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Sundas Oct 2020
To me,
My words,
Are my thoughts.
Milk in a pan drifting,
Lazily in mexican waves,
On tiptoes with fingertips,
Stroking the three litre line.

to you
my words are
the time you blinked
and clots of milk swelled into pregnant pufferfishes
and a siren hissed incessant incantions you swore fate birthed to hex your mind
and a trident foamed at the mouth relishing the theft of nature's permission to shapeshift  into a lightening bolt and to zap your stove a blistering white in three times ten to the eight metres per second
I logged into Hello Poetry today after 5 years. Found a whole heap of very bad teenage poetry (too embaressed to keep public). Maybe my poetry is still bad but I'm almost not a teenager anymore.
the owner operator
of the poetry
doesn't adhere to
his own guideline's
it states that all members
must be
yet he allowed slurs
from the Michigan

one clearly recalls
what happened on that
a lowlife bloke used the term
***** in an offensive
whereupon the poetess who'd received
his nasty comment, left the site's
she'd not be subject
to this derogatory

no action taken against
the one in the
he still remains part
of the site's
an injustice within
the owner's weak
the smell of it is unforgettable
of reeking

would seem that the trash talker (****)
does whatever he
and the webmaster is complicit
in the words he
Sitting in a crowded room,
everybody has something to say,
i try to tell a story but
nobody would listen.

At that moment when i try to  raise my voice,
i just realise that am blocked out.
I sit alone in a crowed room and i wonder what my purpose is.

Much of a helper thats all i am,
much of a planner thats what i am,
so much of a listener and a talker when something needs to be solved,
but less than that am blocked out,
less than that am invisible.
Thats what i am
just less than that
When you just realise that people only come to you when they need help, less than that you are unknown.

— The End —