I will never tell you this
but I miss you
in your searching eyes
and quick tongue
flicking words and jokes out every which way
sticking life behind my eyes
I woke this morning without your body
by my side
and though it's only been once
this separation felt foreign.

How can i miss someone who isn't part of me
or has only been that one weekend?

Pack away your graces.

pull my fingers away from the keyboard
the crack-attack of facebook
I try to save your scent up my nose
by holding my breath
but even asthmatics need
a change of scenery
get rid of pollen infested eyes
and blurred vision
promise myself that time heals everything
except when we move at different speeds.

Me, the hare who races carelessly ahead,
bull in china shop,
though i've always hated porcelain
WHY AM I HERE AGAIN
when the tortoise enjoys the smell of roses
and slowness
excruciating slowness
I can't speed you up
but at least I can get away safely.

I can't believe I already want you
after being burned so viciously in the last 3 attacks
you'd think a girl would learn
but I'm not that, anymore
I'm woman,
and it's a woman's place to suffer for the fate of her heart
is it not?

Stupid fucking feelings
when did they do anyone any good anyways
get sprayed with false assumptions,
tearing-chest feelings
tears in the cab to the airport
and shameful returns
does he want me, doesn't he?
do I even want myself?
Can't blame him,
apparently I create this often
so i'm stepping away quietly

Before i'm stomped on repeatedly for my softness
I'm leaving
choosing no one and nobody
choosing solitude and my own solidarity
and yes, a life of endless hormones
racing up my spine
Won't you ever learn to cool your heels
and rest your tiresome ways
you'll burn out before you're thirty
and then what?

You are simply too much for everyone,
you've been told this many times before
so retreat, and pack away your graces
let them win for once
the great big men in the room,
crowding out opinions and achievement,
just let them win
it doesn't matter anyway.
Never did.
Choose your solitude.
dig in your histories behind
curved stone walls
build up the cannons and fireworks,
barbed wire and shattered glass
turn into the crone, or the catlady,
fuck joining this farcical existence
when you cannot be accepted for your very self,
the ultimate rejection
of the wealth of good you could offer this world
but guess what,
the world doesn't want it,

anyway

so pack away your graces.

Frozen Horizon

I'm all open
to tattered chairs,
mustard-coloured prints
and glimpses of my family
through frozen windows
The windows frosty haze blurs,
as does my view on what has come and gone
waiting on the beating sunshine’s rays
to pierce its warmth through the frost
to clear my sight
but the sun will not rise for hours, yet.
The moon trying her best to seduce the new day,
loses weight.
Horizon the gate between the two,
and yet the window stays frozen, ignoring us
And so we wait.
The season rotates as far as the horizon spans,
Time is the enemy my friend,
so let us sit and let the time enchant.
before long, I see a reflection in the moonshine,
a face drawn longer over time,
with fewer angles and more lines
feel joints stiffen in surprise,
as I contemplate how long I have been numb
outside.

Go through the motions
Keep your disloyal eyes down
Bare, don't share that sparkle
Unless it is earned in earnest
Emotional, crazy, unstable,
Whatever the other mirrors call you, ignore
Says more about them and their place than yours
Step through each step
Regret nothing
Especially your way of being
Sharp to some
But mostly those who would steal your sunlight,
There are crows pecking at my eyes,
A boulder lodged in intestines
And all the while, all the while
You shine for everyone else.
Fuck the wealth of friendship,
When it wears you thin
Your hips became razors when you let him in
Over correction is your MO
And now your heart is guarded by barbed wire.
Hardly surprising,
You can't define between love and charity
Peace and unity
Us and them, we and me,
Grow up child, run in your bare feet
Laugh at the grown ups sweating in their leathered feet
You get to die at fifty, remember?
That was the deal the seer made,
Walking past a cavalcade of breeders,
Past a mountain of over mothered men
I thought you said you were a lesbian,
So why the fuck are you pretending to fit in?
Since when does Hetero satisfy your womanly bleeding?
Since when have men lifted you in protection,
Egos bent on destruction
Ownership and devastation
Squash me down for womb envy
Women are the creators of men, not men.
Spit out your hurt,
Like he spit on your garden
Accept your lost virtue and innocence
At the hands of the most trusted
No one gives a shit anyway
So you might as well be content
Makes no difference
Whether you unravel these beginnings,
Define these ends or not
You will still rot like the rest
Your time is locked up in your failed existence
You are not special, nor brave,
You are no martyr,
You're a gendered slave,
The worlds past population paved the way for your mending
But you've always been better at ripping than sewing,
You force your care on others
Who don't need or want your attention
Sit the fuck down Jessica, or go to bed
I'm sick of hearing your constant defences
Your feminazi anger and mile high wretchedness
She's not coming back,
Nor is your bruised past, to get you,
So change your skin,
Scrub off the despair and chagrin,
Whack a smile on, stop being s bitch
That's probably not the way to heaven,
And even if it was, you stopped believing in God
Remember?
He's biased towards those you've spent your life escaping
There is no such thing as redemption,
You're not a victim, so take off your cuffs
Unroll your roughness and begin again,
You've always been anonymous to me
And that's where comfort begins.

Time.

Time is a fickle bitch, I find,
Laboured breathing in grief
Stretches gelatin moments into speeding bullets,
It will pass whether or not you let it,
And chances are, you won't even notice,
Time.
I have been waiting for resurrection my whole life
And here on the precipice
So close to opening eyes,
A quivering lip whispers
Give me more time,
So I hold my breath and revise my heartbeats,
Scold my pulse and swallow my sadness,
Paste on a smile when I can,
Or excuse myself and find some distance
To lament this awful element,
Time.
If you douse a flame with water
Too frequently,
The embers become muddy ash,
My eyes forgot how to flash
The sparkle starts to simmer
Here sits in my throat a familiar feeling
Of fear and doubt,
Rejecting itself,
Shudder up vocal chords that seem to say on their own
I care for you
And nobody wants that.
I don't want that.
I can't want that.
Time will tell if my rotten throat
Will soothe itself,
If my sharp horn will dull itself,
If my thoughts and words will bury themselves
Into denial, shame,
Sorry-I'm-doing-it-again
I have never loved any other way,
In running out of Time
But you have the rest of your life to live,
So I buy a watch that I never set,
Go by the moon and sunset,
Sleep like the dead and race time to her end,
I'll meet you in your dreams I said,
I haven't seen you yet though.
I haven't seen you yet.

I am learning
And may well always be learning the signs of my body,
I'd forgotten about butterflies for a time,
Til recently
But today that's not what's going on
The shiver and racing mind,
Gut gap and heaviness travels to
Stone in throat, goosebumps
A frowning heart and palpitating breath,
That's fear, Jess. Meet it head on,
Stop crying on the train
Just cos it used to be a habit you had when you were with him,
Unfuck your heart and dress it again in hope,
Possibility and openness,
Do not let this fear claw into your now,
Crease your brow and buckle your knees,
Stop hyperventilating please.
Take a seat. Write some poetry,
You've had enough trouble for a while,
That bubbling feeling though confusing,
Is not butterflies but fear.
At the words of another dear,
You cower into your past behaviour,
Quick, apologise before you ruin everything again
In your careless being
Quick, take it back,
Rake your freckles off your skin,
To become more appealing,
Lower your eyes,
They speak on your behalf most of the time
And this shame is something no one wants to hear.

it's almost time to leave

The house where your ghost lives, 

And yours and yours and yours, 

And his, 

Ah fuck I've done it again. 

Loved without my own skin in the mix, 

Come out the other side bleeding 

Hissing, hurt and fit for anger management therapy, 

It's so easy to blame another for 

Provocation and meanness 

But isn't this how most wars start? 

Through retaliation? 

I suppose without it, it would simply be sin, 

But now, to my chagrin,  

I see we are both guilty, 

Both fit for repenting, 

So why then am I the only one on my knees

Tearing at my spinal column for another inch of freedom? 

Why did I try to give what cannot be given? 

A better past, shifting sands turned to concrete beneath your feet, 

My lungs to breathe, 

My heart to beat when yours turned to stone, 

Did I truly believe my worth to be nothing, 

A sacrifice laid at your creaking joints, 

And here I do it again and again, 

Let me tell you something then,  

I am worthy. I am healing. 

To focus so much of your being outwards means 

Losing too much weight, 

Losing too many friends, 

Calling yourself sane when your brain is barely hanging in there

Now my own mother cries when she sees me

For how I have destroyed the body she built, 

But it wasn't me!
I try and tell her, 

It wasn't me. 

It was the aggression of my loving, 

The depth of that loss, 

The cost of putting others first 

Meant I've lost my strength, my voice

My arse, my balance, 

My mind at times and my dreamscape, 

Once the only safe place. 

This, mama bear, I got from you, 

She always gave herself the worst cuts of chicken, 

Stretched herself thin to pay for meals 

For her children, 

Shut herself down to follow the life of her husband, 

Calls herself a former artist despite the burning passion she lives with 

And calls herself ugly for the wrinkles she's grown into. 

She doesn't even know she's this beautiful. 

That the power of love she has given sustained me and my family 

Through kidnappings, cancer, debt and destructions 

Always her warmth and hugs kept us in our skin

So says my auntie who thrived on these hugs

Through the death of her mother. 

My goodness, that is generosity. 

Sometimes misplaced, sometimes martyred, 

I'm left screaming at bent reflections, 

That I did not want this, 

Emptiness in my gut

I did not know this was the other side of love, 

I knew what I had before it was gone

But it goes anyway, 

Beyond any control or will of my own, 

Now what's left is my freezing Bones, 

Blue hands, a constant shiver 

And reprimanding phone calls, 

This anger has burned out, 

This loss is let go, 

My friends now ask if I've eaten, 

A question they never had to broach before

My therapist says kid, you've got the guilt

For something you did not do, 

Stop trying to make amends with those who won't forgive you

Just breathe, tell me what you need, 

Leave the rest up to this skygod you speak with, 

I am not maternal
nor do I wish to be,
there are other ways to be woman
that have less to do with caring for others
and more to do with creation
not to mention that if you equate female
with womb-using then
you're wrong and this poem isn't for you.

Its for the ones whose mothers are offended
by their choice to abstain,
though they witnessed every wrinkle of
terror, every shadow of pain
of mother's face,
it does not have to be the only way.

This is for the ones
who know they would be good mothers,
and don't need you to tell them,
the fact remains that just because you're good at it
doesn't mean you need to commit your life to it
otherwise
Tony Abbott would be a lawyer
and Tiger Woods would be a pornstar,
Paris Hilton would be a model
and the Daily Telegraph would be a firestarter.
I am good at anythign I put my mind to
but i'm not putting my mind to parenthood.

Before you call me selfish,
take a look in the mirror, friend
for what could be more selfish that you own desire
to extend your life through a miniature copy of
your and your wife?
Also, sidenote, how can I be selfish to a thing that doesnt exist yet
and just because you created my future in your head doesn't mean i'm going to live it.
So there.

I am not maternal, which is why i thought i was a lesbian,
still pretty convinced, when it seems to me
that hetero malarky is built on motherless men
who know not how to care for themselves,
do the washing, make the bed,
see the need for medicines and rest,
Need constant validation for their personal direction,
as well as motivation, love, understanding, trust,
and all the while, i'm sposed to do the washing up too?
Fuck you. That isn't love,
that's gender slavery and i'm not up for it
I told you, i'm not maternal,
so don't expect me to mother you mate,
I don't care if you're late to work,
you should have woken up earlier,
I don't care if you've lost your keys,
you should order yourself better
it's not my fault if you've forgotten to eat,
You're 34 years old
and i am not your mother.

grow.

And at the end of the day
what more can be done than what was done
when the bundling nerves and tripping-over-themselves
apologies are heard,
the reality of time passed and irretrievable opportunity
sits like a rotten fruit,
past its time
gathering flies
wallowing in its own juices,
staining the grout in between tiles with its heavy colour,
did you know kiwis bleed red
when past their prime?
Did you know that a lime
not realized in its greatest moments
shrivels into a smaller size,
turns yellow on the outside,
and gets saggy skin?

What kind of stagnation can humans survive in?
The reason we progress is not for capitalism,
and if it was, how do you explain artists,
who live on 50 cents a day just for the joy of
progression,
building skills over a lifetime to teach in a single lesson,
reaching for mastery in ten thousand hours
then producing sounds for bite sized listening,
a piece of purpose, an arrangement of decorated space.

it's not a race to the end with anyone but yourself
you can be no better or worse than anyone but yourself
in order for life to work, one must rely on one's self
change exists in the present moment,
rather than repeated convoluted pasts
so i implore you to stand up,
speak up,
admit your faults and ask for help,
reach for growth to better yourself,
and know that its about fulfillment, nought else.
Purpose, meaning and why-are-we-here
can be easily answered with a gentle evolution.
Do as your cells do, cleanse and renew,
reassess your opinions regularly
reach for solitude to realign your own magnitude
and scrub off the muddy rutted ways,
this is not quicksand, mate, it's bitumen,
Leaves scratches on you,
scars even, melt your feet in summer,
shimmer like illusion but rest assured,
if you push back
you will stand and move forward,
as your body is built to,
your muscles will evolve and grow into new spaces
as they are built to
and your mind won't find it so hard, this new part,
once you have already begun.

your dustmites and ripped frocks
haunt me still
despite the chill of a new winter
and the harsh winters passed
I follow a part of your hope
in my dreamscape
and sweep up the hailstones
that left dents in my car.

It's too late for that old story to end anew
it's too late to expect old bridges
to be maintained after the fire
when roasted toes ran quickly
when embers never let up
built heat slowly til the air
choked you,
left your lungs broken and your vocal chords
sore

i am not a perfect human nor is ours a perfect story
ripped to shreds with ego and pain
controlling love and love for disdain
I always try to scream love when it rains
but mostly it sounds like drowning.

Love is a chemical

Love is a wasteland of guilt
and cages rusted shut
No,
i can't help you out of your rut,
this is not your character,
this affect, attitude and mindset,
this racked rib is laid bare of heartbeats,
stupid little things fuelled by
chemical misunderstandings
I have been so young and so stupid for so long.

Love, is a chemical, nothing more.
It allows this race to pour more of itself
into itself,
perpetuate this chronic life disease and
procreate
I'm sorry I let you believe there was some magic in it,
and have i ever inspired you,
I apologise.

I truly believed in it too
but magic is a capitalist illusion,
just like music is a form of auditory wanking
painting is a mental illness
and poetry is pure narcissism,
it was wrong of me to give you false hope
and elevate such things to deities,
this rope around my neck speaks the truth
and love, well, its a social tool.

I am not love, nor do i know it.
I cannot show it or seek it,
without each step or character questioned,
each motive hastened to ulterior,
each heartbeat creaking with the weight of this
stone pissing blood,
these patched over bones,
growing crooked and skinny
this dull lamp that once was a star in my eyes
this pedestal, smashed to pieces
and the truth is a smug professor,
waggling his finger
saying i told you so.

For you, Stone.

There's only one person 
In the world who could make my 
Heart stutter with a happy tap dance
Knowing you were back from
One adventure or other,
I tethered my eyes to your skies
As promised,
And heard the rusty rack
Of the train's clickedy clack below,
Some souls moving on
And change becomes the daily rhythm
Ecstatic, you were written into my lyrics
When I'd wake and hear your happiness hum,
A low static vibration of peace and
My god we knew we were lucky.
You, bouncing out of your skin,
Pixie, belonging to a concrete forest,
I wish I'd had a chance to frolick with you,
To dooftown, to wonderland, fit for an alice
This lost world of freaks and open hearts would have been your calling,
You, of the zombie bop and stomping ruin,
Of arms slapping earth, a shattered breath and empty yearning,
You, of the lonely dial tone,
The held breath that you never finished,
The syncopated blood beat,
Draining into stumbling feet,
A muted mind stopped listening to music
For nine months
Til I recall the shaking of your bones
To breakbeats of inner beasts,
You gave your sins to the minions of
Movement,
Refused to take this life sitting down
You danced like the ground was your instrument and you, orchestral master,
Plucked my heart strings
Ever so delicately,
Play concertos with my poems
Lifted my nose up to the anti woes
In cumulus or in sunset,
My fret board's since been emptied,
My bass is out of tune,
The melody's off key and my soundcloud needs renewing,
There's a distant drum in the bush,
There's an echo in the hills,
Light flickers into harmony,
As shadow hits the windowsill,
Dugguda dugguda dugguda goes trance of my reeling mind,
Take comfort in the macro,
We all will die we all will die,
Tap out the words I'll see you again
Into the drying pavement
Mend this beatless heart with song,
Let go, move on, let go, move on.

Life Lessons

My body always grew before my mind,
and my spirit lagged behind an equal distance
three-quarters grown up by twenty six
with the final sprint a frantic climb
I feel eighty five, with the mind of a teen
and spirit of a child;
this last year I learned more
than all my time combined,
thanks to Professor Death
and Dr Depression,
anxiety meds and true confessions
there's lessons in life I wasn't expecting
so here's some without the side effects:

1. Death is a relief for the departed, and painful for the left behind. My fear of death now blessed with anticipation of warm welcomes at the other end. I imagine all the gone ones are friends now.

2. Love is like petrol, sets things on fire and gets cars moving; but we humans need our hearts checked, inspections done, tyres changed and driving lessons made to navigate this sea of damaged chassis, take responsibility for some crashes and get insurance for third parties to ensure we remain accountable for others we scratch. Also, too much fuel can be a bad thing, but no one ever tells you that.

3. Ask for help with your mental health - tell the judgement brigade to rain on someone else's parade, this shit isn't for attention.

4. Speak your truth and defend your perspective, put your hand up when you've failed and let your maker take care of the rest, just do your best.

5. Get a pet

6. Learn your sex and what you like most, this could be your best medicine and you don't know it yet. Sexual healing is real, and the doctor is your orgasm.

7. Stop asking permission for your vision for your life, there are those who would hold you down and those who would raise you high, aim for the latter, be ruthless in demanding your needs be met and get real with yourself when the magic ain't there. Get square with your childhood dreams even though it seems the world is pushing you to grow up.

For Aviel

We met in the spaces between 
Falling and reaching,
My first offer to melt your broken back with my fingers, 
Months later I would realise how 
Excruciating the feeling of oil on skin is for you,
But you never said a word
Except thank you. 
That very same weekend, 
the weather collapsed in on itself,
Iced dew on tents, a dangerous step to waking, 
And two frozen buddies seeking to find a warm heart, 
A burning conversation, 
a new hope in an old situation, 
redemption in opening up the bruised petal parts,
I knew from the start this was love, 
So we were covered in scratches and mud, 
Burnt memories and hugs, 
Bright sapphire eyes that lead lost sheep home in the night,
And a promise that this would not be given to the past. 
Fast forward two months, 
To our little home nest
Our little feathered son, a parrot called Icarus,
A backyard of sun, and each studio filled with art, 
An overflowing heart, 
A cynic whose open palms
Have melted my angry neck, 
A partner who stands up and defends my boundary line, back erect with pride, 
My lion man.
And me, allergic to cats, 
learning to embrace my sneezing, 
Soak up the sun, suck in this life
And lungs heaving
Give you my breath.

Guilty

Woken by the smallest monster, 
to a street choked in a bus' cough, 
i kick over remnants of doof in the gutter and hoof it to the train, 
late, 
hair splayed in many directions, 
shoes that are covered in bleach, and dancing
the scent of 200 hippies tickling my toes
but i'm happy.
The kind of happy that knows my Goddess is cheering,
where morning nooks and crannies in sleep-filled beds
are busy napping,
where the little monster sees me upside down and cackles,
wrestling a banana in his talon,
much like I wrestle my bag on,
blow a kiss to my dreaming self and
wish for a wealth more of this madness.
What a happy mess this life has become,
and i'm guilty, fingers covered in paint

The final photo you chose as
your profile picture on Facebook,
looks like you know you're leaving,
the image blurry,
Impatience to leave the frame and carry on
with your next adventure,
moving to the left,
looking toward some mysterious corner
of a room we never saw.

I have your videos saved on my computer
cannot yet bring myself to view them all
to see your shining captured in light,
you filmed almost every night,
your actions, thoughts, feelings for us
like you know we would need something to hang onto,
some measure to infiltrate our comforted lives,
to shake us awake to see those unforgiving skies
my god you were beautiful.

I will never know anyone like you,
except maybe your niece,
also named after you,
there is no way to know, whether she will live up to her namesake,
you have left us all some huge shoes to fill,
I don't know anything to say,
this is no longer a poem but a prayer
that if you can hear me,
if you can see this,
let me know you're there, sis,
Let me know you're there.

tick tock
wait for my heart to stop
a lifetime march toward
the end,
as you'd expect, lessened enthusiasm
come on in, I welcome the Numb
please wipe your feet,
step carefully
keep the muck outside and be careful
as you break off these nerve endings,
crush this perspective
tear every paper i've ever written on
into confetti and give it to the wind
let the deadening begin.

Seems like every day of my life
i've been told to sit down shut up,
quiet my heart, lessen my passion,
do what the others do,
fit into the crowd,
don't be so happy, don't be so sad,
don't have your feelings,
why are you so mad?

She must be fucking crazy,
most women are
Put her down, Yell at her,
put her in her place
and watch life fall from her face
life draining from her blood,
all she ever wanted was love and for this
she gets alienation.

So turn off the faucet of feeling
its never helped me anyway,
guilt, fear, shame, tears,
a daily hip-deep puddle to wade through
Turn off my passion to help you
my need for reciprocity
I need nothing but peace and quiet
I need you out of my life
I need support to help me
figure out why i have got it so wrong

Am I really so bad a person?
Don't I deserve affection?
Haven't I tried to love others in their despair
with every inch of my being,
its tearing me apart
and my reward a cold shoulder
for my own breaking heart.

For so long I sought permission
from your smile to practise my passions
before I realised
this relationship we have fashioned
is not equal, and
no, I do not answer to you,
nor should I doubt myself based on
your pieces of knowledge,
we have come from disparate places
will never see the same voyage.

For so long I have sought to elevate those around
Allow for more forms of abundance,
try for something more magic,
In some way, lift hope and art to deities
sew together fabric of light
acquaintance
but all in all it has left me with little patience
and less time to confess that
in this short life,
I intend to make a difference,
Stand on the green grass of the future breath
Let the haters hate and the healers rest
for now I've said my piece,
and there is truly nothing left,
so go ahead.
Let it all fall to the bed we have made together,
yes we.

And if you disgaree, I respect your need to do so
Don't be fooled though,
I'm not stuck on nostalgia for how it used to be
There have been cracks in the pavement since the beginning
And I refuse to fall between them.
I am no victim of circumstance, so
imagine then, what position I've been in
to willingly do away with some of these endings
Connections I've put years into,
everything from tears, blood, sweat and mud
And yet you believe I'm the opposite of love.

So here's the thing.
I'm done trying to convince you of anything,
or my intention, my purpose, why I write or sing,
I did so for the longest time,
Was left in bewildered lunacy,
and when dust settles,
Clarity beckons,
Making all kinds of common sense.

Here is my exhale, here are my closed eyes
We no longer see mind to mind, you and I
Too many bumps in the road to find our way to the sky,
so I stopped driving, stopped chasing,
stopped raking back my sense of self
to make room to let you in
Stopped doubting, stopping asking,
stopping blasting myself for every perceived offense,
For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction,
I'm no longer begging for you to be my friends,
how pathetic I must have seemed,
my apologies for the then times,
I've learned my lessons,
thank you professors,
This will never happen again.

I've run out of apologies for taking up this space
they've stopped meaning anything
my gracelessness awkward
bumbling against this muddy love
I want to peacefully put to rest
all i've given up
all who have given up on me
I've found my peace
wrapped in distant melancholy
heavy clouds with shiny linings
are still more beautiful to me
than dry skies
this clarity has blinded me,
pulled my eyebrows away from frowning
I left the drowning to the ants
as I move through this fog
of crowning thorns
and bleeding hearts
and through the darkness
i devote myself to the day.

for once
the sky fuller than
this pregnant earth
a tad sour,
hung with a whiff of last year
the decay of an idea
soil crumbles underfoot
wiped clean on fresh clippings
and old soot
i leave my mark
and mark my leave
as though the calendar cared
for Time
when she passed away

Grace Dreamer

It is in your softness and rounded view
that I fall, scabby knees, snotty nose
for all my
m a n y
failings
stripped-bare bones
storming mind
arguments with self
you see my reaching
the straightening of my spine
the desire to find divine skies
in mediocre days
the desire to try
better
in every way
you mirror my sanity
you pat me back into my skin

You see my anger as misplaced sadness
hug the sticky-taped bits back together
union of crafted character parts
and marvel at my flashing eyes
while I feel beguiled by your wiseness,
starstruck by your compassion
Fashion myself a pocket to
keep your advice close by
steady my bashing heart
smooth out my wrinkled cells
build myself a rocket fueled on
your overview,
rise above this madness
this broken heart
close open books for a time
stitch up my sleeves
with wine-soaked twine

thank you for this lifeline.

You, dreamer, of unimaginable grace
I see all the things I wish to be
reflected in your face
I see you extend a hand
to pull me up from the stirring mud
and grateful I accept,
your soft, peaceful, global view of love.

start again

I'll dust your footprints from my shoulders
blow the fingerprints from the floorboards
kick out the cockroaches,
wash up the webs and weeds
spring freshen up this home
freshen up this heart.

The lessons fly from all ways, and here
I say to myself,
draw a line in the sand,
back yourself because
those who mind don't matter
and those who matter don't mind
Dr Seuss leading me home
from my brain's goose chase
I've roamed too long on the edges of others affections
there are eggshells between my toes,
sticky; Summer is nearly over
and I haven't washed clean these freckles once
with the waving water.

It may be true that you, blessed creature,
do not have this perspective and I do not wish you to,
it has led me to the corner of the world,
under barren skies and empty meaning
I have damn near removed myself
pon gleaning information I would rather not have
heart stabbed again and again but this farcical existence
needn't be attached to you and your curls
I have work to do,
refuse to leave my passion to the bickering of the masses
so peacefully, i remove my heart
from this tango
let the cards fall as they may
forgive myself for this wealth of difficulty
and start fresh with gleaming skin

The clouds build up in the sky again
I remember what you were to me ; friend
embody these beauties I miss from you
and promise to never do it again,
bind myself to trailing ends of expectations,
and summertime friends
nor resent their shining ignorance
to the heaviness in my veins
simply let go of associations
etched into this broken brain
start again start again start again

For you.

its easy to proselytize about what love means
and green with envy for my former self
I look to you.

Once upon a time, I lost my mojo,
admitted it freely and apologised for not being happy
for not being a golden friend
for not being, for not being, for not being,
and you, dear woman,
gave me to the ends of the earth and back in time,
your love shined more brightly than my freezing
and you presented to me,
a small bottle of silver filings, with a sticker on the side saying
'Mojo'.

I found it, you said proudly, pushing it onto me
you said you lost it, but you're just useless sometimes
and you gotta let me help you find it,
when your mind is on darker things
and i swear in that moment, I
heard the ringing of the stars,
the transfer of light to heart
the end of these tunnels into white
and your face,
Your precious face is all kinds of right.

Is it true what they say of
splintered speech and raked veins?
That friends who paddle sunny waves
will shelter themselves in the rain
while I seek cover
from a few palm fronds,
lick the falling water and forgive myself
for whatever wrongs I have committed
these sunshine friends deliver me truths
and deliver me back to you.

You and your bottle of silver linings,
when my mind is filled with thunder,
and my fists are filled with despair,
these linings on my windowsill
these pieces of chance at my door,
I grip tightly,
Acknowledge this is as it is.
Moreso, I wish for your happiness,
I will defend your right to pain,
and whatever happens, sunshine or rain,
I am committed to dancing in wet shoes
with you,
to throwing away the umbrella,
screaming 'come at me' to this
inclement weather
because you,
you are what matters.