My talisman was destroyed
by a sorcerer, who, much annoyed,
bade me worship only him.
I worship not a lowly man
who lacks the power to understand
beauty beyond the realm of man.

Plato’s archetypes are real
in our creations and what we feel.

The innocence of childhood play
The setting sun at end of day
The work of every artist great
Brings me to a better fate

My talisman returned to me
Resurrected, in a different guise.
There is somewhere of no lies,
only adamantine ties.
Where love is indivisible from art
and only death tears us apart.

What a wonderful sister, you are
For you, a lot do I care
Not all the time, may we talk
However, when it gets really dark
You are the light I badly need
Your words of advice, are always to be heeded
And interacting with you is so much fun
That it makes me forget all my pain!

What a wonderful sister, you are
With you around, is there nothing to fear
Indeed, do you have a very calming presence
And gifted are you, with oodles of common sense
No wonder, are you such a fine lawyer
A lot of trouble, do you often have to bear
However, every test do you end up clearing with flying colours
For you, are no circumstances too adverse!!

What a wonderful sister, you are
Grinning was I, from ear to ear
When you arrived a few weeks back
Brought me some respite from work
So thoughtful, was your gift
Truly, do you possess a golden heart!!

What a wonderful sister, you are
And will be, now and forever
Keep smiling and take care
And may you be blessed with a glorious future!!

does a lonely childhood **** a person?
maybe
if not, the way everyone else smells it on you does
there is something wrong with you
you are not whole
“where is your other half”
everyone asks you
and you just keep saying “i dunno, i dunno”
and they tell you to be grateful
because you never were hated as a kid
and maybe you weren’t but you are hated now for it
you do not know how to be a person because of it
and you can never say we were children together
because you were not children with anyone except for yourself
and you will bury your childhood alone
and you will bury your parents alone
and they keep telling you to be so so grateful that you never had to share anything
but this loneliness has you by the throat and
you would rather have someone who hated you than nobody at all

I used to think we were the Little Women

Louisa May Alcott wrote about

Meg was the oldest, responsible and kind

Jo was the middle child, passionate and determined

And I was Amy, stubborn and young.

Now I see each sister in myself and in them.

My eldest sister has the drive and intelligence of Jo and her independence, yet the softness of Meg, the soul of Beth. But the beauty of Amy.

The middle sibling, is a romantic like Meg and fiery like Amy, she always knew what she wanted. Like Jo she never gave up and chose what was right for her. Like Beth she finds solace in her home.

And myself..

I still bear the bluntness of Amy, her stubborn realism. But my writing is of Jo’s spirit, free and adventurous, words dancing across the page. I love like Meg does and strive to be like Beth, she appears in my homeliness.

We may not be the girls Alcott wrote of but our stories live on in my script. Our childhood selves saved away in the corners of my mind, waiting to appear on a page, preserved.

One day I’ll write us, our story, our lives


But to me we’ll always be my

Little Women.

Please weave your
nerves along
My bones,
my marrow is
your supper.
Please wrap your
never ending
absoluteness around
My eternity,
my endlessness is
your reward.

I’m just the moon, wandering through
You’re the sun, adding shine to the morning dew

You stack up your compliments every day and night
While others insult the moon and start to fight

Now we are next to each other, and people assume
That you’re the better option and ignore me in the room

You light up the day, and I only darken it
You stood up for me, but only told me to sit

Nobody could ever live without you
Without me, they’ll still be attracted to you like glue

I’m jealous of all the people you adore
But they see me as only an aching sore

Maybe one day we’ll make a solar eclipse
But now our relationship is only a wisp

Now you and your band begin to sing
While I’m only watching from the wing