"Oh dear pigeon, Why art thou green?"
Is it envy or jealousy?
Or rather a deformity?
I stared for a while
for it to answer mine.
Contemplating. Thinking deep.
For its existential need

It then sung,
a song unsung
which sounded like
"To hell with your question, woman.
I don't give a FLYING ****."

© TanyaC. 2015.

We can be strangers again.
Laugh again. Flirt again.
Cry again. Smirk again.
Create memories afresh.
When in doubt, hit refresh.

But memories, they are tricky.
The moments that you love or hate,
simply go away in time-lapse
and somehow become the scars in your heart
that seem to define you.

Memories, few I have now.
Which is better, if you think how?
I do not think it was planned.
I pray it was never intended,
I hope it was destined.
I would love to believe,
that it was a bad timing.
A result of mixed up,
wrongly fused confusion.
I knew from the beginning,
or should I say from the ending.
This love of mine won’t work out.
And so you left.
I burned out.
And you couldn't even see the damage.
My hot tears scaling down and leaving scars on my skin.
The noise that your absence left behind.
The clutter, the mess, the chaos and the scrapes
and the caramel taste
of the days gone by.

You rejected me.
I rejected me.
Until, I was a claustrophobe
I couldn't breathe.

But, then I cracked open.
And light seared through my aching, contused soul.
I stitched my unbolted ends.
But the flowing thread faltered.
I erupted.
I detonated.
Leaving myself weak and disrupted.

So, I laid in the sun and I allowed.
The wind, the storm, the rain came,
and I weathered whatever they gave.
I stayed open and empty.
And finally opened my eyes.
I discovered, you ruined us
but you hadn't ruined me.
I was glistening, glittering, shimmering and glowing.
My aching soul that was burnt and pressurized
had now, crystallized.

Dear, you whisked away the love.
But, you left behind a diamond.

So, thank you.

© TanyaC. 2015.

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That's it.
That's just it.
I said it.

2015.
A blank anthology.
Different authors.
One compiler. I.
And this is -
page 1 of 365.