Don't tell me I'm strong
And then beat me down.
Don't tell me I'm smart
And then attack me with cleverness.
Don't tell me I'm pretty
And then make me feel ugly.
Don't tell me I'm honest
And then make me tell a lie.
Don't tell me I'm brave
And then treat me like a coward.
Don't tell me I'm kind
And then make me fight.

Don't tell me these things,
And then leave me to die.

****, and hips, and hair, and lips
  are what little girls are made of.
And if you give us the chance,
  we'll smile and dance;
Just the canvas to our make-up.

Soft white feathers
Ribbons n bows
Icing on cakes
Baby fingers n toes
Beautiful sunsets
Hot summer days
White turtle doves
An innocent child's gaze
Star studied skies
The light from the moon
Sweet melodies
From a beautiful tune
Christmas tree lights
That twinkle and shine
All these pretty things
Are favourites
Of mine

She stared at the six little pills in her hand

one to be skinny
one to be pretty
one to be smart
one to be funny
one to be happy
one to be perfect.

She took them one by one,
feeling them slip down her throat.

at last, she finally felt
skinny
pretty
smart
funny
happy
perfect.

little did she know,
none of these things mattered anymore
for these things she once wanted
now were the things that killed her.

A bee with innards spilling
A lost tabby,
A blimp caught up in trees,
Tintern Abbey.

The gravestone of a lover,
A drowning ship,
An NHS delivery of
Fortisip.

A girl with alopecia and
Fungail nails,
A one legged pigeon,
Exploding whales.

Ivy choked churches,
Merlot tongues,
Parrots plucking feathers,
Marlboro lungs.

Girls locked up in attics,
*** toys.
Boys punching girls
And punching boys.

Babies crowning
Fussed about like kings.
Darlings,
You shall see such pretty things.

Her eyes a pool of liquid jewels
Drunken by only the most foolish of fools
Draw me in and weaken my legs
As if I’d devoured several kegs

Her smile that of an angel
The kind found in the old fables
Greets me warmly and welcomes me home
As if it’s the only one I’ve ever known

Her heart purer than gold
No matter how young or old
Loves me undoubtly and makes me lucky
As if I’ve won the grandest of lottery

How such a saint love a pilgrim such as me
Shall forever remain a mystery
Her voice lifts me from life’s misery
And shows me that all along she was the key

A Rose by any other name is said to still retain its scent:
A sweet perfume that fills the room to all of our content.
And though this little musing contains poetic form,
When truth is told, I am not sold, for I know there to be thorns.
And if known instead for these pricking fiends
--and not its aromatic petals--
Then perhaps the rose would not be love's flowered vessel.
And the fragrant sweetness we attribute to its structure
Would cease to be a welcomed whiff and the Rose would lose its luster.

Your pupils collided, in crescent moon
Venus and Jupiter approaching swoon
Spiral of rings extend toward the Earth
Dancing upon your laughter and mirth

Lovers sway in light of distant planets
Built solid on base made from granite
Together a joy and beauty past slight
Two becoming one that stardust night