as she looks in the mirror
she can't recognize herself anymore
her reflection
is slowly changing into someone new
someone she doesn't want to be

they say "I wish I had your body"
but all she ever saw were calories
and she stopped eating

they ask "why are you always sad?"
but they don't believe in
trauma and depression
and she keeps breaking

they say "you can trust me"
but they also say that r*pe
and abuse is her fault
and she keeps quiet about it

she would change
everything about herself
if she could

because one girls dream is
another girls nightmare

and everything they do is judge her

it’s afternoons like this that make me reminisce,
of sunshine beaches and cigarette smoke,
and the fact we almost kissed,
it’s a train track by our caravans,
covered in dusty mist,
it’s the fact you taught me swear words,
when we were just pre teens,
you call me one of them teasingly,
I can’t be offended if I don’t know what it means

it’s afternoons like this that make me reminisce,
of crashing waves and salty skies,
legs dangling, sat on the wall,
and eating fish and chips,
feeling the air outside of a car window,
with just my fingertips,
a summer soundtrack made,
just to relax on an old cd you mixed

it’s afternoons like this that make me reminisce,
what it would have been like if we did,
or had, touched each other’s lips,
but your little sister then sat between us on the bench, and I guess it was too early anyways,
you were twelve and I was ten

I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

If I gave you my soul,
would you read each page?
Scribble notes of interest
and know me.
Would you take the time,
to help tape the seams?
Would you mend,
the fragility of my soul?
It tears and rips,
easily, emotionally.

at least the clouds are
smiling back

they have faces and
souls
and they stare back from their
blue canvas,
down on his *****, snot-smeared face

It’s a warm
sunny day
but the
bottom of the shallow, dry well
is cold and full
of critters

Well, no problem. The sky is so
pretty with all its smiling
faces that he
won’t even cry. He’ll stay there
and look up. Still waiting
for mother to return and
pick him up

Still waiting

Smiling back at the clouds

Still waiting