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there is uproar in the kitchen.
you would think some restaurant was over-
booked and a weary chef was fighting
to deliver ten covers at once.

all i said was “i can’t get to sleep.”
he has decided to save me.
my valiant knight on horseback
is in the kitchen making something.

i yawn and sit pretty on the sofa.
it is nice to be saved and spoilt.
i start to drift away to some
distant land trying to ignore the blender.

he arrives with a large cup.
he gives this to me and hovers.
i must taste this though
i know it will burn my lips.

i can’t leave him hovering forever
so i take a sip, burn my lips
and melt with the softness of the milk,
an intimate pleasure.

my cup of love, hot milk,
cinnamon, honey, all blended
to froth and he has grated
nutmeg on the top.

i smile up at my valiant knight
and he relaxes, all is well.
i have been saved
no more dragons to fell.
  Sep 2018 Isabella Rosemary
Sometimes, I am a paper girl.
I look in the mirror
To judge my blotches and creases-
I am a pale, thin tissue
That bows to the howling wind
Transparent for anyone who cares enough to look.

If you like pretty pictures, I'm the one for you-
A roll of film scratching laughs
On curious cinema screens
That could run into infinity
Just to fuel your smile.

I soak up your messes willingly:
All the colours that bleed and mix
To form the specks of sadness
In your eyes at 10.p.m
And the grass stains that roll
Down your bare gypsy feet
And the sunflower seeds
That stick to your inky lashes-
These things give an echo of the flavour
I miss.

I am vain
I regularly conjure up poetry on my skin-
Do not give me yours.
I will recite it to my last paper breath
So I can kid myself that paper is power.

I am not the phantom you teach to play piano
Under the helter-skelter moon,
I am far too fragile for that-
My paper cut fingers bend
And bleed light all over the keys.

My hands are a canvas
For anyone's ***** details
For if enough titles are painted on my body then perhaps
I will learn the complex trick
Of gaining depth

And maybe the world will look as full
And real as I read in books
And dance with in music
And maybe my edges will stop being ripped
Or my corners cut
Or my pages burned and tossed aside.

Sometimes, I am this tiny
Origami creature
And my cream card bones tremble like feathers
A bad caricature of life.

Sometimes I am full of wonder-

But right now, I am this.
I tried to put this awful blurry feeling I get when I'm lacking in creativity and motivation into words, and this is what I got.
Sometimes I feel so alien.
“Once more unto the breach,” echoes from within.

Cast away your anxious thoughts, don’t let negativity breed within your skin

Only positivity from here on out, a new strategy for an old plan

You are the decider of your future, you are the eye of the beholder, will this break you or make you?

Only you will tell, though you are a quiet soul

Soak up the rays of the sun

Let the light fuel you in the hardest times

Remember what it feels like

For you are the quiet warrior, blood of your demons stains your sword

A savage for the good of all

Ghosts of the past invade gentle nightfall

Remember how you conquered, never faltered, and smile

The past can only persuade you to try harder, your demons are only your fodder

“Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more,” gently slips through your lips

Your next war draws nigh; Blood drips from fingertips
I’ve been in the market for happiness,
and I’ve decided I won’t tell life to keep the change this time

Instead, I will reach into my pockets,
and examine every lucky coin

Keeping my restless hands at bay
if I don’t like the change I received, I will flip those coins

Be calmed by their gentle clinking noise

I will not remain stagnant in these idle waters

I will make waves

I will float to the surface with the happiness I purchased with change, at peace one day
Change is a vital part of life
Seeing stars while standing still,
There’s no denying that you’re ill,
Denial persists, stabs and twists
You stand in a fog a filled abyss
Searching for words, but instead you just drift
Empty handed time after time
You feed yourself lies and pills, there’s no denying that you’re ill,

More doctors than friends, you try so hard not to let the pain in
Chronic or Histrionic, whose to say in the end?
Rhetorical epiphanies are your oldest friend

Seeing stars while standing still,
The beholder’s eyes find solace in nature’s will
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