a wise young man once shared with me a proverb
“a fox which chases two rabbits will catch neither.”
I’ve been calling you a fox ever since
the weather got too cold for baby blue forget-me-nots
nothing good ever happened in a month like May
but you were my rusty fox
I couldn’t catch you that rainy day
or that frosty night, my love
for fear of crushing inadvertently
an annual bloom.

perhaps you were doomed to be perennial
but you followed me into libraries
and around street corners
I followed you down the alleyways of our city
and through doors;
that only ever led to too little, too late
for which I am truly sorry.

just, please. this time
believe me when I say
I gave everything to you I could
I crossed so many lines too many
but here I stood
silently shouting at you
to love me,
to need me,
to adore me again -
shortly before the weight of the futility
of so much past came to light.

you are the poetry in my poems
you brought the fire, and I brought the fuel
we were almost an experimental pair  -
but you were the wind
and I was driftwood
splinters of me scattered all across the bay
and when you turned,
you forgot how to whistle
the tune we always had.
and I lost sight of you
when the waters stilled too much
for me to be able to feel you there
and be carried along with you.

it is said that
“a fox which chases two rabbits will catch neither.”
but I am done with chasing rabbits
and watering tulip and muscari bulbs in the October springtime
I am willing to put the image of my sun-kissed fox
behind me.

I want September sunshine
I need red sunset
I’ll pursue a crashing wave
and fly into the face of a glowing inferno
because
I want you
I need you
I will let you love me
I will let you love me

and
as I rip and tear these lifelines to shreds
as I dissect my heart in an attempt
to figure out where it all went wrong
I’ll keep looking for you
between paving stones
I’ll keep searching for you
inside cracks in brick walls
I’ll keep seeking you
in whatever way I know how

praying
that since something so remarkable
does not allow itself to be forgotten
it also does not allow itself
to become part of the past.

anger is not sadness, and sadness cannot bring you back.

"come on, Forget-Me-Not!" flirted emerald Snapdragon,
"tell me, what’s it like to have control over me, for once?"
like fire, the cerulean bloom did crackle and hiss
and walked away in a heated, dreadful silence.

"why do you call me that?" asked uncertain Snapdragon,
"tell me, why don’t you speak with me like you used to?"
like salt, the windowed flame did flicker thrice -
and was swept away by the threatening, stormy sea breeze.

"please, my sun-kissed Fox," begged hesitant Snapdragon,
"shower me in loving words like you did before."
like rain in drought, the elusive creature did rarely show his face,
if so, only for laughter’s sake, to break the horrid silence.

"tell me, darling Forget-Me-Not," pleaded melancholy Snapdragon,
"why don’t you love me anymore?" oh how she sobbed
as, like childhood, her Snapdragon self become part of his past -
he shrugged his pale, fragile shoulders, swaying in the salty breeze.

"dear seaside Sunset," wrote tragic Snapdragon, "I am truly sorry,
I miss our days in love. your presence filled a hole in me, now empty."
but far too long in blinded oversight, Forget-Me-Not had stood,
and much too late did adoring Snapdragon realise her mistake.

december 2011:
soulmates? something out of a fairytale!
handsome Prince Charming and the sweet Princess
are unlikely childhood sweethearts
their scripted fate tucked away under my bed.
april 2012:
soulmates? it’s just like in the fairytales.
we flirted with chance but knelt on destiny
my eyes were bright and wide as
true love’s first kiss hangs promised in the air.
april 2013:
soulmates? the fairytale wasn’t mine.
I tried to fill in the gaps with ice cream and picnics
but we were a jigsaw puzzle missing half its pieces.
don’t worry, I thought, I am still so very young.
july 2013:
soulmates? the fairytale forgotten
I threw myself at people hardly worth the toss
mistakenly discarding pieces of myself
I didn’t expect to need later
november 2013:
soulmates? a fairytale of treachery.
you sleeping beauty, wide awake
I tore myself to shreds on your wall of thorns
tread carefully, for fate is a dangerous game.
january 2014:
soulmates? a fairytale, for now
I cast that suffocating doctrine out of my mind
frozen in time, I decided now was what mattered
a love like one I’d never felt before beckoned
may 2014:
soulmates? a fairytale assured
I don’t know what the future holds, or how my story will unfold.
happiness is everything and care is not for this world.
love is abounding and soulmates can wait.
october 2014:
soulmates? they belong in fairytales.
chipped and damaged hearts don’t become more whole
just by finding comfort in another broken soul.
all the world’s a playground
these grown-up children
just playing pretend
because nothing’s really meant to be
after all.

you are so unbelievably oblivious,
even by my standards.
I sent you that picture
yeah, I know you have it.
love,
I wanted to talk to you.
I wanted you to whisper in my ear
all of the things you told me this time last year
but apparently
you don’t feel that way anymore.
but I have evidence you once did
when I can't sleep, I type into the search bar "love"
finding bittersweet comfort there,
burying it somewhere among the tears I shed
over what isn't anymore.

2. you are so unbelievably clueless,
even by my standards.
because yes, I took your picture
because you make me happy.
I also took your picture
because I love you
because I need you
because don't know how to be without you -
you’re the only person who’s heard about my writing,
and never asked to read it.
ask, love.
ask.
please ask.
I think you’d be surprised as to what you find.

3. you love, (or, loved) me so unbelievably much
by anybody’s standards.
you held me those nights under the stars
I know you’d not held anybody like that before
love, I could tell.
but love,
every night I lie in bed and I go back to those nights
I’ve never been able to replace them since.
those nights, drunk on moonlight,
I lost, drunk on ***** -
will they ever come back?
darkness is so empty
when I am trying to hide from pleas(e) -
these days I am so very afraid of tenses.

4. our lives are such different paths -
even by my standards.
how I fooled myself for so very long
thinking you were no fork in the road
believing that our walks were parallel tracks
willing my way of thinking to envelop you and change you
part of your appeal, love, is that -
compared to me you don’t know what you’re talking about.
I’m just more careful as to with whom I talk about it.

5. you don’t care as much as I do.
but, by my standards, nobody does.
“right.”?
I’ve poured my heart out to you many a time-
“right.”?
oh, but nothing's changed between us-
"right."?
when you wanted to talk to me
your words fit mine like you were made for me.
now you don’t-
I’m always the one to send the last message.

6. you are not different
even by my standards. and by that I mean
you held on for long months at a time
still seeking after me in the ways that you know how -
and now, as if it had been prophesised months in advance
my fears have been coming true and
you are slipping between my fingers
like sand, faster than I can catch you
and I am so scared.
I never wanted to lose you this way
but the truth is you are not different
you are not special
you are not unique-
not any more so than anybody else.

7. but you are unrivalled.
by anybody’s standards.
the day I stand by and say “I loved you.”
will be the day I cease to fear tenses
and while that day may well come-
that day is not here yet.
until then, love,
I hope we keep seeking each other
in whatever way we know how.

if love were fire
it lives in the forget-me-not heart
skipping across they keyboard, masked as rhetoric
burning through your cheeks on cold days
and at night
it dances on the tip of your tongue
and heats the arms (but not the hands) with which you hold me tight.

but if love were fire
it lives in the muscari-blossom mind.
your cast-iron heart, burning hot to the touch
your words, gently warmed
your eyes, brightly lit
your fire is contagious, it rips through me
never quite burning me out.

if love were fire
it think it lives in my snapdragon heart
it tries to to work its way out of me through my actions
to express itself in my words
constantly present but never sufficient
always prevailing but never saving
perhaps reflected, in the shape of a candle flame
in my flattered eyes.

outside, the night takes over
blackness fades the daylight,
but I don't notice.
the sky stays blue to my eyes
because I'm still looking at yours.

inside, spirits are high
smiles are wide
music playing
eyes averted
oh please look my way
I thought you'd give me the time of day.

when crimson fades the cerulean gaze
and a blush creeps up your neck,
sorely embarrassed, you turn away
I must keep myself in check.

melancholy rain falls on memory lane
straighten your back, but
proper posture was never important anyway.

i’ve been locked behind a brick wall for seventeen years
i’ve painted every inch of it with dreams of freedom
i’ve filed away centimetres of mortar
hours after I was ordered into bed
i've slimmed myself down before I was noticed
until i could slip through the cracks
“it must be her fault if she’s trapped.”

people hear me singing. they must think i am not captive
people see me smiling. they believe that i am free
but most days the tonnes of concrete around me are just too heavy.
some then tell me i do not need to destroy myself -
i tell them that otherwise i cannot breathe.
i always sleep with the windows open.

i’ve been locked behind a brick wall for seventeen years
i’ve painted every inch of it with dreams of freedom
most days i want to take a hammer to my painted wall
to hell with the iron chains.
i want to take rainbow shard and chipped mortar mixed with tears
to build my own **** house
one with wide open windows and wide open doorways
to hell with the bolts on the gates.

i spent fourteen of seventeen years trying to climb the wall
the next three trying to outrun it
i haven’t found where the bricks have stopped to catch their breath
i am not in the habit of giving up.

and when the bricks, one by one, do lift from the wall
and the shackles slowly rust away
i suppose i will be told to shudder at this thought
i suppose i will be expected to thank the gate-keepers
for making **** sure I wasn’t allowed to live
until they decided so.