i wish
i could forget
your zodiac sign
so i wouldn’t have
to read yours
after i read mine.

i truly hope that your skeleton festers beside mine
and our dirt clogged fingertips mould together
even after we lose the ability to grip.
wouldn't it be nice to rot with you.

I knew a girl who used poetry as a weapon.
Who broke hearts for fun, only to dip her pen in their blood and write lines in the sand.

I knew a girl who used poetry as a shield.
Who thought her words were justified if she dipped them in honey before she spoke.

I knew a girl who used poetry as a blindfold.
Who hid her betrayal behind selfless lines and artful lies.

And she called me her muse and I thought it a compliment when really it was a curse.
Because I knew a girl who only wrote poetry about broken hearts so she let me fall so she could watch me drop and describe the sound of my impact with honey-coated drizzle.

Because it’s my heart that was pen-dipped.
My ears that were darkened by honey-covered lies.
My eyes that were obscured by a blindfold of silk.

And when my blood dried and the sand was used up, she went for another boy.
A broken boy.

One she didn’t have to break to write her twisted lines.

The sea is still today
It's cerulean blue and gold
I think of the thoughts it carries
Within its hidden folds.
Its touch is soft and gentle
It soothes the ache of years
But I wonder how many waves
Are made from fallen tears.

you were never an artist.
I tied your hands behind your back,
placed a paintbrush between your teeth
and forced you to paint us a picture perfect dream.
the colour was never rich enough
and the sun never cast gold beams
in the direction we wanted them,
or as bright as they could have
if I just learnt to paint on my own.