she carries the sun
with her bare
inexperienced hands.
she smatters the sky
with stars for you and I
and the birdsong
in the early hour
and the berries
flowering on the mulberry bush
in this hush, serene scene
that she was responsible for.

she has lived on this Earth
but two decades
though the daisies in her hair
imply longer;
and the babies in the field
in her prenatal dreams
explore a learnéd
old soul to be reckoned with.

the child is her saviour
though she is but a child herself

it is almost impossible
to love someone
and feel stability
simultaneously;
to be able to feel
rich waves of honey
climaxing in your heart
(climaxing in your bed)
cannot be one of sanity.
i don’t feel in neutrality -
i never have

half-bitten nails
and ten-year pipe dreams
of saving the world
and making my mark
and doing some good.

how can i be a phenomenal woman
when i can’t even wash myself
phenomenally,
when my brain is on sabbatical
and all that matters is
chilled ben and jerry’s
heated in the microwave

sometimes i awake from slumber
and forget to install my cerebral cells;
the world around me seems fuzzy
and i’m too busy to notice.
always busy
busy
busy
until noticing becomes a foreign concept

my brain failed me completely once
and i stayed locked inside
a princess tower;
letting down my hair
for Prince Rational-Thought
but he never came.