I am the warm air of spring
Heralding the time of rebirth
I caress the first shoots of growth
As they poke their way through the earth

I ponder nature’s resilience
As her landscape comes alive
I marvel at her citizens
And their will to survive

I dance over fields and rivers
Whispering to sky and sun
To all the hiding creatures
A new season has begun

I am the zephyr of summer
Come now and heed my call
Blowing sweetly from the west
The kindest wind of them all

Walk with me over hill and dale
Carpeted in joyous colour
Feeling my soft caresses
More tender than any lover

I will kiss your upturned face
Brushing it with rays of sun
Breathing warmth into your bones
Till the sunset says day is done

I am the wild gale of autumn
Stripping the leaves from the trees
Nothing withstands my fury
All bow to my desperate need

I whip the rain into torrents
Pouring water over all beneath
No quarter asked or given
I gift you the dying year’s grief

I move restlessly onwards
My dark tempests taking form
But the harvest is gathered
The bounty safe from my storms

I am the north wind of winter
Bringing the first flakes of snow
Scattering them with abandon
On the gardens and streets below

My blast is icy and chill
Freezing your toes and fingers
Sweeping away the last of the year
Not a single vestige lingers

Time for you to stay indoors
Cosying in front of the fire
Enjoying the comforts of home
Away from my insolent ire

I know* she says what you aspire,
if I go earlier
not long will you wait
To find a new mate.

Surely not dear I reply
I too will die
and if not,
in that unbearable pain
will go insane.

I know better.

This morn only
saw my male budgie
cosying easily
to his new companion.

Can’t bear to be long

Forlorn!

Dust specks-settle,
cosying up to the ribbon bound notebooks
bearing your initials.
Burying this artefact,
flawed, fractured there will be no map
to guide you back to this mirth, no breadcrumbs to drop on the earth.
It will be no more than a prologue, a seam unwoven to grab momentary attention
until I sweep all away with steel grip on an exuding artery.
Is Hubris not a deadly sin?
As it lays in tatters at my feet.,
Foolish, foolhardy to have believed that all was a world of Thornfield or Pemberley
more apt is naeive.
The disparate views,that were sent by you undermined by certainty,unhinged the very bolts and nuts that held my infastructure.
Transfixed. Transfigured. Transformed into this 'new'.
Alas the day, arrives anyway the lark sings a merry tune and it thunderstorms, drops leaves life leaves the dew.
To be candid, I pocess within me one last spark it splutters and at times can ignite, for teaching me an invaluble truth.
Unrequited love, This partisan
bear with caution- leaves a scar-  a victim.

I’ve always been good at navigating. I can find my way in a crowd or a city unknown to me. I no longer get shaky when I think about getting lost. Asking strangers for directions has never been a problem. My legs take me as far as I need to go, and my feet share secrets with the road to bargain with back in the bazaar of my head. We know how to get there. We usually do.  I tried going to my happy place today. Turns out it’s hard to pinpoint on the myriad of maps I’ve been making since I was 4 years old. I don’t know where to start. I don’t know what counts anymore. Places I once knew to glow yellow from the inside out have dimmed, and most old memories have the scrap of a taint too sharp to touch still attached to them. I have problems with letting go. I find it hard to forget the same way an elephant keeps count of every word anyone’s ever said. You would think this would be an advantage. Sometimes it isn’t. It is hard to try and write new on a slate that was never wiped clean. I have changed. I am envious of everyone able to close the boxes they’ve packed away. Because the lid on mine never seems to fit properly. It is tiring to be responsible for your own hurt every time you have to hold the door shut to stop the past from lingering. Nails ready to dig into the New you’re doing your best to treasure. I think about the temporary nature of all things. How no one is invincible. No one is ever as perfect as we project.  I am not without my flaws or faults. In fact, they have grown bouquets on my sleeves and have built their own corsages on my wrists for when my heart is too heavy to smile for the camera. I think of the “who” rather than the where. The bubbles I have collected with my breath and held with full air in the hopes they don’t burst. Their rainbow undersides and defiance to my gravity while never floating too far away outside my hazy atmosphere. The happy they have given me to make my own. The happy they radiate during visiting hours. The happy that soaks into the knowledge that I sometimes do the same. I am grateful. Always grateful. I may not have bought my house yet but I can always keep renting the flat where the couch is always cosying up to a comfy I am lucky to accommodate. It still smells like warmth and conversations  yet to come once they leave. Until next time. Let yourself in.

It's those moments when I see you in bed,
with messy hair and sleepy eyes,
covered in sheets, cosying up in your soft pillows.

It's those mirror selfies,
seeing you so smile so shyly,
goofing off adorably.

It's the random photos of you that you send,
letting me know if you're bored, stressed,
brightening my day up

It's those moments when you just dress up
asking me which looks better,
urging me to dress up too

It's those time that we post couple outfits in IG
Getting creative with our stories
teasing each other with who did better

It's those moments when we FaceTime
while we work
while we cook and
simply when we do random stuff like art.

Are the times and moments I love sharing with you.

Do you feel it?
Creeping up your spine when the grey starts to set in?

Do you feel the ice?
Slowly working its way into your brain?

Do you feel the change in colour?
Steadily turning your blood from red to grey?

You see my love,
winter doesn’t only appear before you.
It also makes its way through you.

The fire you’re cosying up against will die soon.
All your efforts to stop it, won’t work.
The rain will keep coming.

With each new morning rainfall,
come a set of troubles and fears,
made just for you.

So hold on my dear.
Hold on to your seat,
get ready for the ride.

For winter is the grey monster in front of your eyes,
the one that will make you feel so alive,
the one that will make you feel so much that you’ll want to feel nothing at all.

Do you feel it now?

Whispers dance in the breeze; let your voice flow freely —
the breath within you holds a universe of untold stories.
A pure release, embracing the thrill that slips away with each
sigh—aren’t we all, at times, yearning for a way out? I place
accolades in my gaze, celebrating my reflection in every shard
of glass; yet how disingenuous it feels to claim that I take
greater pride in who I am today than who I was yesterday.

Still, I am the blossom along the way, nourished by the remnants
of winter’s chill, I’m running cold, chasing after the scent of
vulnerability under this runny nose — pursuing the essence
of fragility beneath this teary facade.

I caught my eye in a piece of mud; and I do hope you can never
see into my ***** mind—that tainted look could betray a criminal
in disguise; but are you still a criminal if you unknowingly stole
someone’s heart. Once you know the kind of dirt on you, you get
so anxious of any spot, even as you try you clean your act up.

Don’t act up; claiming not to sometimes feel a bit ashamed
of yourself — cosying up with your doubts. The truest smile will
shine much brighter in the dark; so I shut my eyes when it feels
right to let my ugly smile out.