Must my jaw be firm,
to throw the first punch of a fight?

Must my hands be delicate,
to hold you tightly in my arms?

Must my voice be deep,
to show you how much I care?

Must my eyes be saddened,
to prove how much I want you there?

The first memories of sorry often lie in the first years of school,
don't rip out Cindy's hair, don't tread on Tommy's shoes,
stand up straight and look on forward deep into their eyes,
the teacher would adjust you then say apologise!

Smack! Dead in the middle, hit harder than before,
It wasn't your fault you didn't see her behind the door,
but it's okay! She may be crying,
but she knows you didn't mean it.

SLAM! The door ruptures the eardrums of your family,
you screech out in anger and fear but you hide your crying,
how could he leave you so easily, in the blink of an eye?
it wasn't your fault, you did your best and yet you still say sorry.

It feels numb now, everything not because of the loss of love,
but the lack of it and so you search around frantically,
you either will act in pain and sorry and discarded aside,
or maybe you'll learn to hide it and say sorry every time.

It gets to a point the pain begins to drip away from your skin,
you realise you weren't to blame but it doesn't ease anything,
you hold a note to your heart and vow to be kind and tender,
the mirror stares at you too and begins to say "I'm sorry".

Endings aren't always as expected as you see,
brainwashing of the mind can be almost too easy.
Cruel nature often hides within the veins of our being,
yet would it really hurt to put the acid away and neutralise us all?

Sorry is often stated but in the end it's just a word,
the sentimental value is the part we need the most.

Kisses are delicate.
Never waste them.
I promise you that.

Are you happy?
someone asked me
of late at just
the right
moment

I hesitated
What exactly is
happiness?
Not wealth
or fame

It is not
to be found
in dopamine
or dancing
through life

Not
godliness
ascetiscism
or contentment
But it surely feels like

an approximation of a
certain moment of bliss
that even now
I cannot fully
apprehend

AH 2018

Sharp daggers ripping into the jawline of a motherly soul,
tearing the seems of a perfectly knitted lifeline of red thread.
We gaze at the beautiful clouds above us,
even if they are the darkest shade of blue and grey.

It hurts before the grey, the colours dripping away,
down the pavement into the drains where they stay.
The palette in the sky splashes and twists,
it twists more than the pain in my side.

Fiction isn't real my mind taunts me angrily,
but fiction becomes real if we just imagine a little longer.
For the fragments of make-believe become reality,
Don't believe me? Look around you.

Love is never an accident.
Whether it be love at first sight,
Or whether it’s cause to lament.
If you fall in love it was right.

Each time we love we were meant to.
Whether it comes after a chase,
Or regret of the depths sent to.
To feel love is an act of grace.

The feeling of love never lies.
Whether you love somebody wrong,
Or someone you idealize.
Love and truth together belong.

Love is never an accident.
Whether it makes you feel guilty,
It’s always a gift Heaven sent.
Love is absolute purity.

A warm wool neck filled with pins and needles,
rips a volcanic eruption of string from me.
fixing my china is fun to do but
not with a sledgehammer smashing me in pieces.

An golden ornament is once desired,
Only providing blueprints of a destroyed home.
A flower is fair, beautiful but pure
and even there are days we stare more at the thorns.

Necklaces choking a porcelain doll,
with movements which are dead but a creative mind.
Plotting curiously note after note,
I feel like an object and to you I am one.