T all grapevines entwine with the
O verhead wires and lead to
U nwilling leaves now home to a
G iant green guest with the
H olographic horrifying eyes.
T roubled dreams the bug is dreaming.
I mpossible luck keeps it away from
N earby spider webs and
Y ellow giant villains.
T angled in untangled thoughts of
H orrid dreams of hope
I t sits on its green leaf and is
N ow watching flowers bloom.
G ratefullness swells its tiny heart.
I sit in silence with my mother because how am I meant to say the roots of everything I despise about myself lie at her feet?
That I've learnt to refuse to let her make me feel shame and guilt for eating?
That to this day I look at my body and hear the echos of insults she hurled at eight year old me about the
fat on my hips,
their dips and dimples?
That my partners hands caress that same flesh
and he kisses away my hatred?
I sit in silence with my mother because she doesn't talk, she shouts
out of anger at the cage she's in.
And in her volume I hear the echos of everything she's been unable to achieve,
all her hopes and dreams cruches by pre-conceived ideas of femininity and society's prying eye?
Can never ask why she allowed herself to be chained, and silenced.
Why her present is only half the shadow of her past.
I sit in silence with my mother because how can I say everything I take pride in is what she hates most about me?
That my bisexuality is not a choice, but I've chosen that label and I treasure it?
That femininity to me is hair where I can see it,
swearing when people can hear,
and unapoligetically taking up space others would rather I vacate?
That my rejection of faith isn't a reflection of her,
but rather proof she raised someone who learnt to challenge before they accept?
That I'm strong and resiliant
but still soft around the edge?
escapril day 3
Grief is learning to cope without
but still getting up and on and everything inbetween.
It's stitching yourself back together because there's one else to
you'd rather not waste their thread.
It's emptily aching in the places you can't really feel,
wishing you'd heal quciker
but hating as the scar fades,
as everyday they drift further away across seas you can't follow.
It's knowing that one day the ache will have dulled,
and you're greiving the knowledge that grief doesn't last forever.
and you move on.
escapril day 17
As his limbs stroked along the bottom
with all the power he held, in slow motion,
there was a case to be made
for the existence of the magical and the occult.
Kaleidoscope webs covered his back
in what looked like infinite rainbow nets
each brushing against a bone or muscle
unseen in the plain light before.
His hair was softened by the absence of air,
each strand fainting at a different angle
begging to be touched
right before being pulled in one direction
of precise yet strenuous motion.
All neglected now was illuminated.
Rarely things burn their way into memory
the way a face can be filtered through transparency,
distorted by liquid out of proportion
yet still so charmingly calm and surreal
all you can do is look away
and then stare again.
And what bottomless greed it is indeed
to wish to posses a moment like this for eternity.
Or maybe Heaven is all that adapts,
reshapes and moves serenely along
And maybe Hell is all that doesn't.
I could swear I felt the sting,
as you injected yourself in my bloodstream.
In my defence,
I was high for the most of it.
I was drunk on all of that
your sparkly wings offered back.
And your melancholic gaze
I've only seen in fiction since.
I'll admit to my arrogance
to assume parasites were mostly worms,
when I know there are still songs
about pretty, magic, folk.
And I can feel myself both host and feast,
and all you see is just a treat.
And if I had soul, it's now ablaze,
and now all I do is waste my days.
And at this point in space and time,
your words occupy my mind.
At the top of the hill
two thieves stood in the midday sun
with their faces lifted upwards.
in the fear-ridden town
the only lights they had
was of reading lamps, screens, street and car lights,
and an occasional candle in the dead of night.
Bottles were fished out of pockets,
corks were unscrewed,
bottoms were lifted,
laughter was heard,
spells were whispered,
sunrays were enchanted with song,
so enchanted they stopped dead in their step,
bows were held up,
arrows were shot,
grass was searched,
light was conserved in bottles.
Flickers in pockets for the darkest days.
You were small - the town was big.
Your small hands - the big building.
Your small body - the familliar spaces.
Your small step - the close distances.
Time moves slow - stuck at a standstill.
Nowhere to go - somewhere to be.
The people you know - the whole community.
Being welcomed - near complete isolation.
Accepted - you stay.
Rejected - get out before you're unable to.
Your victorous return - a negligible event.
The people you knew - the people you've never seen.
The person you've become - the people who never left.
Big streets - shrunk.
Short distances - longer than ever.
Things you have seen - engraved with nostalgia.
Things that were unseen - beautiful jewels.
Time is unmoving- now you have space to thing
Nowhere to go - nowhere to be.