I put my journal
in the sealed packing box- Now
inspiration’s struck

My poetry’s dark,
Though the release from writing
Can lighten my soul.

My battered image reflected in your Ray Bans- brand new,
But no one will study the lenses.
The photos on your ‘gram tell a story- not true,
And you’ll never let down your defences.

A gentleman presents for spectators- enraptured,
But when the doors close the screaming is shrill.
You’re a prince and I’m your princess- captured,
And that is what gives you the thrill.

Hard black line
Moving into greys
Growing like a vine
Expanding as it strays
Picking up some colour
As it weaves its way
From one place to another
Through nightfall into day

The little light in the corner of my right eye,
The carefree giggle at a senseless joke,
The breezy naivety,
Now there’s another part that’s awoke.

A darkness pooling in my pupils,
A window to a humourless soul,
A heavy burden touches gentle lips,
What it’s left there is a scowl.

It was a slow surrender,
I might have stopped it if I knew,
But I didn’t, so I couldn’t save,
What I have lost to you.

I can see the task in front of me
It’s mapped out clear as day
Pick up the phone and make that call
The job won’t just go away.

It’s easy and it will take no time
Once completed, I’ll feel relieved
But the phone sits untouched, within my reach
The assignment not achieved.

There is no physical barrier
So I can make the choice to overcome
Yes! I will pick up the phone and make that call
Or…I could write a short poem.

Soul’s shaking, I’m breaking
I’m sick of the faking
Everyone’s someone but
I’m still in the making.
Don’t want fame, just a name
But I’m stuck in this game
‘Be noticed’ ‘Be worthy’
But I only feel shame.