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India Aug 7
To learn that you are human is to break apart.
I am a scatter

                   r                 i
       a                                n                         w
                 g                                                      i
   m                                               t                      n
                         e                       h                             d
              n                                        e

You storm through me
                                                               the dust does not settle
I will never know myself again.
India Aug 5
From her lessons in independence we learnt that everyone leaves,
Abandonment as sure a fact of life
                                                                ­                                            as death.

We learnt that love was transactional,
A currency,
A receipted ***-for-tat tete-a-tete.

At the altar we were shown lies,
In the white dress a million yes’s but the question was never till death.

I could walk through darkness without worry,
I’d never been shown the danger,
Been encouraged to see an enemy in calories but not strangers.

We learnt to lie to avoid bruises,
Wooden spoons used for more than stirring soup,
The salt burning streaks down our faces when the *** boiled over the stove top.

Truths ignored and lies inelegant
We learnt to wield fists with tongues  
Sparring for our lives.
Cautiously awaiting the
whistle pop
truth drop
wished unsaid

feels incomplete but I don't know where it's going
India Mar 18
in his limbs i find penance

when he pins me down
                                                     its my mothers hands around my throat
                 for sounds i won’t make
                                                                ­                     to be allowed silence  
when we join i know
                                         i hate him  
after we part
                                                              i hate myself

                            solace in the steamed bathroom mirror
                                    hiding the sin from the sinner  
                                                                      washed off together as though


her limbs are absolution  
                                                    ­                                 seek and ye shall find
i am forgiven between her thighs
                                                                               on earth as it is in heaven
the prayer on my tongue meets god
                                                                ­                                                                 ­                                                                her gasp Amen
India Mar 13
I want to run until my knees hit the concrete
towards the grass
towards the earth
gravel grazes grit splinters ****** shins
yet still leaping
body tilted
in battle with the wind.
12/03/22 a thought concocted at 2am
India Mar 8
I said once this place was where dreams came to die,
So why am I happy here?

I can see the years etched into these peoples faces,
On line for every life they should have lived but didn’t.
Creased skin coating arthritic bone;
Comatosed souls in caracasses.

Defiant if not alive.

Because there’s not an eye that doesn’t glisten with mischief in this prison.
Solidarity and laughter while we peel back the skin on our knuckles and chip away bone.

As though the blue plasters can patch up the damage from years where it didn’t trickle down.
India Feb 19
If I were to bottle this it would be

Fleeting moments of such deep joy it’s hard to recollect the moments of utter misery,
Of which there were more.

It would be bitter loneliness without the sweet tang of friends,
The ache of realising alienation isn’t about being alone.

It would be waves
Crashing into rocks after washing over us
Curling our ankles on pebbles
Tripping but running headfirst anyway
Toes in the sea.
It would smell like sun cream  
With the coarseness of sand
Salt and sun and summer.

It would sound like jazz time on a friday afternoon
Blues, show tunes and improv.
Empty balconies,
Conversions I listen into but don’t join.
Thunderous silence.

It’s white walls awash with laughter,
Paint fumes and flying
Fresh puddles
Stifled tears
The longing for something more.
India Feb 19
I wonder why it took another mans tears for your ears to open to the truth.
Years I’ve spent crying over you,
Getting drunk off the whiskey residue on your skin,
Spinning in and out of your life
Alarmed and dizzy.
A meteorite that never quite hit the mark.

How were you to know you used to be the sun,
That you’d cast us into an ice age?
We will orbit you until there is nothing,
Spinning ourselves into oblivion.

I wrote once that your hands cradled dust,
But that doesn’t do justice the worlds your hands crafted
Or the lives you lived.
A father, first and foremost.
It saddens me I will never know all your children.
I doubt you feel despair that you never knew them either.
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