A poet’s tears run down the internal wall
..until..
they all spill out in a puddle on the floor.

An ugly, unsightly mess
..until..
someone comes along to gently mop it away.

But a leak, however silent, is still a leak
..until..
it is a flood that can no longer be controlled.

A poet’s tears run down the internal wall
..until..
the wall cracks under pressure and we all drown in the words.

She holds her head so high that
she stands tall at 5 foot 2.
Demanding you turn your head
as her perfume clouds you with
an air of importance.

Long nails clutch a compendium,
painted bold so they can’t be missed.
She walks with purpose
and a satisfying click of
court shoe on tile.

She stands out in the crowd
commanding your respect.
The march of a confident woman
full of grace and poise but
with nothing behind the eyes.

The roots are drinking from my veins
A trunk is bursting free
Feeding on my darkest thoughts,
A sordid, twisted tree.

Its thirst, it is insatiable
Taking more than it could need
Forcing me to pour more out,
It grows from what I bleed.

The branches twist and tangle
They block out the little light
The roots grow claws and clutch my soul,
Banishing me to the night.

The wood, now dark and knotted
Though in the past it drew you in
It’s now disfigured by the toxins,
Fuelled by my mind’s poison.

There’s a woman with scraggly hair, very thin, very wobbly on her feet, she always leans a little- life beaten.

On her good days she carries her bright purse, contents toppling as she sways and moves about a lot- we give her a wide berth.

On her bad days she moves less, but yells more at the passers by- the berth we give is wider then.

She always wears a summer dress with thin straps- In winter I think she must be cold. In summer I wonder about sunscreen.

The other day I saw her at the supermarket buying groceries. I had never seen her in there before, such a normal environment. I felt a little proud of her. I thought I probably wasn’t supposed to feel that way so I looked away instead of smiling.-Then I felt awkward for not smiling and left quickly.

Today I saw her again teetering on her feet and yelling and I wondered where it was that she stored those groceries.

I tried not to stare and then felt ashamed for turning away.

So preoccupied, I’ve been with invading another’s privacy.

The great mass of sweat
And the stepping on toes
The twirling of skirts
The too tight men’s shirts
As the alcohol steadily flows.

There’s the slurring of words
And a bad pick-up line
Talking too loud
To stand out in the crowd
The bottomless glass of wine.

The lipstick that’s faded
And stained all the glasses
Has an owner dressed to impress
But now she’s distressed
As the guy made too many passes.

The throbbing of music
And the heels much too high
With tops really tight
And make-up just right
On a girl who starts to cry.

The overtired made up eyes
Admit to their defeat
The sweating mesh
Of tight clothes flesh
Now make out on the street.

The next morning in bed
Headache and smudged eyeliner
Memories of the night before
Of dancing on that gritty floor
The sore feet a reminder.

Then awake the next day a little past noon
Eyes tender from the light
With a pounding head
It is back to bed
They won’t go out tonight.

When your pain’s too painful to be shared,
Put down your pen
Let us be spared.

Come back when the problems have resolved,
You’ll write again
That’s what your told.

Don’t burden us with an ugly thought,
Now hide your pain
That’s what we’re taught .

Does everyone deserve a second chance?

What if you ask for one, use your best manners and say please?

What if you really intend to prove yourself?

…Do you then deserve one…?

What if the pain you caused was irreparable, but your apology was grand?

What if you are truly a good person but you have damaged another’s soul?

What are the rights of the wronged?

Who grants second chances? I wish to see them, I have some questions.