It is a full moon,

music sounds from the café --


I'm not one of them.

Finally the sun has come out from behind the clouds to dry my wet cheeks. A gentle breeze hums through the trees and the sound of a blackbird singing anchors me in the moment. My heart is grateful for this green buffer of solace amidst a world gone crazy. Whilst the angry mobs, baying for blood, stalk the streets of a crumbling power hungry paradigm, there are glimmers of light appearing on the horizon as many more souls gather in love to dance to the beat of a different drum.

Once again I feel myself dwelling on the margins, quietly retreating to the edges to join my witchy ancestors, watching and waiting for the storm to pass.

My bones hold the memories of the burning times as I sink into the quiet earth and the cool wind caressing my skin brings some relief. Walking on the razors edge of longing for connection and needing to lie low, to hunker down in the one place I can feel safe, alone.

Around me I see signs of the storm passing and new buds appearing with the promise of another flowering and harvest to come. In the warm evening light, that kisses the tips of the leaves, a gentle smile wraps itself around my heart and a glimmer of hope returns. ‘This too shall pass’, the wind whispers, ‘this to shall pass’…

Hi Eddie,
look me in the eye and hold my hand.
Sip the air slowly and breathe.
Eddie, I see the weight you carry,  
The silence that lingers when you speak,  
How love, like wind, slips through your open hands  and leaves you wondering where you belong.  
You are the lyrics and melody to my song.

My dear friend,
I can sense
your brokenness.
A thousand years that lived in our days
is not enough for you to mend,
you did all you could to blend,
still you were an outsider to them.

I know you’ve given
more than you received,  
and every time you try,
the door stays shut.  
But hear me now,
you’re not alone in this,  
I’m here, beside you,
as the shadows swells.
But I need you to believe.

Though they may turn
their backs
or look away,  
their blindness
cannot dim
the light you hold.  

It’s themselves
they are leaving to decay,
I’m near you
through the aging of the cold.

How I knew your story.
For every page that was dog-eared
I ached with you.
How could a playground
as innocent as children can be,
be an ecosystem for the cruel?
We often went home with you
mottled in blue.

You held your own and smiled,
but I knew deep inside
it is where
you were mostly bruised.

Behind those bright eyes,
are sustained notes on a string,
bent high enough then it
dove with an ululating vibrato.
I knew your soul was singing the blues.
But I was clueless about your truth.
Until time uprooted you.

I recall seeing you
hiding behind the bleachers
bawling your eyes,
wailing your inside out,
looking like a crumpled paper,
and you were.
As if you were a note
bearing tragic news
stinging the eyes of a reader
the way a coffee drinker
would burn his mouth
for being overly excited
to sip from an angry mug.
It was something you told
your mother and father.
“You were no child of theirs,”
is all they could utter
and while it left me bothered,
you tried brushing it off,
like those words didn’t matter.
Stood your ground,
against aches that could stain
you,
like you were a magic
eraser.

But you were a rogue moon,
pocked with millions and millions
of craters
drifting farther and father away
into deep space.
I recall sadness deeply
entrenched into your face.

Over time,
we grew taller;
not older.
How brazen of me to think
that just because our legs
grew longer
that they would be enough
to take us somewhere,
but I faltered to hear
you say that somehow the past
kept chasing you.
Fetters attached around
the feet of your heart
and it has been going on forever.
And in the mirror
is a stranger that you’ve
known longer
than you ever known yourself.
Seemingly stuck inside
of what was’ padded cell.
And how I wish I could help,
but to you swore not to tell.

So I must tell you.

But you are unbreakable.
I see it in you,
steady and untouched,
A quiet strength
that rises through the cracks.
You are enough,
even when they can’t see
The beauty of the soul
you show the world.
I’m here,
whenever you need to be heard,
when your heart aches
for words you’ll never hear.
Though I can’t make the
hurt disappear, I just wanted
to make it clear, I’m near. I’m here.

Lean into me
When like paper
the world feels too sharp,
that it seem to cut you in half.
When the silence is loud
and you feel unseen.
Know deep in my iris
you’ll see you in me.
Through storm
when the winds of doubt
snaps the sails
and you find yourself
cast away.
I’ll be your shore
throwing you a line,
Know that I see you, Eddie.

I’m sorry Eddie, but you’re not alone.

i asked him about life
he talked all about you
without realizing
there was no me
between us
now

now it was him and her
and i was an outsider

she was his life
while i lost mine amidst them

so tell me where i can find mine?
because i called you my life
you made me feel that way

now just because your feelings changed,
why am i supposed to change mine too

was it that easy for you to leave me
when you saw her
why didn't you look back?

if you would have
you would've seen yourself in my eyes

now i am confused because of your life

at least leave me
by taking everything you gave me once
don't even leave your memory

i will build my one life one
where no one will leave me like you did

Often I find the days never-changing,
Doomed to repeat themselves.

I, Inescapable,
Like a moth to the dim blue glow of fluorescence.

To escape is one thing,
But, to watch friend and foe revel in their ignorance is another.


Like a feline sees the world through a sheet of glass,
I may be doomed to the same.

At the heights of a Surrey valley
is where I stand alone.
The clouds roll in with attempted suppression,
wuthering, as one may say.
Yet they succeed and I do not.

All this vacantness on the moors,
in turn: suffocation.
All this gale of violence and madness,
not a single shiver,
but a private, intense burning sensation.

Would it set fire to the moors, the libraries,
and the red curtain theatre?
Or would it melt the defendant themselves?
I wish for the former,
yet I am already melting.

I put my hand on the gnomon-less sundial,
and still I stand alone
drunk on the all-consuming emotions
inflicted by these brick walls
or rather the crowds of unpredictability within them.

I tried
I'm spent
I give up
I relent

I quit
I'll just stop
I can't stand
I just flop

I'm broke
I'm a mess
I've no *****
I regress

I've failed
I won't fight
I'm lost
I can't write

Stranger to earth, to her body, to the church. I often wondered how she could remain stoic as her blood licked the grass blades at our feet, the moth falling with her finger, drowning with my grief into the ring of fire. How far can one go, she asked me, to live without participating in the circus, to resist clowns, to not register pain, family, injustice, rain. Look, I said, they endure, the sound, the visuals, the memory – episodic, yes, but they endure – people would not forgive bystander. The moth fell again, shuddering, struggling. And her finger, gushing with golden blood, was still pointing at the priestess, who smiled, and said, you decide, it’s your body. To sequester, draw a line on the snow, better with blood, but tears would suffice too – and so the stranger was repeatedly created and destroyed.