“perhaps the sun is a teacup, spilled by a girl in a skyhouse who laughs in polka dots–”

You wrote like someone
who had been listening
long before speaking,
each poem a hush,
each repost a gentle offering.

This space once held you,
your words, your calm curation,
a gentle steadiness
in a shifting field of voices.

take this small goodbye
not as an end,
but as a door left open,
just in case
you return with your light.

Until then,
may strength find you
in soft moments,
and peace arrive
never needing to be earned.

Liverpool can be a lonely place
On a Saturday night
And it's only
Thursday morning.

All seems different,
like a blurry landscape
with vanishing maps.
The distance from the past
keeps growing.
I slice through space and time,
on the chosen path,
along a trajectory of circumstances.
Against the denial of access,
against the gate closing,
just to hold together what was apart.

I want to experience friendship,
Not just one sided friendship —
A two way Loving friendship.

I yearn for a moment in life ,
Where I would not have to prove my worth—
Just to be loved.

I'm tired of reaching out,
Check-in all the time,
Fixing doors I didn't break,
Closing all loopholes,
I need a break .

I crave warmth and comfort,
From just one soul,
That would root for me ,
Just as I would

Code in pyramids
From dead skin
For the sake of security

Forever secrets
I know the rooms
At the end of the avenue

Constantly resurfacing
A sea of benches
Reflected in loud echoes

The violinist passed by
In the breath of a panda
Painted with blue makeup

Thus ends a morning
So that red nights may follow
Full of monkeys!

I do not belong here
Am not one of you
Addicted to attention

The mirrors are ready
In an army of pregnant women
Who shatter the mirror glass

Thus fresh skin is born
As every day is new
Perhaps security