CHILD of the Aztec gods,
how long must we listen here,
how long before we go?
  
The dust is deep on the lintels.
The dust is dark on the doors.
If the dreams shake our bones,
  what can we say or do?
  
Since early morning we waited.
Since early, early morning, child.
There must be dreams on the way now.
There must be a song for our bones.
  
The dust gets deeper and darker.
Do the doors and lintels shudder?
  How long must we listen here?
  How long before we go?

The water falls
on the wings
of the butterfly,
weighing her down,
dragging her down.
Fighting for flight,
she struggles.
Her vibrant colours
diluted, now
pale imitations.
With grim determination,
she shrugs it off
and flies higher
than before,
but her colours
are forever
muted.

If you were broken, and i had the parts to fix you
i would work on you both night and day
but, i'm afraid the parts that i use would mix you
and take the best parts of you away

Silenced, in awe,
They watched her paint,
Bringing life to a canvas.
Bold colours
And fierce brushstrokes.
They marvelled at her masterpiece.
Me, I watched her face as she painted,
The emotions sweeping over her,
Bringing life to the canvas she was.
And I was humbled
And I was in awe
And I marvelled
At the true masterpiece.

Isn’t physically quick or agile.

Disappears in libraries.

Has been known to dissolve into the physical pages of books.

Is good at tucking herself into the stacks and retreating to reading nooks.

Blends in at coffee shops where her voice can be drowned out by the grinding and the steaming.

Can become indistinguishable in the dark of theatres, in the quiet shuffle of art galleries, the finger-snapping of poetry readings, the hum and jostle of the Tube.

Is indistinct. Adept at hiding in plain sight.

When I was small
I walked on fairy dust and
my dreams were as tall
as skyscrapers towering
above the universe
inside of me, was the galaxy.
I was born of the cosmos,
full of light and love
passionate in my quest to
give this to others.
But as I grew my star began to fade,
stars need love and light to survive
and deprived of both my blazing fire
transformed into weak candlelight.
At school I had learnt it was easier
to hide your light
than to stand out as different
and be extinguished in an instant.
So I kept myself to myself
at the back of the class,
knowing the answers but not
shouting them out.
I daydreamed, and doodled
stars on the corners
of my books, all the while
I could hear the universe
calling out to me to trust,
that we are all born of this
cosmic stardust.