her reflection whispered back at her
though clenched teeth and tight jaw
“you never will be good enough”
then picked out every flaw
she cried at her reflection
who she knew was always right
then she cried at herself again
slept another sleepless night

hold the applause.
let us believe ourselves, first.
we knew all along
that we were not the worst.
but better than they?
we could not have thought.
now all of our doubts
we have forgot.
savour it.
the moment.
savour.

all through the autumn,
she waited for the warm
she sat in dusty candle light
though the cold and hazy storms.
all through the winter,
she waited for the heat
she was buried under pillows
as she hid inside her sheets.
all through the spring time
she waited for the dry
she danced inside her music box
to the raindrops from outside.
and when the summer rolled around,
when the sky shone bright and blue
she scratched her head and rubbed her eyes
not knowing what to do.

her heart was heavy
with hope of going places
until it wasn’t

she pulled pages out of magazines
hoping to change overnight
perhaps wishing is alright?
and he looked at her through weary eyes
at shoulders hunched over meekly
wondering what she couldn’t see

My head is a picture book novel.
   The words and images my mind’s
   camera collects every day
   have been shaping me
   since I’ve been very small,
   so that I use phrases from books
   I read when I was three,  
   and I cry at songs
   that are meant to be happy.
   My actions are reactions
   I’ve learned to use
   from watching my parents talk
   on the phone
   or from a clip of a movie
   I scrolled past while surfing channels,
   or hearing lyrics on the radio
   that tried to make a point.
My head is a picture book novel,
but sometimes, even I skim
past the words.

My heart is a palette of colours.
   Every person I’ve come across
   has made their mark -
   be it the sloppy spattering of indigo
   from the girl I bumped into in the hall,
   or the delicate transition
   from amber to scarlet
   from him with his uneven smile.
   I’d like to think that
   I leave everyone’s heart
   more beautiful than I found it,
   but I know that that’s not true.
   I know that sometimes
   I forget to apologize,
   so I never remove the stains
   of grey and charcoal
   that I perhaps didn’t accidentally leave.
   Maybe in my quest to be a
   better person, I should try
   to remember to paint over
   work I wouldn’t want myself
   to be remembered by.
My heart is a palette of colours.
But right now, I wouldn’t
hang myself on a wall.

the daisy or the rose?
doesn’t matter what you chose.
one will wilt no matter what you do.
the blue sky or blue sea?
caught you’ll always be.
stuck between his brown eyes, and his blue…

every wrinkle in your forehead
every crease in your hand
has made you the person
I attempt to understand.
every scuff on your shoe and
every stain on your sleeve
has made you the person
I attempt to believe.

stitching and mending
repairing my ending
so I don’t rip at the seams
stitches and stitches
and then the past switches
it shines down like yellow sunbeams

A strum. A hum.
That’s all it takes.
To make the heart start beating.  
A note. A hope.
The mind’s embrace.
Of moments oh so fleeting.
A star. A jar.
Of rusted pennies:
Change to change the sound.
A smile. Sundial.
The music makes
The lost become the found.

I’m collecting memories
Every time the noon bell rings,
I stop to see who’s listening.
Perhaps the melody is nostalgia
for them as well.

I’m collecting memories.
There is a boy who
cannot see who crosses the road
at nine forty seven every morning.
He trusts strangers better
than I ever will.

I’m collecting memories.*
Sometimes I am sitting in a room
with the people I call my friends
when they laugh at a joke
I don’t understand.
That doesn’t mean they love me
any less.

I’m collecting memories.
You occasionally push
your hair off of your face,
and I don’t know why
it makes me melt.

I’m collecting memories.
The other night, I looked up
and was startled. I forgot
that there were so many stars.
I wanted to lie down on the pavement
and look up until I fell asleep.

I’m collecting memories
It’s very lovely to watch
two people smile at each other.
It reminds me that
things will be okay.

The world is not a paper crane.
It’s soggy streets
and pouring rain,
rapping dreary melodies
on your window pane.
It’s side roads
and alley ways,
numb fingers
ripping sellotape
trying to put together broken things.
The world is not a paper crane.
But it’s the smell of grass
on sunny days
and matching china
cups and plates.
It’s warm blankets
round the fire place,
eagles souring
through the great escape
the day it finds its wings.

a flicker. The light dances
to a beat no one can hear
then quicker. The flame prances
like a lazy puppeteer
but then, it’s all over
and the dancer takes his bow
his friend, the air rover
drifts greyly into clouds

the girl in the blue sweater laid ribbons on the sand
to count all the hours she’d been here
the girl in the blue sweater held out her hand
as a bowl to catch her tears
the girl in the blue sweater slept where sea became land
let the water swallow her fears
the girl in the blue sweater thought ‘oh how life is grand’
then slept for a thousand years

count the raindrops
breathe the air
tread the water
let down your hair
bask in the sunlight
laugh and play
be free and happy
seize the day

red, orange, yellow
an ordinary fellow
running through life
not savouring it all
green, blue, purple
just jumping over hurdles
he only keeps his chin up
to make sure he doesn’t fall

hesitations, good vibrations
and the sound can’t make you fall
on life they’re choking, heart is broken
but the music saved them all

yes, darling, seize the day
wave the victory flag
be happy with the words we say
don't let your spirit drag
don't ever doubt what you can do
don't ever say you can't
for I know this much is true
say so, and you shan't
breathe in possible. the possible.
you're possible.
believe it.

sometimes life comes at you fast
and sometimes it comes at you slow
sometimes it will hit at you hard
when it will, we’ll never know
but we’ll put on the play, use the whole stage
and make the most out of the show

the wind whispered to the
sun, “do you love me?” as
she blew a soft breeze
through the trees,
tickling the rose petals
and soothing the grass.
but the sun remained silent
though, lazily melting away
all that he could.
thus the wind set out
in a rage, crashing against
branches and shattering
the fragile windows
while fat tears rolled
from the sky and
drowned the Earth.
the impatient wind sighed,
waiting for a word from
the sun, who appeared
back in his place, as soon as
the wind stopped her crying.
She smiled and whispered
to the sun, “do you love me?”
as the heat dripped slowly on.

raindrops fall behind the blinds
keeping time time time
dividing up the greying sky
into line line lines
leaves brake down on pavements
now they're grime grime grime
distracting me from thoughts like
you're not mine
                  mine
                  mine.

when I begin to think,
I get lost in the vast expanse
of nothing and everything.
I am weighted with the reality
that I am virtually nothing.
and I am terrified

I want to be a part of you.
A part of you you miss
when it’s raining
   and all you want is to
   feel my heat under the blankets,
or when you’re driving
   with the windows down
   pretending to be in a music video,
and when it’s night time
   and counting all the stars is
   impossible without me there.
I just want to be a part of you,
Like you are of me.

The little lady in the
pink jacket and strappy shoes
passed a man who’s
outfit, she thought,
cost less than her new handbag.
She scoffed.

The tall man in
his father’s good jacket
passed a lady who’s
tight dress, he guessed,
took too long to put on.
He shook his head.

They looked at each other.
Briefly.
Then looked away.

The man who watched them
for the other side of the shop window
reckoned he’d write a love song about them.

he couldn't reach the top shelf
so he asked it of his brother
but brother was too busy to go help
he couldn't reach the top shelf
so he asked it of his mother
but mother had too much to do as well
father was 'preoccupied'
sister can't waste time
all the little puppy did was yelp
so, he sat there frowning, wondering what could be
sitting on the very top shelf

I’m sorry that I’m broken,
that I’m sprawled out on the floor
that I’m crumpling into pieces
as you open up my door.
I’m sorry that I'm broken,
that I leave trails wherever I go
and that I never tell you how I feel
so how I am you never know.
I’m sorry that I’m broken,
that I always am unkept
and I’m sorry for those long nights
for me that you have wept.
I’m sorry that I’m broken,
that I’m never in ‘good health’
but I want you to know, I’ll be okay -
I’m trying to fix myself.

her child mind turned everything into a game
she’d find it was magic, dancing in the rain
and she’d think how fun it was to disappear
the glass clinked, and it was music to her ears

oh, what a day it has been!
the sky’s gone yellow, the sea green.
oh, what a night we will see!
and we’ll guess what the stars choose to be.
oh, what a wonderful life!
on the edge of a blunt copper knife.
oh, what a wonderful world!
from the tip of a blade that has curled.

her thoughts were old wheelbarrows
too full and broken down
from over use and old abuse
which wrinkled up her frown
yet they wheeled around in circles
and made her temples burn
she closed her eyes and her weary mind
lay cold and overturned

raindrops and old pages
our hearts in our rib cages
connect us all - we know it’s true
each person is a person, too

pretending that she was the rain,
she looked outside the window
to keep herself from staying sane,
she dreamed of couldn’t be’s
she laughed and pinned up in a row,
the rest of her tomorrows
but, she knew she’d never know,
so just stared out, wistfully

the day she outgrew her yellow shoes
was the day her mother said not to cry
was the day she learned she’d never fly
was the day she learned of real goodbyes
the day she outgrew her yellow shoes