Why do I write?
It’s not because I enjoy the
Pen on the paper, the faint
Smell of ink on my hands or
The sound of a page being torn
From a notebook.
It’s not because my fingers feel at
Home on the keyboard,
Because the clacking of the letters comforts me,
Or because the sight of a blank Google Doc
Excites me.
It’s not even because writing makes
Me happy, or that I find particular
Joy in it, inspiring me to release
My thoughts into the world.
No.
It’s because these thoughts are
Lions pacing in their cage,
Growling under their breath,
Wanting to be let out; no,
Needing to be released and free to
Roam wild, and not be restrained by
Any human contraption.
Same with my words; they refuse to
Stay trapped in my head, they must
Come out somehow.
It’s a need.
Why do I write?
You might as well ask,
Why do I breathe?

With my archangel by my side I'm fulfilling my dreams.

She's whispering me towards the right direction.

I feel empowered next to her.

We have a lion's strength and courage.

I know I'll be exactly where I need to be.

I don't doubt her power for a second.

Pain.
Hate.
Fire.
Fury.
For a tiny soul.

She felt the need of run away from him. But she couldn’t. Couldn’t scape. She couldn’t run away from her creator.

A lion with his prey.
A prey with her lion.

A rabbit with a lion. That’s how she felt. Cornered by him. Controlled. Invaded. Repressed.

Years passed and the rabbit became a wolf. But not when she was close to the creator. She  became small. A rabbit, again.

I am a CEO of a big company,
There I am a ferocious ,powerful and majestic lion,
With distinct prowess of leadership and charisma.
At home my wife the lioness sits on me,
A nimble hunteress
Stalks me with flawless patience,
Waiting to pounce on my slightest error.
I am reduced to a timid mouse.
I compromise on everything,
Not because she is right and I am wrong,
I prefer peace to maintaining my ego.

You want to scream
Pull your hair with fists clutched tight
Boiling over inside
A pressure cooker ready to explode
Your lid is ready to fly
Like an electric guitar reaching a screeching ******
You want to bash everything to the ground
Red lipstick words scribbled on white painted walls
Words of scorn
Words that warn
Debauched in madness
Seduced by sadness
One big ball of crazy
Devouring everything in sight
Goat or sheep
Blood will bleed
The coming of the Lion

The Mighty Lion


The Mighty Lion, standing proud.
All things beneath him; nothing as loud,
As the roar of this beast, in the middle of the night.
There is no other creature for him to fear
And he has wisdom behind those amber eyes.


So stoical, he stands there;
As he is observing his plain.
All others are running around so quickly,
Whilst he remains unruffled,
With his courageous heart,
Behind his mighty mane.


No challenger approaching; no chance of defeat.
The Mighty Lion stands proudly,
As he rules over all that which he can see.
From the birds in the sky,
Down to the insects beneath his feet.
The Mighty Lion rules with razor-sharp claws
And he can end any fight by simply showing his teeth.


His counsel is sought, to settle neighbourhood disputes.
His decision is final; his words speak only truth.
His eyes can see through liars, as he gains knowledge from his Pride.
He stands there, remarkable, in his domain
And his view is always right.
He knows all of the stories that spread around the group.
He has an army of animals on his side.  
They are under his leadership.  
They are his motley crew.


The Mighty Lion stands apart,
For he is truly their King.
He has earned his place at the Head of the Pride,
But still, he walks alongside all others
And he fears nothing.


(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

I shout inside my skin,
broken outside and in.

I sounded strange to men,
deranged to the women.

I shutter to my pen,
I live in the lion’s den.