random day of the week.
I wake up,
sleep still in my eye.
  Haven't noticed that I don't feel anything,
just tired.

   Dusk starts to arrive, I feel angry.
No one except my father has made me disappointed,
I cried over past events.
My mood changes again,
I don't know how to describe the frequency.
I constantly ask my mother if she ever felt this way,
she replies that she can no longer remember,
nor had she noticed that she would snap at me.
   Nighttime has arrived, I order pizza.
Attempt to bond with mother over a new
tv show,
    she barely pays attention,
it hurts.
My father ignores me.
I enjoy the silence.
     Noticing this new movie coming soon,
I ask a (friend) to join me,
I'm rejected with excuses of non-violence,
confusion of the plot and (ask a classmate).
I pretend it doesn't hurt,
it upsets me,
but I would be less upset if it wasn't pathetic excuses.
Am I angry because of excuses or rejection?
Am I disappointed because of my father's silence or my mother's two-second attention span?

   I wish I could just bleed already so I could focus on the physical.

Before my mum died, I never really took naps.

Couldn’t really understand it,
there was so much else you could do.

But then she died,
and it was just before midday
and I realised -
there’s so much day left.

It stretched on and on in front of me,
hours and hours of this same day,
still waiting.

So I went upstairs,
I told the people that needed to know,
and I went away for a while.

I woke back up in time for an evening meal
with an extended family filled with love
and a sister returned from work
and a phone beeped full of support.

And it’s been two years,
and the days stretch on
and still, almost every day now, I go away for a wee while.
Skip just a little bit,
every day.

I wonder if I should stop
Would my mum approve?
Probably not.

Maybe I’ll try tomorrow,
but still,
it’s late in the evening now.
Time to go to sleep,
Goodnight

If this is love,
I want no part in it.
The
         b
            e
               t
                  r
                     a
                        y
                           a
                              l,
                                    the lies,
                                                 the pain,
                                                               the truth.
If this is you,
I want to forget us.
Our
         m
            e
              m
                 o
                     r
                        i
                          e
                             s,
                                 our secrets,
                                                   our trust,
                                                                  our imperfections.

                          will i be able              to love again?
                      if                       i can,                   will
                       i                         be                     able
                        to                                              see
                         when                                       the
                           end                                       is
                              coming?                          if
                                   you                     were
                                      like             this,
                                          will     he
                                                 be
                                           like      you
                                     too?                if
                                 our                       love
                             went                            down
                           this                                    fast,
                        will                                          my
                      next                                             one
                      be                        the                    same?
                         if                    this is                how
                               all love is,           is any of it

                                             true love?

let the race
go on and
be won and
be lost
inevitable
fast
without me


I will be
playing
on the side
of the road
with the daisies
and the crickets
and the wild-growing
fennel
​

a fleeting whoosh
to the rushing
passerby
and they a whoosh
to me

​
as clouds
hang humid
and yearn to
speckle their
summer mist
a-top puffs of
breeze and
rosy cheeks
and
saplings

​
I will be
spending my
sunshine day
with face
upturned and
hair a-mess
and
eyes not
looking where
they're going


© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield

I was a child,
and you, an injured swan,
resting by the lake I skipped stones on.

My parents didn't notice when I took you in.
Children don't have much,
but I thought that all I had was enough

To heal you.

So, under the cover of night,
I wrapped my sleeves around your wounds
And you wrapped your wings over mine.

But everyone knows that mere children
Cannot care for a living being
All by themselves -

All by myself.

And my tiny room was nothing
Compared to the skies and lakes
That you loved.

They say children are observant -
at least I saw your sadness,
so I took you

Back

To the lake where we first met
and there I told you
To fly.

I was a child,
and you, a graceful swan,
soaring from the lake I skipped stones on.