Eight years experience,
I’ll have you know,
Been working since seven
Kinda tired of it now.
No rest for the wicked,
so I’ve been told.
“Choose, him or me girls?”
“You evil *****”
“Leave, before I call the police”
“Get out the way”
“You can take the kids with you”
He doesn’t want us.
Please, girls
Daddy doesn’t want to do this.
I can smell the lies,
they flow like water now.
She looks at me,
make him leave,
don’t worry mama,
I will.
But then I look to my right
my sisters eyes
full of unshed tears.
No, I look away,
it’s my job.

Y’know,
the world is flying
right past you now
the water is dark and thrashing
approaching quickly
to flood your lungs
but not before
time floods your mind
with everything
you’re about to lose.

Never again, will you
elbow her in the backseat
dying of laughter
over something
no one else would get
Never see her cap and gown
and smile awkwardly
for a quick family pic
Never hold shaking hands
down the aisle.
The only church you’ll share now—
she’ll be in black,
you’ll be in a box.

Never again, will you feel
the leash tug
after some sly squirrel
Never again hear
a sudden bark
break a silent morning
and never again be greeted
by kisses and tail wags —
not now.
Instead he’ll sit
wondering where you went,
when you’re coming back

Never again, will you
love till your heart hurts
laugh till your ribs ache
cry till your throat’s sore
lie awake contemplating life
feel the familiar burn of the sun.
scream to the sky
just because
Never, experience
the extraordinary mess
that we call life —
ever again

And even if you wanted to—
even if you begged—
it’s too late now.
you’re already
going down.

Sleepless summer nights,
salty golden curls,
green swim shorts,
charming, star-speckled smiles.
Soft-spoken words,
guileless promises,
chilled beach air,
lapping waves,
crickets chirping,
cans cracking,
laughter echoing through darkness—
bonfires illuminating faces.
Lost in the labyrinth of bare love,
mistakes made,
heartbreak— inevitable.
Sunburnt hearts.

Writers die young,
but those loved
by a writer
live forever —
through scrappy handwriting
on yellowing pages
of verse and prose
full of adoration,
unconditional love
from an old soul
with a heart too big
for their own good.

“Throw her into the deep end,”
they said.
“She’ll learn to swim soon enough.”

Maybe she will,
but you know,
it won’t be easy
the tides will grasp her firm
and try to drag her under
her lungs will scream
she may wail
and desperately thrash
the tumultuous current will beat her down
her arms ache, so does her heart
she’ll sink once or twice,
wonder whether it’s worth the fight,
but with time
and I can’t say how much
she will gain strength
and slowly but surely
she will begin to swim against the current
claw her way back
to the shallow end
and she’ll be able
to look them all in the eye
scars bare, clothes torn
but a wicked smile.

Fingers stained blue
from your favourite
fountain pen,
a smudge
on your arm
encircled by gold bangles
that clink,
like an introduction:
clink
clink
‘she’s here.’

Dark wisps hide,
your watercolour eyes
darkened by kohl,
wrinkled with your
crooked sunrise smile,
soon it becomes a laugh
that sounds like
summer—
all cartwheels across fresh grass,
sticky lollipop smiles,
a wrinkled shirt
creased with time.
Even effortless
looks beautiful
on you.

I love
every ink stain
and clink,
every wandering comment,
and every laugh
that’s a bit too loud—
you couldn’t even
begin to fathom
all the love I hold
for you.

Is to observe the world
in all its intricate detail
To hear all the
unspoken words
To be a watcher at every moment
but never to be watched

From all the dark corners
where the whispers reach
is a fly, soundless, immobile
seeing all
yet seen by none