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Louisa Coller Jan 2019
You need to know that
our politics isn't broken
think differently
This poem was written to be sent to Hungry Hill Writing for their 'Poets meet Politics' competition; I have wrote three poems for this competition and this is the third one; This poem is simply to say Politics itself isn't something broken, we simply don't always or if relate to the people we have in power. We should never look down on something where we can speak proudly about how we feel or believe in something - but we are also allowed to disagree with statements too.
Louisa Coller Dec 2018
I can imagine,
trees, ponds, fish and oleanders
but I can't begin
to hold you tightly enough,
the anguish remains crafted.
Louisa Coller Nov 2018
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?
Louisa Coller Nov 2018
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.
Louisa Coller Nov 2018
Kisses are delicate.
Never waste them.
I promise you that.
Something I wrote in 2013.
  Oct 2018 Louisa Coller
A Henslo
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
Dedicated to Roos
Louisa Coller Oct 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.
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