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Natasha Tai Jun 2020
picture the pieces of yourself
that you spent hours picking apart
for every flaw and imperfection
for every blemish, every mark.

double them as plasters,
band-aids stuck to shield the wounds
made by your mistakes,
by your infractions.

they weren't good enough.
sticking to your skin
like leaves off branches,
baring crimson and flesh torn open.
that’s where she was.
but where she is now, is healing.
Natasha Tai Apr 2020
tightrope with balance
tethered to a fine thread.
break, swing, loom,
yet falling feels safer,
an appeal of sorts
put to test the water.
gravity drops me,
hangs hopes on a ledge.
beat, space, beat.
flow slowing, heart stopping,
digits slipping, valve skipping.
save this dear tightrope,
don’t let me fall
slash tell to let go,
winds will catch weight
waves break on walls.
tell me to let go - but only if you’ll catch
Natasha Tai Apr 2020
we dream and we dream
till we fade to grey
ash and bones dreams
here will stay

in homes they live
our minds roots thrive
cloud and storm dreams
still will survive

dream with me you may
see through these eyes
and yours I dream
bid me goodbye.
Natasha Tai Apr 2020
“speck of sunshine beneath the clouds,
daylight breaks, bring rooster’s sound.
yawns and sighs as time ticks through,
rustling sheets bid me adieu.
farewell, goodbye, I’ll see you soon,
perhaps sometime this afternoon?”
Natasha Tai Apr 2020
here's to the glass slipper you refused to wear,
the flower you didn't let them braid in your hair.
they called you princess and gave you a crown,
fed you from silver, threaded silk for a gown.

delicate, precious, frail as a daisy,
"you mustn't do that, you should sit like a lady,"
ordained to be queen but holding much bigger dreams,
they'd come running when you broke at your seams.

suitors so fit, deemed worthy by father
princes so charming, speaking of gardens of flowers.
you delayed your answers, you bought time to yourself
to discover who you were, behind expectant smiles.
To my life-long best friend, Emma, on her 16th birthday.
"You are better, you are more."
Natasha Tai Apr 2020
swish of sheets
and flurries of light,
cotton through fingers
a touch to wet ice.
pillows of white,
slow nights of sleet
call to mine conscience
fond memories to keep.
a tribute to my father, who sprinted out of the house worried when eleven-year old me laid motionless in the snow.

— The End —