The taste of a ghost on my tongue
a memory in my throat
you name your taste your smell
filling my chest, stopping my heart
it's as if you never left
and this feeling
ice in my veins, fire licking
my insides
overwhelming in its newness and familiarity
I know you
I know you

stay
awhile on my heart
let yourself be
known as you are
not as they say
you must be
built anew
in your own reflection
as you are
safe in here
I promise

Tides are changing and the moon's pull draws breath from my lungs, refilling my body, bouyant

And as I lie there in the achingly frigid water I am overwhelmed by the exhaustion barely kept at bay, sinking

Pausing for a moment opens the floodgates and I am pulled downward as the weight of my world pins me to the floor, stagnant

How much longer can I continue this path of distraction, ruining myself from inside out, purging only the scantest of my full grief, simmering

It won't take much more to topple this body of cards, no tarot reading necessary to define my tears, flooding

i dream of a brave girl, bold and becoming
she steps with purpose and holds her head high
shoulders back, face determined but soft

i dream she will save me from the fear
slaying demons and battling foes
so great they paralyse mere mortals

but she will never come
because she is a version of me too out of reach
and instead i must find comfort in my own reflection

When I try to put to words
the daily agony of living
I build a boundary wall of word bricks
I limit the reality of this ostensibly
embodied existence
For it is not solely contained
beneath my flesh
at the base of pores
knotted in bone.

It escapes me with every breath
Every word
Every salty tear
This pain of living palpates
Radiates
And to try to capture it in words
Suggests it can be caught
pinned down
identified, categorised, objectified
Subjected to investigation
Observation
Interrogation
When in fact it is elusive
Ethereal
Beautiful
Utterly terrible

one more breath cycle and sleep will claim me
i lie to myself and press against the mattress
but nothing lulls me
and i'm left with my thoughts
rolling and sticking
coiled trip hazards
slippery and i'm caught in the net
forced to sift through carcasses
gutting myself with a barnacle-hugged blade
at this point i'm destructive
no talking me down from the crow's nest
i'm battering against the logic and softness
of his back, his sleepy sighs
desperate to be asked to stay
more sure that i'll leave
the comfort of this bed
i'm saltwater savage
unrelenting with rage winds guiding
my push and pull
too far too much too little too late
uncontrollable, frantic hands can't hold me
i'm wild and free and frozen by my shortcomings
lazy
and bucking wildly against the confines of a label
tears sleuce
and i gasp for breath
this sofa offers no safe passage through the night
my journey goes far beyond and I'm scared to land ashore
not trusting my own soul
to harbour my teacup heart's latest storm
carried in on rising moon and ebbing hormones
there's no solace in the tug and slip of the tide
against a shoreline I've willingly left
in the dark, glasses pushed to my nose
laptop in hand
to hide behind manufactured light
instead of basking in his glory
fraudulent, a failure
but he's far too forgiving
and tomorrow he'll welcome me back
in the hopes my demons have returned
to the depths for the moment

desperate to be seen, read, heard

validation is cloyingly sweet and unbearable on the soul when withheld

but on and on I’ll bellow in the spotlight

desperation pouring from every pore

sweat breaking on my brow from the forced performance

dance monkey dance

and at least if they laugh i’ll know that they noticed

what a pitiful thing to find in the pit of your soul

that need

to be seen

The tale of Persephone dances on my skin
Birdsong felt hell-deep in my soul
White dress stained red, pomegranate
carcass left to be reclaimed by the soil.
Seeds and sticky juices long forgotten,
as seasons turn and reunion means retreating
but the hallowed halls held on weary shoulders
call and her heart will always answer.
Slipping a hand in that of the one she gives it all up for
to gain everything with.
Tempestuous eyes, weathered brow, slight smile
gleaming in the darkened corridors as she claims her throne

Home.

Lips stained by the juice of the pomegranate she
devours while thinking on him
Rolling seeds across the roof of her mouth with her tongue.

Bountiful contradictions in her empty palms.
She does not exist to perform his redemption arc
or become the harbinger of his destruction.

Playful, serious, light and dark
She reminds me that there is both light and dark in all of us
Can love really be so simple and so complex?
Must we give everything to gain everything?
Can such a fiery passion be felt so deep and never burn out?

I have nothing profound to share today. I'm sitting in my dressing gown and fleecy leggings, trying to ignore the cramps (because I couldn't possibly end this tumultuous year without heavy bleeding and ***), scrolling through celebrations of wins, the grief of losses and the hopes of a new year ready to overshadow the last twelve months. My thoughts vacillate between the joyous relief that comes with January 1st in which we feel renewed and revitalised, and a sombre heaviness with all the hurt and loneliness and suffering and continuing oppression we carry through regardless of the date on the calendar.

It has been a year of learning and unlearning and community spirit and crushing disappointments and turbulence of a kind I don't think many have endured en masse and simultaneously alone and which threatens to stretching on indefinitely.

My greatest hope is my greatest fear - change, and not enough of it. Our systems are broken and our governments' failures continue to rip at the fabric of our society and, as always, our most vulnerable are taking the brunt.

I hope for mobilisation, for everyone to find the issue they commit to help build a sustainable solution - be that food poverty, climate change, reproductive justice, abolishing the police or community welfare. This year has proven our collective power and the overwhelming need for us to act - and revolution will be ours. It's beyond time to dream bigger, listen better and work smarter (not harder) towards a fair future, building for our most vulnerable and capturing everyone else more fortunate along the way.

Our individual power is unique; our ability to change minds and create solutions and unite our families, friends, colleagues - our communities - that's where we're most valuable. Not every action must be bold and break new ground. But coordinated networks build movements - we've seen this. We need to learn from those who came before us and recognise the depth and severity of the cracks in our systems.

None of this is profound, or new information, but it doesn't make it any less valid. I hope next year brings you what you need, but I also hope you'll look beyond 12 months and build for a future we can all enjoy. Because if this collective suffering continues at the hand of individualism's ideals; if we learn nothing from our months inside, isolated, in pain, what promise can the future hold?

Wrote myself a letter
naming all the things I'd done
stained my soul pitch black
set my heart on a cantering run

Folded up that letter
the smallest pocket square
carried it heavy on my heart
too shameful to be shared

Left that blasted letter
to age with lint and time
never took it out that pocket
to reminisce with summer wine

One day that letter's weight
made my breath so hard to catch
I finally plucked it from my pocket
and with a prayer I struck a match

Perhaps that cursed letter
was written for the gods
for after, not much later
I found myself at odds

The man within my letter
stood across my door
holding paper aged and ashen
he let flutter to the floor

"All these years of silence
and none a word from you
would have had me believing
your mouth's lies to be true

But I have read your letter
though destroyed it you had tried
so I know your heart
and how blatantly you lied

I wish you'd paid the postage
and sent this to me then
saved us both the heartache
of lost lover and best friend"

I crumpled at his words
like the paper in my hand
held it up - peace offering
to that blasted, blessed man

"My darling I am sorry
I left with words untrue
The biggest truth in all the world
Is I'm hopeless without you

If you would read this letter
know you hold now my heart
I've poured it through my quill and ink
it's been yours though from the start"

Childish words desperate for sophistication in a mother's heels and pearls
Searching for authentic but coming up years too short.

A bitter pill to swallow, incompetence.
Not for lack of pain or power, but a search in vain.

Vanity is right. To want soft words that echo in others hearts is indulgent
Unnecessary. Unattainable.

But still I write as a toddler outside the lines, with no direction or skill, desperately searching for a prettier picture to emerge from the mess.

Stick figures pierce my tongue and
words ring uncomfortably in my mind.
A jigsaw puzzle with no edges and one hand tied behind my back.

Childhood chants for childish ways
Misbehaviour, misdemeanor
Nothing permanent no new stains
Visible to the naked eye, anyway

Minds play tricks, what a treat
Mistrusting, misunderstanding
Brain's concoctions can't imagine
Attention isn't worth these pains

What goes up must come down
Misremember, misbegotten
Lies, pretense, silly fancies
Self doubt sees the stalwart slain

- Questioning my insanity, a double-edged gaslight burns me at both ends but I no longer feel the flame

new life in a shell
brittle and cold
weight lifted, shoulders
drop and lungs sigh.

feline unfurling in the
sun warm exploring
muscle aches, joints
oiled and creating happy shapes.

room to move and enjoy
airy and open
skin pulled over, sinew
ready to settle and rest.

wiggling toes and brows
at peace and soft
teeth sink, lips
ready and patiently waiting.

memories dance atop
a body remembering
sunny days, past
delights will be born again.

a friend's autocorrect described me as 'sweet soil'
technological mishap, misnomer
right on the money
sweet soil soul
clad in terracotta warmth
fresh mulch with new rain as seasons change
home and distant at once
ready for bare feet and dirt under fingernails
care is messy, didn't you know
mother. nature. as earth is nurture and support for fragile roots
tender stems, new growth thriving despite harsh winters.

i sense an embroidery project for new gardening gloves
and fresh bulbs for colder climes
with changing season so too does a storm brew in me
all I can do is hope barkskin heals
sweet sap keep contained
and leaf flesh plump
for colour among the earthen tones
and rebirth sprouts hope
in echoing trunk-chests that forgot
decay is part of the lifecycle

how technology can still blossom
new life, connection
organic and born of bytes
not thorn-***** integration
plant and palm
but a symbiosis of metals from the earth
and well-rooted saplings
ready to weather the moon's teary refrain
as autumn slips in on the back of hazy September blues to grey

Not so easy with thoughts
pelting towards you so
fast you can barely make
them out before they join
the shouting masses at the
back of my head

Drowning them out with
sticcato breath and out of
time heart beat

Echoing in my ears, caught
in my throat, coagulating
in my veins

An unpleasant mix for a
tasteless treat that
catches in the oven, burnt
out dried up hollowed out

No such thing as slow
here. Only ever faster
ever closer ever harder
Never stop.

Bruised skies and dove-grey disposition,
clouds match my mood
as I lie in bed with a heart full and heavy

Loss sings, bitter and icing sweet
red velvet lines my heart
only shines the right way up
light catching in the fabric hooks
delicate and resolute

And I know all too well
how this story ends
with tears and betrayal
grown up expectations
on shoulders just shrugging off girlhood
no lessons to be learned
only cracks in my self-image to soothe
your actions broke my trust in myself
and that is the unforgivable

May my face of devastation
hope-abandoned eyes and ghostly pale complexion
at your faithless lies and compromise
of a girl - twenty-one - on the precipice of life and wonder
learning just how cold life is with those who squander her warmth and world-seeking joy
haunt you evermore

The panic sloshes messily
Churning my stomach
Scrambling my thoughts
There is nothing left in the here and now
Only past sins and future collapse
Ringing in my ear
Leading me to my downfall
Focus is a thing of the past
Or the present, which I am not
Stuck in an endless loop
Fear and self loathing
Manifesting beneath the surface
Energy unbound
Rattling my cage
Binding my jaw
Descent into blackness
Rotted and festering insides
Disarming my sense and perspective
Til all I can see is the chaos
Of my mind played out in
Every action and reaction
Cause and effect
So it's safer to lock, power down
Do nothing at all
And wait for the inevitable
crumbling
Destined, preordained
The writing was always on the wall
Fingered shakily with blood
From pulled teeth and ripped fingernails
Pleas and curses and promises
Littering walls of self preservation
I built my own crypt
Visitors shall not enter
No peace for the eternally ******
Slumber will not greet me here
This is the beginning of the end

Gulping down air in the grey dusk
grounding myself in green hope and butterfly heaven
Potential - plastic pots and soil
holding heat and brave roots seeking solid footing
Everything has its season
threat of decay, spoil and deluge
God give me clemency tonight

The grief-beast wakes different today.
This is not the cold, creaky ache of bannister limbs in winter
No, this time it's the warmth of my parents' rocking chair, walnut and familiarity and an exoskeleton of memory and fairytale intertwined with the weight of a loss that sits heavy on my lap, immobilising but I'm in no mood to leave the sadness of my seat.
And though it hurts and it burns and it erodes at my insides
I accept it, resigned for the moment and resolve to leave this safe coccoon another day when the world seems less formidable and my coarse exterior more malleable
to new life and fresh growth

The light is small but unyielding
Black tape and camera film ***, high school experiment
Needle pierces and injects a world of possibilities
Who would have suspected a pin ***** could swell so much emotion inside me
The initial pain not on my body
But he is mine
And he is safer now
The sheer fragility of life brought under sharp focus, unrelenting these past months
And with him protected I breathe easier
Hope is an embodied relief

1 2 /3 4 /5 6 /7 8/ 9 10
I count my steps as soon as my feet leave the bus and carry me home, not thinking of my path, it's ingrained in my body
4 counts of ten and 3 to the traffic light
Balancing on the kerb-edge, anticipating the Green Man - the only man to keep me safe in the dark
7 steps to the other side, a small blessing of lockdown is the lack of noise and stale ***** and rowdy laughter spilling out of the four pubs I'd pass, no swerving or increasing my speed, shoulders up at earlobes and eyes trained on the concrete, whole body screaming
Please don't notice me
The streets now are eerie, the silence brings no comfort
Only heightened awareness of every rustling leaf in a city battered by easterly winds
And I can't catch my breath
6 more 10s and 8, 9
From the corner of my eye a shadowbeast grows and on instinct (self-preservation, conditioning, societal training) my hands are bitten by metal teeth in my pocket
A painful protection, the irony is not lost on me that my only protection outside my door is that which keeps others away in my absence
But the shadow is someone moving to their car so I relax infinitesimally
There are still more steps to go
Coming up for the park, what they call a hot spot but hot for what, all I feel is cold and alone
It's badly lit, filled with teenaged hoots and hollering, kids letting off steam and who can blame them couped up and schooling at home
But their shouts and laughter ricochet sinister and all I can think is What if no one hears me scream?
Finally hurrying past the playpark and the swings creak with too-big boys hanging from too-old frames
I look away and press on, my feet subconsciously pounding with the music blaring from a phone
Disembodied voices decrying the ******* and hoes to silent replies
Another 60 steps and the rats scurry in the bush, I used to shudder but now I recognise their twitchy anticipation, ready at a moment's notice to drop their morsels and run for cover because the intention of the passerby is not my perogative
And the underbrush serves rodents well for hiding in the dark
My own camouflage comes in reflective patches seen by the street lamps, a token honing beacon to oncoming pavement traffic and cars on the roads
I Am Here - See Me
But also don't, let me merge with the stone and concrete that I may pass unnoticed, unwatched, unlabelled
The earphones hang heavy, empty, a prop in the farcical show - blasé ownership of the ground I travel
This is my space and you won't take it from me
This is my body and you won't take it from me
This is my life and you won't take it from me
Not a statement but a plea silent and screamed and etched on my body and painted on my face
But you won't see it in my eyes because they are married to the cracked tarmac and tree-root rebellion pushing against obsidian skies
At night there is no connection with strangers unless their feet fall like yours
pretend power and child-in-mother's-heels certainty
These are inherited steps, a legacy of communal mourning and communiqué
The last street to cross
Cars are few, but ritual demands I take in this T-junction
Safety First
I am king of the road, watch me step
1 2 3 4 strides to the homestretch
So now I count the doors
Only 9 chances of being pulled into a close
8
7
6
5
I'm blinded by a car at full beam
The secure garage door opens and I am trapped
Rabbit-hearted and deer-spooked
Unsure who's behind the wheel, if I can pass ahead
I wait, lungs filled with lead until only brake lights are visible to me at the road end
I'm jumpy tonight, I note
4 doors
3
2
1
And I turn into the carpark
Sticking to the lit pavement
Weaving quickly between vehicles and I'm at the building door
Two flights of stairs and a landing between take 29 steps, I skip a few in anticipation
8 more strides in pitch black - none of our door lights work just now and despite the secure entry system I still speed up
Until the sweetest sound of all
That familiar metal click
786 steps to safety
And as I rest my head on the cool wood interior, I count myself lucky that in here I am promised security
Unlike the thousands of others whose homes are no safer than the streets
A sure sign of the long road yet to be travelled, whose destination may promise a world where we matter

Hello, my name is etiquette and I would like to see from you behaviour we expect

Hello, my name is self respect and I would like to share with you a revolution'ry idea

Hello, my name is mutual trust
Hello, my name is social norms
Hello, my name is flirting girls
Hello, my name is handsome boys
Hello, my name is open relationship
Hello, my name is hoping for the best
Hello, my name is less than ideal
Hello, my name is pretty, threatening
Hello, my name is married but still prettier. Smarter. Funnier. Sexier. Gamer. Relatable. Attractable.

This **** will change your life
This **** will change your life

HELLO I'M CHRONIC MISTRUST WOULD YOU LIKE TO RUIN YOUR LIFE AND MINE IN AN ENDLESS CLASH OF HYPOCRISY AND SELF CONSCIOUSNESS THAT WILL MAKE US BOTH MISERABLE AND INEVITABLY PUSH YOU AWAY?

a split lip, tongue dancing along
the rivulets of blood welcomed by gravity
downward, staining my white cotton shirt
finally painting myself with/of
me

there's something so visceral
exposing that which is to be contained
beneath an easily breached exterior
to the outside world and making
art out of horror and gore.
ethereal

a knife through butter
skimming stones disturbing water
your lips at my pulsepoint
and your hands in my ribcage
all natural (or nature?)
achoring me to the world while
relieving me of it

is there really much morbidity in
fascinations of the body
depravity in the infinite ways
to desecrate holy ground so
completely?

feeling skin stretch and tear
with a flash of teeth and dimpled cheeks
warmth spreads through my belly
aching for more; twisted confirmation that
i am, in fact,
alive

The Deathly Hallows -
aptly titled for hauntings of a soul
tormented by its own creations

The stone turns in time with heart beats
a rhythm set to the mourning for loved ones lost to time
no peace can grow here while the loneliness creaks in my bones

The wand, brittle, breaks as the back
bends under the weight of memories, promises, histories long forgotten
and the power is not in the spine or the soul

The cloak muffles as questions, regrets, tales of lives gone by catch in the throat,
suffocating and tangled in limbs
restricting the body from view, from vitality

Pain echoes through these hallowed halls
and Death is ushered in, a welcomed friend to quiet the mind plagued,
one final act of brutal emancipation.

so this is grief / back pressed / against the arm rest
glasses ***** / gut clenched
throat forcing / tea too hot / hangnail so aware
sweating / racing / mind / body / missed connection

how do we say / goodbye / be at peace
with tubes / machines / mouth breathing
denial and destruction / mistrust and misinformation
stole life / ripped breath / shredded dignity

buttoned check shirt / unsightly beard
weak / titanium built / soft / out of reach
all's fair / in love / war / life
but what about / death

two gone / old but not
ready / prepared / permission granted
no more / pain / waiting / uncertainty
the finality / no relief

the living / we still feel
hearts keep beating / twisted fate
memories swirl / smoke wisps and cotton
weak / titanium built / soft / out of reach

Her sewing machine arrived today and a hand-written note with a sunshine doodle from old hands missing a sister pair.

I'm upended. Longing and love and crushing guilt. Grief. Smell of childhood and old things and her linger in the air- heavy has my heart. Joy.

The sight of her thimbles knot my throat. Dainty bone china; contradiction of fragility and proud protection. Armour for hand soldiers skillfully avoiding wayward needle-blades. Archivists and faintly scarred librarians, intimately acquainted with the histories of her: weaving love in a language of thread and fabric.

The skill is now mine to learn. Her history and mine will continue in stitches and in quiet contemplation. In death she needs no more protection. Devoted child of her god delivered back into His embrace. She was guarded so long. Watch over my learning, my hands, my love language. Threads of hope run through this lifeline yet.

A wire has come loose
Connection faulty
Body fraught, skin hot
Electricity misfires
Muscles spasm
Energy bubbling
In my scapula
Mouth corner slipping
Arm numb
Palm sparking
Twisting and stretching
Satellite sobbing
Deep breathing
No relief
No change
Constant dissonance
Disturbance
Distance
Between realities
Skin deep and surface
No mental switch flip
I'm present, with it
And utterly frustrated
Body in disarray
Thoughts gathered neatly
It makes no sense
This physical betrayal
And the disconnect
Exhausting
Unrelenting
On edge
Over it all
Invisible lights blinking
Guiding path
To misery and beyond

Scrolling with one eye ******* shut does little to assuage the assault on my heart from squares of millennial pink and sky blue, espresso black and prosecco effervescence in fancy glasses on bar tables I'm not invited to join.

Never was anyone's first in line which didn't matter until I realised how much time there is to fill as the days stretch on and nights begin to warm offering ample opportunity for connection and yet I sit satellite orbiting a world reopening for some and remain on the outside, cold and distant.

Vulnerability is the essence of connection and connection is the lifesource of happiness, now engineered quasi-chonologically; machine-picked priority in heart buttons and view counts as we no longer value the time spent thinking, mere lingering hesitation- am I worth no more than a momentary pause as your thumb swipes upward?

It's easier to publish vulnerability on social media platforms whose algorithms inherently work against visibility of raw honesty and hurt than risking rejection from the people I desperately want to hold me, see the cracks in my facade and enjoy me in my dilapidation while my world edges crumble.

Isn't that something

fractured whispers, intangible thoughts
weary heart, words escape me
gums ache, muscles cry
depression seeps further
mind body and soul decaying
and i crumble

I have mistreated my body for far too long
And the cracks begin to show.
Furious, red, screaming against the alabaster
Why have you done this to us?
What gave you the right to?

Forcing food down our gullet
Sedentary. Sluggish.
Purge, regret, binge, repeat.
Pushing down feelings, blocking out thoughts.
The mouth and throat replacing honest conversation with fast food for faster results. Short lasting but instant gratification won out.

And now the results are in.
Battered, abused, inside and out.
The brain's poison finally externalised but not exorcised, merely adding to the litany of reasons Why.

The body is finite but never quite finished. Unfurling.
Forced to withstand the gluttony and shame, embodied, entrenched.
Bone deep hatred for what lives inside, oozing outward.
Desperate for it all to end. Knowing it never will. Until it does.

Is that all this life is now? Carrying the shame of bad deeds past forevermore, back bent and spirit breaking whenever the lights are on and clothes are off.
Constant reparations for sins that cannot be washed away.
Skin tarred by a brush that will never cover up the unjust punishment inflicted on this corpse.

He makes me see stars and paints galaxies on my skin.

Dazed and confused
the sunshine streams through the glass
but the heat in my cheeks
blossoms from your soul searching

Wanted a woman, never bargained
for you - cocksure and knowing smirk
built a fire from embers
created below

Ebony eyes and wanton woman
calling forth dancing flames
Lord how they hypnotise
licking skin lemon sweet

Breathy moans, wailing, strings snap
building, running, bridging, cresting
Alight and alive
I want you again

Today I celebrate the fact I'm living, messily
With fragility and passion
Eyes-open optimism
Never more cherished or overwhelmed
Teary with adoration for the ones who recognise my
Yearning and learning
Sparkle and the tarnished silver
Ever growing and humbled
Veritably terrified by the future's uncertainties
Even still cultivating a
Nourished soul, I am here - loving

I think in feeling too much, I forgot what it means to feel at all

I burn for you
in the blackest midnight pitch.
Though you can't see
the flush in my cheeks.
Heart racing, breath quickens
and my heat undeniable.
I want this, want us
before ashy daylight steals
you away.

Honestly I just look around and I'm stunned that any of us is expected to work as normal given everything. Like. Seriously. What do we call unending grief of this magnitude, this scale? How to we wrap words around the unfolding horror and trauma? To categorise it minimises it.

To not name it leaves it unmarked, but certainly we are marked. All of us. In ways we will be healing from for generations to come. This is catastrophic. And we buy our bread, drink our coffee, tweet our daily observations.

We're not looking at things. We are glancing adjacent, refusing to let our retinas be scorched by the gore. And that is our greatest failure.

I spend my days weaving threads between our fingers and praying you never sever the link. Blood drips on the sheets, a rosy reminder of the mutilation love leaves behind. Hallowed whispers float on the breeze, prayers that would but scream if only they could speak. Knotted and infinite, almost. Only cool steel can stop us. Don't let go.

life has become a series of snapshots in soft focus.
my heart constricts and all i can do is whisper into the empty room.
desperate to turn the ugly into art - make it beautiful.
then the hurt is worthwhile. the alternative is just too sad.

angonising insecurities
hot tears and cyanide-sweet guilt
turning ashen on my tongue
your gentle love brands me
an unwitting reminder
of hollow heart
oscillating, fury and despair
incapable of providing
warmth, selfless sacrifice
vines of all that is ugly
warping invisible moral pillars
leaving behind a crumbling artefact
secrets lost to acid tears
and my soul's brittle foundations
and tempestuous nature, ruinous
self-loathing and denial
boundary walls reinforced
with steely reticence and
double-edged grief

I don't deserve you
I don't deserve you

I wish to fold inside
myself - what good is there in living?
A disappearing act in quiet
supplication.

No more thawing ventricles,
cracking knuckles, tight jaw
aching. Just slow disintegration
along with the old pile of newspapers.

I've never understood the
use of saving history in smudged ink,
the curled corners
never drying from wetted thumbs.

Will the after, the waiting place, the anywhere
that isn't here be so stained with the grief
I carry? Almost certainly so - as I exist
so it does too.

Let's away with a total lack of
incredulity: it's the least
I can do to wash away all trace
of my being - here.

When it rains, it pours
And the devastation fills my throat
Drowning in fears and apprehension
Hands desperately grasping
The rocks too slick to find purchase
So I sink beneath the waves
Fury and despair and regret dulled to blunt apathy
As the ice cold reality freezes my veins
Remnants of life dimming
My eyelids succumbing to the relentless weight
This ocean of grief pulls me under

How can people find beauty in stretch marks
born from unnecessary overindulgence and a lack of restraint?
The professor drawing
attention to the issues, inconsistencies,
failures of the ongoing test of self-control
Cracks in the pavement
where rotten weeds refuse to stay hidden
the ideal conditions for ugliness to thrive and thwart
the constructed beautiful facade
There is nothing pretty about self-sabotage
There is nothing redeemable in such a loss of control
The boundaries of my body
break
Under too much pressure
Too much
Food.

sunday morning newspaper
aeroplanes, words smudge under tear
stains and my lip cracks
under the pressure of my bite
acts on instinct
as the words soak, inked
time imemorial
illuminated under the hot sun beams
through the window little rainbows dance
on the bed linen same old
pretty looking heart healing soft feeling
bold moves and boulders
hurtle down the mountain side but with you
by my side it seemed impossible
unstoppable we were until
you stopped short of expectations
waiting patiently at the train station
for crumbling goodbyes and never agains and whys
no closure, forgotten, moved on, stepped over
and left to pick up the pieces of a promise
etched in my chest, deceit is
harder to swallow dressed up in a sweetie
wrapper but it's better swallowed whole than
watching life slip away, folded
up on the kitchen table with the sunday morning
newspaper.

weary and threadbare
my soul is mostly empty
words can't reach
louder than a whisper
the pressure on my chest
cracks my ribcage open
and still the air
struggles to escape
lifeless eyes blink away
tears of defeat
frustration would take
too much
awareness lurks
at the back of my head
of passion and drive
long extinguished
soft sighs glance
at embers, echoes
that life might
breathe in this body
once more

i'm adrift in an ocean destined to fill my lungs
with saline breaths
i expell frothy-mouthed howls
tumultuous
thrashing on the shore
grit and razor sharp
abrasions barely register
mortal flesh holds only grief
swallowed up with the tide
i tumble once more
pulled deeper
pressure mounting
darker and colder
numb, feeling, silent, still screaming
violent bubbles shoot for the surface
a mournful sign i'm yet living
awaiting calmer waters
with the rising moon

Why do you write like you're running out of time?
Lin-Manuel's all too apt question feels much too personal
Running, chasing down thoughts and feelings and explanations
Necessary to understand, theorise, analyse, criticise. My
patience wears thin as I realise I'm
running from myself as I
barrel towards truths.

Grappling with inspection, learning more about perception, intention
And navigating this new world, no
it's the old world with renewed vision
Open eyes wide at the injustice, in-fighting, inability to step aside as privilege clouds judgement.
The caucasity.

It feels wrong to wear the badge of ally,
Share lessons learned or ring out the battlecry
for justice
reparations
and necessary losses because
Needs Must
when I'm still blinded by the white light radiating from my own complexion in the unsettled dust.

It's amazing I
still manage to make it all about me when I
know it's about others whose voices were suppressed
And really I
know that's not really true
It's just that I
never second guessed
what I was told by
those in power. I stayed willingly complacent.
Privilege, reckoning, accepting, harms done,
next steps, affirmative message, false promises from my tongue
until they have real action I can take but
Again this narrative still centres on myself and
that needs to change.

The focus needs to change.
The emphasis needs to change.
Or the injustice with remain the same.
And too many people are running out of time.

lavender soothes and nourishes all in reach
bluebells dance on the breeze with impish levity
honeysuckle intoxicates in a heady familiarity of childhood

springtime appears and the space between my ribs is cavernous
adventurous. life awaits.

Some days I feel a thousand years weary. Trapped a forever-teen, frozen core and angst-riddled.

Outsider. Isolated. Incapable of translating the aches of my forearms, clawing at my sternum, or distress in my gut to make any sense beyond feral screams.

The fear, wildness, confusion clothed in apathy and tumbling forth as tears, grey palor, an appetite gone astray.

Distraction deflects for a time but the reality check becomes all the more bracing. I cannot fathom ever feeling different, even if yesterday was opposite in every way.

Evermore I am trapped, concrete resolution and in my final form - - how could I possibly be wrong when these days last a thousand years and memories, physical remembering, atrophies as my tears dry and hope evaporates with my breath, hot and laden with worry.