When you bounced across my path
The other day, you caught me
By surprise.
Seeing you up so close
Made me laugh with joy,
Reminding me to be
Present with open eyes.
Your majestic body, mastercraft!
One kick, deathly.
Present moment, realise!

Throw away the net
of protection
in this world:
jobs, material possessions,
health and fall,
fall into the arms of love.
Trust you will be held,
Held in deep security,
by the Maker,
who wrote your days
before.

You are my safety net.

My curls, full and voluminous, I treasure
Each one tells a story.
People flock to touch,
Grasping them like gold,
They ask: “How did you get them such?”
“Are they natural?” Some scold,
In a world full of fakes, that hits like a punch.
“Yes!” I reply with pride,
My curls are my mane, grabbing them, I scrunch,
Jealousy can slide!
My curls are my shield;
They mask my doubt, comparisons
Much profit they yield!
You can tell a lot from my curls:
When I am tired and lazy,
When I treat them like 'my girls,'
When I'm sassy and crazy.
When they’re not washed for weeks,
My mental health radar
Send me obvious tweaks -
“Don’t disconnect, come back, savour,
Reconnect with yourself and the world,”
My curls are my most significant feature;
My crown of glory.

I've just got mirrored doors
On my cupboard,
They open my room up far and wide;
Once a shoe cupboard,
My room was small and dingey,
now it's light and open.
Very far from stingy.
But now I can see, more…
All of me,
All that I do,
And say.
I want to take off
Those mirrored doors,
And hide where I can't be
Exposed.

More complex than Pythagoras;
A bland pallet beckoning discovery, calling intrepid adventurers to see the beauty in the desert.
Causing admiration and repulsion; Frankenstein-esk, forever a mystery.
Days numbered as the hairs on your head; a cold case beset for the archives or a small child screaming “pick me!”?

Shame...
Makes me want to hide.
Pull the covers up,
Remain inside.

Shame...
Muddies the water,
Robs me from being authentically me;
Bona fide, don't falter.

Shame…
Distorts reality,
But it's banality, so
Relax the hyper-vigilanty.

Shame…
Is like two *******,
Whispering about my defects
Keeping me in stitches.

Shame…
Is an unwanted cloak
That I'm taking off now,
To live, bespoke!

I try and I try; pressing down, running it under hot water, squeezing until I cry,
But alas I am a magician with no tricks left; a poet with no sentences to string; an armless mannequin.
As Abraham did, I ventured outward bound, to a land of strong-armed jar-openers, who of it can be said? Who can be found? I need me a husband?!
I knocked and I knocked;  no answer sound, but a stranger stepped forth; his arms weren't big but his mouth wide and he opened the jar, I smiled.