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Alexandra Sep 2022
It wasn't the pain I was afraid of,
dripping acid between my toes.
It wasn't the eyes following me,
an oddity, wearing a bow.
It wasn't my mother's warning,
that it was time to let go.
It was my understanding dawning,
that my life was a comedy show.
Gawked at by bemused eyes.
Spectators, in awe of their own lies.
Alexandra Nov 2021
I dream of green isles
Across oceans vast and tumultuous
Of stark cliffs and pastures disordered
I dream of a land unfamiliar and strange
Of hobbit holes and twisted trees
Of desolate cruelty and quiet peace
Of frozen rivers and stark plains
I dream of a land I had known well as a child
For its pages I travelled through
In pursuit of dragon gold and mithril steal
I dreamt of such a land,  I imagined myself sword in hand
I trodded beside dwarven armies
I confronted a dragon gilded in gold,
My heart bled across crumbled pages,
I wept bitterly for friends lost.
I dreamt of a land unfamiliar and strange,
Yet within, I found a home.
As a kid my only form of escape was through the pages of a story. As an adult - this hasn't changed. Books are freedom.
Alexandra Oct 2021
Firelight and starkness
I lie awake and pray for darkness
Shape me, forge a fake
Allow the clone to live in my stead
Allow her to be adorned in leftover thread
Allow her to walk roads untread
Paths avoided for battles lost
The forests edged in fairy frost
Allow the other to be greeted by my name
Allow her to bathe, unashamed
But I? I shall walk away
Into darkness, I no longer pray
Alexandra Jan 2021
Skewered - impaled,
Trapped by irons breath, I struggle
Release captive lungs
Alexandra May 2021
I cannot sleep, my mind races. Tumultuous, colours and sounds racing against an indecisive current. Does everyone think this way? Thoughts too fast to catch, to read, to understand. Floundering in a bankless plane of water with neither tide nor stream to guide it. I wish it was still. Still for me to concentrate. Still for me to be at peace. To still this anxiety. To sleep.
Alexandra Apr 2021
A dash of acid -
added to blood.
Flesh thinly sliced, sprinkled with lemon juice.
Bones broken, healed, broken again.
In all rights, my body should be mangled. Torn apart. Unrecognisable.
To the world my skin is unblemished. And yet -  the inner fire rages.
"You look fine to me"
Alexandra Jan 2021
I'm sitting here
with the rain pouring down.
Trying to get my feet on the ground.
I stay awake and look to the sky
but all I hear are the tears angels cry -
Mourning for half the sky
I wrote this when I was 11, grappling with grief at being targeted by a man whose face I cannot remember.
Alexandra Jan 2021
Whispers of paper
silk, idle chatter amongst
the gossiping trees
Alexandra Jan 2021
Tongues of flame licked,
Twisted and swam
Among driftwood and husk
Crushed cans lie by boots and barefeet alike,
Hunting dogs snuffle the undergrowth, fur matted in boar blood.
Torn, tired and scarred hands rest between scuffed knees
A brief respite, for all attending will awake before dawn
Cane, cattle, dirt and toil is in my DNA
As a child, legs brown in dust, littered with scabs - legacy of a farming childhood.
I'd watch the fire-bug sparks drift toward the soft evening sky, adorned in cold unreachable jewels,
And listened,
**** destroyed a years worth of crops,
Price of fertilizer was increasing
The price of sugar plummeted
Underneath the lighthearted camaraderie and the shared stories of hunting,
These men were terrified,
Tired,
Losing hope and will,
And I knew,
I knew, that this life would not be mine.
On the farm it was common to spend a Friday night with locals around a bonfire. This is an ode to children of farmers who grew up watching and living the realities of farm- life. Farmer suicide is something that can't be dismissed.
Alexandra Feb 2022
It's quiet here
Cacophonous roar of silence
Amongst the deafening traffic of people
Alexandra Oct 2021
Tired and weary,
Longing for shelter, among
The fae folk of old
Alexandra Jan 2021
My dearly beloved,
I mean me of course.
Realisation that at the end
I will be joined by no other
than my former selves.
The contemplative child,
the argumentative adolescent,
the stern steadfast teen,
the resigned, mournful, dead in the heart adult.
Now, in mid-twenties, battled, won and lost.
Worn, determined, haloed  by oblivious might
Who will I be in the next stage of life?
Yet to be determined by me.
Strength, blindness and toil.
I forge on, while end of human era is near,
Closer, with each passing breath, a child is born
Destined to a world that rages on fire unseen,
And yet, I sit, I drink tea
I watch Greta fight
With conviction I thought once ruled me,
And yet, still I sit
Still I drink tea,
Wondering vainly,
Who might I be?
Alexandra Jan 2021
It was a deep sadness and a deep love
that I let myself be taken,
from childhood and memories of light.
Not all that's gold that glitters,
I've read the Fellowship as a child,
walked the misty road in-between
with sisters of blood and of love.
Faeries we imagined, dragons we searched,
orcs we fought.
Our members were young and barefoot,
in a world only we could see.
Tolkien and the fae folk,
Witches, potions, and fairy rings.
Barefeet catching on the cattle trail
avoiding snakes and goblin feet.
Elves and wood nymphs guarding,
the cattle paddock, and those
sweet years, in the misty in-between.
Alexandra Nov 2021
Little feet followed faithly,
trusting the eldest ahead.
Fear of snakes were wavered.
Cattle watched with a curious eye.
Muddy, barefoot, eyes searching the trees above.
Patiently waiting for the flutter of wings.
Listening for whistled whispers on the wind.

Shhh - she whispered,  gazing ahead.
Hear the drums of the goblin fleet.

Across the gully and trickling stream.
Two armies of glimmering gold shall meet.

Quick, crouch and hide low!
We cannot allow the battalions to know,
That children of man observe below -
A battle of fairy magic and goblin greed.
A battle of desperation and need.
Goblins advancing to sacred land
a hollowed sycamore, edged in armoured hands.
The day draws long, shadows rise upon the fight.
Soon, the armies shall depart, to trees high and tunnels low.
For they fear more - the creatures of night
Alexandra Feb 2022
Ink is blood, and the pen a blade
Yet, it is not paper I write upon - but skin

— The End —