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

She smiled through the unease
And accepted too much
She was eager to please
Took the unwanted touch
Until her skin grew blisters
And she cried out with shame
Too boisterous for Misters
She takes on the blame

Heart
beating,
burning fire.
Cannot control,
my inner desire.
Getting myself into strife,
thoughts are bleeding into life.
Stay calm and poised through racing heart,
as the truth could tear it all apart.

Your kindness feels illicit
Like an intimate brush of fingertips
Your smile touches my soul
Like a kiss to the corner of my mouth
Your presence heats my dreams
Like a moment stolen in the darkness
And your praise lays me bare
So there is nothing and everything between us

My thoughts are rotting me from within,
Better keep them from seeping through my pores and poisoning the pure air.
Easier to live with the guilt that is slowly killing me, but perhaps makes me a better person,
Than to let it out and face the judgement of a stranger, their judgement could label me anything.

My thoughts take root in my veins, turning my blood to a sea of dark words.
I must cover any open wound lest the words leak out and find a friend to share a secret with.

The darkness is frightening and all consuming but there is comfort in knowing I am always wrapped in it.
It is the light that is most sinister, it is in the light that you must stand tall and face your truth.

My thoughts are rotting me from within,
But they are mine to hold, they keep me safe.

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.

To the people who
cause the pain, that allow me
to write poetry.

If this does end and I’m not in pain,
Was I holding on in vain?
If I can survive and smile,
I dare say it was not worthwhile.

Is it your loss that
I can feel in the air or…
Is it your whisper?

I dare say that you’d
Suggest I believe that, which
Would bring me a smile.

Sometimes the trouble seems worthless
And the pain just keeps me down
But I will claw ‘til I’m blood and bone
To try and keep this crown

Sometimes I fall and I can’t get up
And I just lie on the ground and cry
But I’ll still crawl 100 miles
To keep alive this lie

Sometimes my robes are heavy to wear
And I long to shed this skin
But I would wear a suit of lead
To hide from what’s within

This crown has become my burden
My robes they are all for show
But I’ll fight to the death to keep them on
Because this is all I know

A caress from many years ago
Has left a scar behind
My body will not heal the wound
It is left there to remind

You stroked my arm with an open palm
You smiled while it burned
I craved for all the affection
Too late, my lesson was learned

Now I sit here and touch every mark
That’s branded on my skin
They’re rotting below the surface
Destroying me from within

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.

Dark sky, faded light
Deathly cold and starless night.
Flash of lightning, racing heart
This storm could tear her life apart.

First she fights, then hides, then screams,
But the storm could offer bigger dreams
So she stands her ground, facing the rain
She’s brave and strong, despite the pain.

Revelation, ray of light
Silver moon in starless night.

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.

Is it the tree’s fault that lightening struck?
After all it stood up so tall
Its leaves rustled, beckoning
Unwavering in the wind
Daring to look strong
Taunting the rain
Practically
Asked for
It.

There’s nothing left inside me
That could keep me coming back
Was once a hand to my cheek
Now it’s a bullet to my back.

The skin, it might heal over
And no one might ever know
But the bullet will remain
With a warning to bestow.

I wouldn’t say I’m stronger
I’ve been weakened from the pain
But the weakness is a lesson
Don’t make the same mistake again.

In the midst of drought
When does the epic love come?
…with the summer rain

There are rubber bands around my heart
essential to keep things at bay.
As the feelings get bigger,
I need to use more bands.
They cut into flesh,
barely contained.
Pulled so taught…
straining…
Snap.

It is not natural…
Monogamy is man made
But so are cell phones

Pouring out from the top of my pen,
flooding in a pool on parchment
everything I ever felt.
Every heartache and fear,
laid bare in black ink
for your judgement:
My fragile
paper
Soul.

I’m chasing that feeling of being numb
That sensation when I’m slipping under
Where I could either float or fall asleep
Can I get back? I can’t help but wonder.

A place that is better than happiness
‘Cos happiness is a place that won’t last
But the numbness can just keep on coming
And it can block out the pain of the past.

The weightless sensation of nothingness
Is such a blissful way for one to go
The gradual fading of the world around
Promises to banish your lowest low.

So can I be content to barely be?
I argue it’s greater than being free.

Thinking of another reality,
As I sit comfortably amongst my wealth.
Thinking of my finite mortality,
As I depict a picture of good health.
Dreaming of romance and armour clad knights,
While absently twirling my wedding rings.
Dreaming of places with beautiful sights,
While gazing over a view fit for kings.
Longing for somewhere that I can belong,
When I am surrounded by many friends.
Longing for relationships that are strong,
When their loyalty to me knows no ends.
But I must be thankful despite my pain,
That I have the luxury to complain.

It’s time to pack up and head home
The bar’s closing, last drinks were called.
That girl that you were talking to,
Her make-up starts melting at dawn.
She’ll return home on tired feet
To her bed that’s always kept warm.

Let go of her hand and head out
The cold air can sober your thoughts,
She does not belong in your mind.
The moon will guide you to morning
Which will help to quiet the dreams,
That you have no business having.

Your demons are yours to control,
Listen to your footsteps retreat
Remember her family, her home.
Make your way to your welcome mat,
Which sits at your familiar door
And be the man you both deserve.

Caught between the elasticity of time and the rigidness of a 9am Monday meeting…

Her hands are stained with past mistakes
Her tears are thick with rage
She is helpless as her weak heart breaks
She’s stuck inside this cage.

She’s felt this many times before
She fears it’s much too late
Too scared to strive for something more
She hides behind her fate.

The room around her closes in
She sits motionless and weeps
Watching the depression win
Only happy when she sleeps.

If she wanted she could leave her hell
But she just won’t turn the page
Too scared to leave what she knows so well
Stuck inside this cage.

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

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

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.

She sits in her chair
She sips her hot tea
She looks out the window
She longs to be free.

She could open that door
But her hand quivers so
She’s scared of the life
That she doesn’t well know.

So she sips and she sits
And she looks on the street
And wonders and worries
About the people she’d meet.

One day the door opens
She could go out and see
But she sips and she sits
Yet she longs to be free.

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.

A drop can open up the soul
It can dull the heavy heart
Each small morsel, like a portal
It helps the pain depart

Touch it gently to your lips
Let out a heavy sigh
A loyal friend until the end
A sin you can’t deny

Let it flow and fill your veins
Allow your mind to sleep
Now not so raw, can shut the door
You don’t have to feel so deep

At last it has taken over
The body numb to the bone
The more I sink, the more I think
This darkness is my home

Standing tall and green
Takes pride of place.

Small hands hang precious *****,
Larger hands hang fragile ones,
To appease the critical eye.

Lights twinkle, turned on at twilight
A star adorns the top, a little lopsided
As it is just slightly out of reach to fix.

Boxed and wrapped hopes are piled underneath,
Perfectly presented with a bow
Ready to be torn in the big unveil.

The big day comes and then it goes,
As does each day- significant or not.
The lights do not get turned on now.

The star is more lopsided as the tree droops,
Taking pride of place the yellowing leaves,
Once lush and green, now sully the spirit.

Until, it is discarded on the nature strip.
Just another piece of junk- ready to be replaced.

She ripped her wings on an olive branch
Now tattered she tries to fly
Halo crooked on her head
Torn image in the sky

She used to glow with purity
Now fooling no one but herself
She takes off her only gown
And puts her halo on the shelf

She tries so hard to smile
But her lips won’t hold it there
She’s sick of living up to
A name too hard to wear

She sees her body naked
And the image makes her cry
Handprints scar her body
Torn image in the sky

Tap..scroll..pause
Trolling through your feed
Passively absorbing uselessness
As if a vital need.

Tap..scroll..pause
It’s someone you used to know
You analyse another’s life
From what they choose to show.

Tap..tap..tap
As you seek your validation
Putting your best self on show
The ‘likes’ now your fixation.

Tick..tick..tock
As you wait for a reply
For a ‘friend’ to reach their own short pause
In their tap, scroll, pause then die.

The reflection and I are acquainted
But she stands a little taller
And her frown is now smaller
Her soul just a little less tainted.

The girl staring back at me, she’s older
But less wrinkles around the eyes
There are no shadows from the lies
Through hard lessons she has become bolder.

The mirrored image brings a weary smile
That girl is now a bit stronger
And she is in pain no longer
The battle she has fought has been worthwhile.

There’s a wall to each side
That’s trapped me from leaving
The strength of my fear is holding it fast
I am beating my fists to try and destroy it
But it’s become stuck, through pain of the past

There’s a mirror ahead
That’s holding me captive
The shadows of doubt reflect disarray
I try to turn so I can’t see the damage
But I am so vain I can’t turn away

There’s  pressure on my chest
That’s stopping me from breathing
The weight of expectation is holding it still
I am pulling so hard to try and remove it
But my muscles are weak and I don’t have the will

She sat at the table
Where she nodded and bled,
Blood dripped to her plate
And her dinner turned red.
But nobody noticed
Because they were all fed,
And her posture was straight
And they liked what she said.
So she choked down her dinner
And kept the mood light,
Then cleaned the blood from the carpet
As she bid them goodnight.

Where are the epic novels
About the reliable mum,
Who went to the shops
And had dinner on the table at 6?

Where is all the poetry
About the dependable dad,
Who tucked the kids in
And stayed married and faithful to his wife?

And where are all the ballads
About the happy children,
Who are loved and fed?
Who captures the peace of consistency?

Wake in the morning
And roll out of bed
Breathe in a deep sigh
Put my hands to my head

Pad to the bathroom
Take my sweet time
Get showered and dressed
To be in before nine

Tap on some keys
Answer the phone
All the while wishing
It was time to go home

Lunch time, eat pizza
While I wish to be thinner
Then curse driving home
And curse making dinner

Sigh at the dishes
Frown at the mess
Too tired for leisure
Time to undress

Put on pyjamas
Bed time and then
Set my alarm
To do it again

The ink from my heart wrote you a song
Thoughts bleeding onto the page
But the words I wrote, I got them wrong
Now I’ve torn them in my rage

I tasted each note upon my tongue
I prepared to sing my tune
But before I started, I was done
The notes trailing off too soon

The memory of your song won’t fade
Try as I might to forget
You do not deserve the art I made
Know I play it with regret

Bandaids on a broken heart,
Ugly but a work of art.
Blood pumps under plastic strip,
Not pretty but contains the drip.

Holds together barely, though
Barely still contains the flow.
Bandaids on a broken heart,
Still broken but it’s a start…

A line once drawn with dignity
Its edges fade away
Yesterday she would have left
But tomorrow she will stay

Her dreams now out of reach
Were once at finger tips
Before she would have called them back
But the cry won’t pass her lips

A voice once unwavering
Now hesitates and sighs
Given up on fighting
Accepting of the lies

Do not be a silent song
Use your voice to speak your truth
Sing it in the shower
Shout it across the rooftops
Let it vibrate across the walls of every soul.

Do not be a silent song
Not when your voice is so beautiful
It may quiver at first
It may rattle and shake
But there is a power in having it heard.

Do not be a silent song
If you cannot sing, be an orchestra
Play it on the cello
Beat it on the drum
Allow the crowd to hear your heart and applaud.

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.

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.

Bell chimes at 3.15, the swarm of kids depart.
There is the thunk of lockers slamming closed
Then it’s out the gates, the world awaits
The text books now disposed.

Then the swarm descends upon the streets
And freedom induced bravado remind
That you not be late, to stop 48
Or you risk being left behind.

As the tram slow and reluctant approaches
Rough hands push their friends into battle
There’s a collective crunch, as on you bunch
A heard of chaotic cattle.

Now stuck within a sweaty mass
As you’re being packed in closer still
With uniforms that are abused and deodorant that’s overused
The tram has reached its fill.

The unsuspecting commuters
Clench their teeth to stay composed
As the crowd all but tries, to fit one more inside
But finally the doors are closed.

There is victory for those on board
And while from the struggle you’re nearly spent
You still find energy from your ride, to beam at those you’ve left outside
As on the way you went.

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 beauty of the written word,
I can capture on this page.
It tells the story of my pain,
It encapsulates my rage.

I can pen a verse to spite you.
I can weave a tapestry,
That can make one feel my sorrow
And how I was treated unjustly.

As when I write, one will learn
What I wish for them to know.
Cemented forever in this ink,
Is what I choose to show.

So in a way I pity you,
With your spoken word so clear.
So powerful in the moment,
But with the wind will disappear.

While over time my thoughts won’t fade,
Though in the moment I was weak.
The published word says volumes,
More than you could ever speak.

Innocence woven into cotton, pulled down, stretched and snapped.
Fingers trailing, tracing and leaving flesh branded by hot fingertips.
Fabric forgotten and crumpled on the floor, replaced by a fine coating of goosebumps dressing milky white skin.
Air thickened with sticky, salty secrets, hanging around like a morning fog.
The filtered light through curtains highlights the place where virtue meets experience and the cotton, now misshapen tells a tale.