself will gift itself,
It will weave the wonders of the world, and the beauty of life,
With the delicate ribbon being the subtle kindnesses shared.
Forget those who have left you, for their love was false,
As it did not thaw the sadnesses that are concealed
Between happinesses,
There is no life without losses, and no life without love.
I may not be a genius,
But I’m smart enough to figure that out.

n.b.

I am the wilted roses in your vases,
I am the stale water in your glasses,
I will always be bittersweet;
A reminder of past kindnesses.
Abandoned by your neglect.
I linger.

Alone, on my sailboat, miles from the shore.
The clouds seem so thick out here,
Enveloping me in their eerie embrace.
With their silver tongues, they claim to protect me;
To hide me from reality.
I have long since forgotten the need for wind behind my sails.
A blinking light from afar calls after me,
Yet, I am lost in a fog that I may never escape.

They may say that I have my head in the clouds,
But no, the clouds took me for their own.

Like slides across a projector,
Unwanted memories sweep into my mind.
I wish I could go back to before,
Sat cross-legged with my pigtails swinging, listening to the grown ups lessons.
That was all before self-hatred tugged at my heartstrings,
And unworldly voices hissed in my ear that I wasn’t enough,
That I never would be.

The flashbacks are blinding me, they distort the image,
Twisting the reality.
How can a friend do that in the first place?
He was supposed to be my rock, my shelter from the storms inside my head.
I had built myself up knowing that he would be there to keep me strong,
Placing brick by brick around my heart, I deigned to think I was unbreakable.

They said not to throw rocks at greenhouses,
What do we do when the rocks begin hurling themselves at our fragile walls?

I want to grasp at the shards,
Holding my broken pieces so hard my palms drip with blood,
And cut down those who hurt me.
To fight back despite the tears streaming down my face.
I want to use the shards to rip the skin from my bones,
Destroy to create; erase myself to rebuild myself?
I will become stronger, I will never be so vulnerable.

Most of all, I want to rise from the rubble standing tall,
And learn to never again lay my foundations in shakey grounds.
Maybe then, I will have finally understood what the grown ups had taught me all those years before.

I ache to return to my dreams,
The place where we remain.
Only there am I still yours;
Such a bittersweet land it is.

I cannot let myself give in,
I know the alternative;
A world where the demons have free range.
They tread on my heart,
And tear up my soul - leaving only
A shell of what was there before.

Stuck between states,
My purgatorial space.

n.b.

if i continue along this road
will i become ragged and damaged?
will i have to drag my wearsome feet
until i cannot go on

crawling back from that point
was the hardest thing i have done.
i’m not sure that my broken, sullied fingers
would be able to claw at the dirt track
back towards my old self.

i cannot get hurt again,
even if that means picking myself up from the dust,
screaming at the top of my lungs,
that i need to be free;
i need to be able to breathe.

can i trust you to meet me,
smile on your face,
to pull me into your arms?
my rock amongst my crumbling thoughts.

n.b.

Calloused hands groping at my neck,
They scratch and strangle,
And I know it’s back again.

Lungs burn from lack of breath
From a fire unquenchable and persistent
That’s ripping though my chest.

Panic sews me to the spot,
And the air becomes so heavy,
That it takes all my might to inhale.

I cannot escape the feeling
Which burrows deep inside my bones.
The fear has returned once more.

n.b.