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706 · Mar 31
good riddance
meadowbrook Mar 31
I damaged up the tissue -
not to say that it's a scar -
it's an old wound, ever-tender
from that time I stumbled in the dark

I feel it in the nighttime!
Place the traffic cones around me,
and cover all the mirrors -
I don't need to see you leave

Is a goodbye really goodbye
if it feels more like good riddance?
413 · Feb 15
Drying eyes
meadowbrook Feb 15
Drying eyes,
don’t you shut
I want to see -
I want to see it all.
263 · Sep 2020
meteor ii
meadowbrook Sep 2020
They say “know when to quit”
but I haven’t yet

Moving forward into days ahead,
the flesh melts off me
with a velocity I don’t have
but expel anyway
218 · Apr 26
meadowbrook Apr 26
Wide awake at night,
waiting for sunrise,
I wonder and wonder...

Do I watch the clouds
in wish for rest?
210 · Nov 2020
meadowbrook Nov 2020
I slip into my dressing room
and close the door behind me

I take off my people clothes
and rub my people skin

I am people too

So why don’t people feel like people?
Why don’t I feel as people do?

I wipe off my people face
and look into my people eyes -
I often forget that I look like a person
and what that person looks like

So, I sometimes spend
secret minutes staring
at this people person
and wonder why

a people person
is not really a person at all.
180 · Oct 2020
spider webs
meadowbrook Oct 2020
I do not go anywhere,
I do not collect anything -
I do so little of everything!

(but string together spider threads
to make up fluttering spider webs
of the temporal doom inside -
then, in these webs I reside.)
170 · Sep 2020
A wildflower
meadowbrook Sep 2020
A wildflower

Is a thing of contradictions,
Flourish in the sun and in sadness,
Asks for nothing in return
But to keep making sweet of the rancid.

Pushes through the dry earth,
Holding frost drops in the winter morn.
Asks not for admiration,
Stands quiet and soft and strong.

Ever-growing everywhere,
And through its generous sprawl,
Turns a place into a paradise,
Dotting hills like stars at nightfall.
159 · Sep 2020
meadowbrook Sep 2020
a dwelling,
is that what this is?

am I dwelling on this?
155 · Sep 2020
meadowbrook Sep 2020
In my mind,
up in a valley,
I turn over in bed.
155 · Feb 26
meadowbrook Feb 26
cavernous cupboard,
with your door swung wide open
like an arm to invite me in -

if I clamber inside,
will you promise to close flush?

will you turn your key?

tidy my commotion
as though a commodity
104 · Sep 2020
meadowbrook Sep 2020
And you say you love me
in the hiss of coffee’s steam,

but you clang the spoon into the cup and -


coffee on my skin
and the cold shock of heat,

what a joke of sensations -
what a joke made of me.
102 · Apr 12
Lines on the road
meadowbrook Apr 12
Lines on the road,
heart beating,
and you in the passenger seat
like we've been doing this forever.

Am I the rhythm
of broken lines on the road -
how it all feels ready for collapse?

Sometimes I forget I exist,
and I can't touch enough
to know this isn't true.

But you touch me
and I am part of this world -

I am the lines on the road,
I am the wheels turning.
95 · Feb 21
meadowbrook Feb 21
And yeah, sometimes I find myself here

on this endless lake,
and my canoe is sinking

Getting creative, getting by

In the holes of the boat
I am clumping the reeds,
clutching at straws,
and wondering what I do this for

Half afloat, I ripple -
see these ****** echoes?

I cannot move without a trace

And still, the boat is sinking -

I think about how
I’ve never been good at swimming

Treading till I ache

Aching for the shore -
where could I find it?

Half afloat and rippling, as I empty
and I’m sinking

Yeah, I find myself here sometimes
94 · Sep 2020
Till we're back here
meadowbrook Sep 2020
skin and words - two such different things
both at once so immediate
hiding all that simmers underneath

holding on another week
the smell of jasmine in your sheets
four pillows, two minds, and the light from the street

each alone in our heads,
do tomorrow again
till we’re back here, lying together in bed.
76 · Oct 2020
moths in the basement
meadowbrook Oct 2020
Sunday shut-in

thoughts like moths
in the basement

beating their wings
on the sores in my mouth

I am terrified of moths
I am the dark

I am all the plagued things
that I didn’t think I could be

I used to believe I was made of sunlight,
being born to a summer Sunday’s sunrise

but right now I lay in the dark
to the sounds of everyone else having dinner

thoughts like moths in the basement

I am a low-hanging light bulb,
I am slow-burning toward the inevitable

dust settling
meadowbrook Feb 25
I don’t know if you can see it

Every action of mine is a shadow of you
Every movement in movement with you

So now that I am older, now that I synthesise
I am long-lost, now I see

Every move I make for you
is a move away from me
61 · Jun 24
time and words
meadowbrook Jun 24
In that secret mailbox
I read back your sorry words

just to wonder
if I still feel
any kind of something
for you

But I hear it now -
tenderness -

and I’m still not sure

(if time healed over,
or if time just made me
a new pair of rose-coloured glasses)
60 · Feb 1
job application
meadowbrook Feb 1
Here, take my resumé -
I hope you will take me

I give you my choices, my history

Justifying myself
to a chain of perfect strangers

Yeah it’s “just a job”
(my time and my life)

represented so neatly
in the attached PDF, 30KB

(hours, and body, and mind)

I just hope your computer screen
makes these corporate words pretty

I just hope you will throw me a line

I just hope it will make you see

that I’m just a person
who, given the chance,
will try.

59 · Sep 2020
meadowbrook Sep 2020
I see the way you seethe sometimes -
would you ever hurt me?

There is nothing to see in a mirror like me -
I soothe as you seethe.
59 · Oct 2020
I am your blindside
meadowbrook Oct 2020
You fall asleep, phone in hand
the light of your game shines over you
in a slumber far-off and away

Tuck you in tonight
and in nights past
the way I wished to be

I am your blindside

I must turn away
or it will be the end of me

I must climb the stairs, go to bed,
I must face away from the door

No longer to lend from my voids;
consuming me inside to out

No lock will stop
what wanders these halls

For tomorrow, we will talk again
scathing speech still to cut

still to pull myself apart
to attempt a reach once more.
57 · Oct 2020
Ants on Everest
meadowbrook Oct 2020
When will it be enough?

When one’s cheeks can smile no wider?
When one’s heart has burst itself with joy?

Will one climb all the peaks and
on the journey home from the last
say “What else?”

So - what else?
(And will it ever do?)

Why must one aim Everest-high,
when one feels ever so low?

Why must an ant exist for the crawl?

Will one ever rest at all?
57 · Aug 10
Inside the shell
meadowbrook Aug 10
inside the shell
I heard the emptiness
of my ear canal
56 · Oct 2020
snakes and stones
meadowbrook Oct 2020
in the edges of my vision,
writhe the snakes of murky dreams
turn my head - vanish
shake me free of leaden sleep
follows me
down lanes and streets
dizzy at the prospect of the journey home;
heavy legs to bring back
and lay along the bed
with pragmatic tenderness
for I am ponderous as a stone
please wrap me warmly in
sunlight and clement winds
to send me off tomorrow
to do it all again
55 · Mar 15
Wild West
meadowbrook Mar 15
with all certainty,
commanding -
like you're all-knowing
when you don't know,
when you're owing

and last night I had another

one of those
confusing glimpses
down the barrel

like I had to watch my back
accidentally hurt myself
accidentally able
to turn these worlds upside down

silly to perceive
that everything could simply shatter
when I wake and I scream
and it still doesn't matter

how it boils my blood
to watch you know what you know
and never reap what you sow

while they shovel a path home
as it snows, and it snows, and it snows

without certainty,
on dried earth -

to crumble and break
any day now -

will you tell me -
where is my ride off into the sunset?
55 · Jul 12
Say I never could
meadowbrook Jul 12
cracks in the pavement
stepping with my eyes closed

the ghosts under the dinner table
have nothing on
the skeletons in your closet

have nothing on
my lack of superstition
and the squid ink you deposit

over oceans
around me

say I never could, so I did
say there’s no such thing as love
so I go ahead and make it
55 · May 18
meadowbrook May 18
I guess now I’m good
There are people who will go to my funeral

People who remind me I’m a tree on a hill
giving shade to a dog, being home for a bird

I guess now I’m good
I tend to say all things tentatively

I guess I’m scared I’ll miss my parents
I guess I’m scared I’ll regret
rushing forward to my chosen lights
always choosing, always rushing

Scared to look down the trap of the past
so I keep running

Once I leave I am gone

I am going

My mother was right
to say I would go and stay going

Some steps cannot be backtracked,
some doors never reopened

Why does it feel like this door is forever closing?

I’m sorry I am short of breath for you
I’m sorry I want so badly to be somewhere else
I’m sorry you were right
54 · Sep 2020
Oh dad
meadowbrook Sep 2020
He’s been stuck at 25
since I’ve been around 6 -
planning to go through life
top of class, breezing by

And I come down the stairs
just to tell them I’m alright

He waves off my little heart -
rinses and wrings it -
as he leaves behind
some things for she and I to do;

Writing me into history books.
54 · Sep 2020
Untitled (Iceberg)
meadowbrook Sep 2020
The boat unmoored -
My unpainted soul
The weather whittles my wooden bones

Drift into the distance,
Always moving there

The slowness of it happening
Sends me into
The image of an iceberg -

Sun beating down,
Beating me under.
53 · Nov 2020
I said (explorers)
meadowbrook Nov 2020
wordlessly sinking
to the soundtrack of soft rain
and Explorers on the stereo

I’ve said time and again
that life really is a joke

but right now, as I tell you that I -

Explorers plays obnoxiously,
I hear myself speak so comedically

and we can’t help but laugh about it later.

As bad as life can be,
at least it can be funny -

I said

free me
free me from this world
53 · Nov 2020
sunflowers, oranges
meadowbrook Nov 2020
Today I saw Van Gogh
and he looked right through me
with his cold painted eyes
and the words he wrote in French

His stiff arm detached from his side
and slowly he reached out of the canvas -

(They really meant it when they named
this exhibition) so I had to ask him -

How did you know how
I would feel today, back then?

When I saw you today, I understood
that sunflowers lived in your heart
the way oranges live in mine

And I felt less small among the stars
because you paint stars with so much yellow
and yellow is such a joyful colour

because the existence of stars
makes my life small,
makes my life fleeting
and endable,
and so,

I thought you were tragedy
but oh -
the hope and the wonder
you saw!
51 · Sep 26
Watching water boil
meadowbrook Sep 26
I watch the *** of cool water
slowly boil -

a bubble, five bubbles, seventeen, and more

and if only I could multiply,
I could watch each bubble
die as it were born

but I am at the stove
with my two hands, my two eyes
and my one brain, and my sole life

that never seems to make good
fast enough in time

I am tired of patience
I am tired of waiting
for water to boil

I am boiling on full flame
just watching the water giggle at my toil

and if I could simmer down
I would, but I don’t

because I was born boiling
and it will always be so

the bubbles appear and they vanish,
taking thoughts as they go

here they come,
there they go
51 · Dec 2020
To carve
meadowbrook Dec 2020
Carved myself down
to become the pool
through which Narcissus stares

nothing more
when he found
brighter lakes to peer in

so I lie
in the curves of the meadow
and to everyone who passes by

What good is reflection,
if I do not move on?

And these boys are ever nicer
than he ever was,
that I wish it were easy to love,
instead I hold back

the gut-wrenching bile
that their niceness
brings up

The thing with carving is
once carved, forever gone -
a phantom limb
to taunt with what was,

and to finally know
that no action or word
can truly be taken back.
51 · Oct 2020
These rivers
meadowbrook Oct 2020
I can’t tell you where this all comes from,
because I already feel like a fraud.

These rivers lead back where
I can’t speak -
can’t speak up -
can’t say...

(that my fear
of being obliterated
is very real -
that sometimes I
would like to be the one
to decide)

And death is many things in us -
it is many things, many ways

And in many ways,
by slowing my spirit,
I have already died -
just to stay alongside
this slow corpse

Now I am seeing everything
for the first time,
for the first time,
for the first time

As though I have seen everything
for thousands of years,
for the first time.
Outside of Hello Poetry, I am an artist. I was diagnosed with an auto-immune condition in my first year of university, and since then all my uni projects stemmed from my experience with rheumatoid arthritis. And I felt I couldn’t tell anybody exactly why my work was the way that it was, because I didn’t think anyone would believe it. This poem is about having to slow down and recalibrate myself to my new physical state.
50 · Dec 2020
meadowbrook Dec 2020
The sadness clings to me like lint
and brings the cold to my skin

But among the lint
stick the warm words of friends
to say this will not be forever

And I’m felting quite a coat now
from these accumulating words

Sometimes in secret I see
the sadness forget itself,
I see the sunlight incubating me

Sometimes, I look
and there,
among the wool of friends,
is my pain
padded up on all sides
like a winter newborn
50 · Sep 2020
meadowbrook Sep 2020
In these words
do the valleys
open into plains -

in these words
are the sounds
made silently,

as these words
are not easy
to speak in earnest.

So here I am
putting thoughts to paper,
to the sounds of my bleeding heart

And it’s so silly in its drama
but I can’t do it any other way
without shrivelling these petals;

it's all so delicate.
49 · Oct 2020
words for you
meadowbrook Oct 2020
words for you
resistant behind these ribs

anything for you
I’d do anything

I would
and I did
and it’s over now

and never again
would I

so, words for you
must be squeezed
from this under-ripe lemon heart

cleanses in small doses
words for you

sour, erosive
words for you

any number of
words for you

anything for you
I would do

and it’s over now
and never again

I would never again.
49 · Sep 2020
To me
meadowbrook Sep 2020
I’ve got sugar and oranges
on the grill -
What can I do to bring you home?
To me?
Candied ginger,
strawberries and havarti -
each year it’s something else,
I try something else
Won’t you just come home to me?
For me?
I don’t remember when you left,
I only know it’s been a long time
Faintly remembered -
memories maybe just a fever dream,
to patch this gape in my chest.
I’m old enough now not to need,
still I ask into the fog of this family,
What can I do to bring you home?
To me?
48 · Oct 2020
magnolia tree
meadowbrook Oct 2020
a magnolia tree
on spring’s eve;
bare branches blooming.
Matsuo Basho is my favourite poet - his haiku (translated from Japanese to English) are such a source of comfort for me, reminding me of the beauty in little things, in the understated - reminding me to appreciate slowing down.

I could only aspire to evoke such beautiful imagery as effectively. I would learn Japanese just so I could read his original words and understand truly what he meant.
48 · Oct 2020
meadowbrook Oct 2020
up in flames,
the racing thoughts
feed this fire;
so hungry
for fruition,
for extinction

put me out -
how can I put me out?
48 · Oct 2020
heading for home
meadowbrook Oct 2020
send me home
send me packing

our strains have never strained so terribly

I am needed in other places
I am happy to go

deep down I know
it’s the best thing and the first thing
I’ve done for me

over our blues

before heading for home
I was finished with you

the strain never drained me so empty.
47 · Sep 2020
I thought I saw you
meadowbrook Sep 2020
I thought I saw you,
in the corner of my eye,
or maybe it was the corner of my mind?

In passing moments,
as I flit along,
I feel a familiar tether -

out in the vastness of this city…
the feeling of having you.

Having you…

or were you ever?

I think of you in your apartment alone,
I think of the state of your room,

I feel that you are gone from the world,
and I am fearful of the feeling manifesting as truth

Yet through your local haunts I pass by,
quickly -

As quick as I can -

God forbid having to face you again.
47 · Jan 7
Hush, bird
meadowbrook Jan 7
hush me down

the more I talk, the less I know
your face is a stranger to glance past
for twenty four years in a row

hear your anger in so many tones
raise your voice to a bird from the wilderness
a bird you claim to own

the threat is to go to your garden shed
to find those wing clippers,
to make this bird an object for show

silent and beautiful and alone
nothing ever to come by
no place ever to go

slice the scars into wounds again
for you never did say in what way
you would love me so
and you never did so

letting me be, till I’m plotting to leave
then to strike when I stretch my wingspan
learning to fly, trying to grow

hush me down now
the more I talk, the less I know

nothing ever to come by
nowhere for this to go
46 · Oct 2020
meadowbrook Oct 2020
deep talks
over Whatsapp

each turn of the year
you are brighter, darker

two pleasant surprises
in the form of brothers
46 · Sep 2020
meadowbrook Sep 2020

Could I just take a peek inside?
What’s the colour of your blood? Could I take its temperature?
Could I examine you inside and out, head to toe, just take my time to figure it all out?

A human, healthy and vital in all physical regards. Radiating with what I could only call temporary immortality. I know I’ll never see it fade in my lifetime…

So won’t you stick around?

I don’t mean to be cruel, it’s just...

How I envy your physical freedom - your need for so little sleep, the way you bounce back after a night out, accidentally missed the bus so you just walk home. What I could do with that kind of power… my body feels so much older than you.


Humiliated and betrayed by this heavy casing I carry, have carried and cared for, and defended from hands with no self control.

How could you do this to me? I thought I loved you well, I thought this transaction was forever. A permanent wrench in the system, what can I do but accept it all and push on?

The alternative...well, it’s not something I can accept.

I didn’t carry you all this way, all the way through childhood recklessness, years of kicks and stances on hardwood floors, basketball games, over oceans, and through forests of trees, all the way to shifts at the diner, at the cafe, or the book factory, and on bicycles through streets (almost ending it), through crowded cities and up countless flights of stairs, all the way, for this.

A physical self-gaslighter, fixing problems which aren’t even there. Talk about the placebo effect - a self-doubting, gaslighting mind, and a body with an attitude to match.

I’m sorry I doubted myself so much - criticised and never gave slack to my mind or my body - convinced there was always something I was doing wrong, never trusting the idea that my instincts could actually be right.

And this all leads me to ask… did I do this to myself?

Here I go again.
For a little context, this poem addresses my experience of having an auto-immune disease, and the relationship between a person's mind and body when one's own body attacks itself.
45 · Oct 2020
something I have to say
meadowbrook Oct 2020
I walk myself slowly to the door of myself,

so I can let myself out,
so I can be with you, my friend.

Life is such a joke;
the least meaningful of things
become figurative inside.

My mother never did like me
to have people over, so

I chat to you in the front yard
of my heart,

I pretend to see warmth
in your marble eyes -

please, may I have the eyes
I glimpse between laughs?

I find it hard to face you,
my house front is a backdrop,

it should be more of something -
whatever ‘something’ is...

My silences - inadequacy,
my comments hog the stage,

I know up in my mind
you never see me that way -

this is just something I have to say.
45 · Aug 26
old wounds
meadowbrook Aug 26
the mahogany red
of these sticky beads,
they stick to me
and stain the sheets,

even here in bed,
even in my dreams,
clotting in my head -
a book that won’t be read
words printed large and wide
as the blinding of dread

could I make out a letter?
backing up on the bed,
hit the wall with the back of my head,

peeling, scraping the scabs off
old wounds I don't know how to tend

just once, could I
peel, and feel
my skin again?
45 · Dec 2020
a little
meadowbrook Dec 2020
I might just be a little hungry or tired
I might just be a little scared

Used to clawing for the sunlight
even in moon rays

For once
I am afraid of a good thing

I am loved and I am scared

What does this mean if I can let go,
if I can lean a little?

A little loved,
a little scared to lean a little
45 · Sep 2020
the stage
meadowbrook Sep 2020
in my eyes, an ever morning fog
since I were a child

I stopped breathing then
hitch in my throat when I must inhale

I hate to

and I see myself living
so far removed

arms, legs, mouth
going through the motions

reading myself the actions
rehearsing this play

all the world’s a stage
44 · May 8
cardboard box
meadowbrook May 8
they say on the news
that we'll live past eighty-five

see you slouch on your couch,
how tired you are of life

and you're thirty-two
chewing through
life - like it's a cardboard box

and I know that you will
recycle these shreds
and chew through it again

the way you do with
your lovers and friends
44 · Dec 2020
I forget
meadowbrook Dec 2020
my mind plays tricks on me

kitchen sounds
of false hope
and warm breakfasts
still early
cool blue

and maybe I woke
to those sounds one day
but I forget

that my mind plays tricks on me

your smile in pictures
tender words
trust in midnights

I forget

could I dream
up a life?

sometimes I remember nothing

I forget,
I know nothing -

I forget I know nothing
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