You say good morning,  
Happy New Year,  
Goodbye—  
like a greeting,  
a phrase tossed lightly into the wind,  
as if it will always carry itself back to you.  

But I say them  
like a prayer,  
soft syllables trembling on my lips,  
each word a fragile offering  
each word an incantation of good will

Good morning,  
not just a start,  
but a hope—  
that the sun will rise  
and it's ray's will embrace me in it's warm glow.

Happy New Year,  
not just a celebration,  
but a wish—  
that time will be gentle,  
that its passing won't steal too much.  

And goodbye—  
oh, goodbye,  
not just a parting,  
but a plea—  
that it won’t be the last,  
that you'll be safe
that you'll find your way back to me.

You say it all so casually,  
Like a habit,
like there’s always another moment,  
another chance.  

Maybe the world has been kind to you
But every greeting has left it's mark on me
I pray,
Good morning, Goodbye, Goodnight, Happy Birthday, Happy Holidays,
Each word clawing at me

I say it all like a prayer,  
because I know  
there might not be a next time
I know warmth isn't always where you want to be.

I did not stop writing but I swallowed each word whole
Without remark, buried where I could not read them
Or myself. I could not stop having feelings
But I hid them away- spirited far- speechless
They spoke anyway. I tried to die. I did not.

I can't blame you, or anybody specifically
but I was afraid of what I was made of.
The thing that was growing- it was me,
wildly me, wild anima. Whirling and warming,
I threatened to metastasize. But I did not.

I only swelled and grew and hurt, really tried hard
to find a window, to make space, and a home.
Terrified the author and editor- no one will buy this.
And so I killed that thing. I cut it out, and discarded it.
No one noticed. The parade moved on. I did not.

I hid like a wounded fox. I turned myself inside out
away from light, from sound, and love, and trust
I erased memories, wrote better endings, kept it easy
And this suited many, but never myself. Because
You can't actually **** what grows. I did not.

But it’s over now
It should have never even began
It was so long ago
Yet it feels like it was yesterday
Others have had it worse
And others have had it better
They didn’t mean it like that
What other way could they have meant it?
This will destroy my family
It has already destroyed you
They already walk on eggshells around me
The eggs that they broke in the first place
I was too much,
You were sick
I was weak
You were a child.
But they’re my parents, how could I not forgive them?
But you’re their kid, how could they do something unforgivable?
No one stopped it
No one knew
Who could I have gone to?
Those you have loved
They never even knew me
Because you never even let them
But it’s over now

There I sat throughout the trial,
whilst they sat there in total denial,
sprinkling their seedlings of doubt,
believing the lies he would spout,
throwing out everything I say,
just so they could get their pay,
without a care in the world about who they hurt,
attempting to drag my name through the dirt,
the questions made me so uncomfortable,
with every answer I felt more vulnerable,
objection!
take a look at your reflection,
you're happily defending a man like him,
so that your wallet is a little less slim,
giving no ***** about the future impact,
dismissing it all as lies when really it's a fact,
what would you do if it was your kid?
would you still defend the perpatrtor for a few thousand quid?
despite what I know is extremely true,
at times I find myself questioning it thanks to you,
I was just a child you had no right,
to contribute to the nightmares keeping me up at night,
did you ever see through his lies?
did you ever eventually open your eyes?
deep down did part of you believe me?
but the cheque was something you had to see?
you thought your performance was perfect,
but guess what, it was a unanimous guilty verdict,
and though it was the verdict I wanted,
I'm still reeling at the verision of events that you concocted,
each day in court chipped away pieces of me,
and now it's him who gets to be free,
I'll never forget how you tried to twist my story,
in an attempt to bask in some glory

i am not thankful for my trauma.

my trauma did not make me a stronger,
better person.
my trauma put me into a constant state of fear.
my trauma made it impossible for me to feel secure.
my trauma told me i was unlovable and made me think maybe i was a bad person.
my trauma doesn’t let me rest.
my trauma will never stop following me.

my trauma did not make me stronger.
it made me weak and terrified of vulnerability.

so stop telling me how strong i am for overcoming things i never should’ve had to.
i don’t want to be strong,
i want to be able to feel my emotions,
i want to be able to be vulnerable, without fear.

i want to be unapologetically me again.
i miss what’s dead in me

Mimosa pudica retreat
Humid glasshouse, rainy day
Pane-separated from the world
Exhaling foggy vagueness
Colours run wet
World through window walls,
a distorted Monet reproduction
Morphing, mixing, mushy
Each canvas exists for a sliding second
Glass and breath
Collaborating through condensation
Our fuzzy-haze masterwork

Panoramic gossamer lens
Magically softens
spiky, scratchy, sharp, crispness
into a smudgy simulacrum
A kind deceit
Frowns, scowls, growls,
and bared-toothy rage,
all smeared
Gently redacted
Calm, dreamy, pillowscape broadcast
Impressionist buffer
In muted pastels

Reality in artful disguise
Remoulded for ease of consumption
Sugary spoonful of subterfuge
Sifting, sorting, selective
Incomplete and fragmentary
Blur-clouded brain-break
Intermittent extra distance
Breath-focused,
soupy-warm,
momentary masterpiece
Just for me
Until my leaves unfurl