Butterflies are but pretty memories
Greeting cards flying in the breeze
Fondest thoughts and worthwhile care
Recollecting pony tails and braided hair
Plastic tiaras, capes, and sceptres
Dress up games, now hallowed spectres
Wings renewed throughout new days
Nectar to this soul, filled in many ways.

Deep within me
lay a poem of the sea
from a long while ago;

where air is fresh
but blusters wildly
when southerlies blow,

slick and slimy
mud between each toe-
mangrove's brackish home.

Whitecaps dance
in the open channel
close to where corals grow.

But further than fond distance
of childhood recollection,
where starfish-lined parades
demanded retrospection:

Gone are those carefree days
along with sands, white as snow;
somewhere deep within me
lay a coastal tale of long ago.

it has been said that poetry 
is the straight and narrow road
to a girl's heart of hearts;
for me, alas, it has been an escape pod
from that girl that once 
but no longer has regard for me
so here, strewn among broken branches
severed petals and crushed buds
are what remains of love's labour lost
it has also been said that it's better
to love and lost than to have never
loved at all
perhaps they never felt the pain
or cried bitter tears that freely fall

we only see the black and blue
bruises that each of us made
on the other's skin.

we are both filled with shame
until the clothes come off.

was it a moment of weakness
or momentary bliss?

In a burst of new me,
I will cut my losses, like I'll cut my hair.
Watch pieces fall off
and be brushed away.
After all, my hair
reaches to my waist.
The past three years have
been filled with upkeep
I can no longer bear.
So, in 2015,
I will cut my losses and my hair.