Categories
Poetry

She Would

If she could hold the world with all her heart.

If she could soften the growls of the wildest of them,

she would.

Oh, she would.

Oh, she would.

Categories
Poetry

Only And Always

The wind cannot be caught.

It cannot be moulded to perfection,

scraped and gutted

and made to be something other than

what it is.

The wind is only, and always, the wind.

And you

are only

and always

you.

Flow as you will.

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Categories
Poetry

Like I am

Deep within my heart

there is a river, raging on.

And I ask this river to be careful.

‘I am fragile,’ I say, on the softest breath.

‘Sway me,

always,

never to rush me,

never demand.

Hold me carefully, river.

Hold me carefully,

I am not like the others

made of brick and bone

and steel.

I am only like I am.

I am only like I am.

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Categories
Life

Insomnia

I lay in bed last night, at 4am, thinking of the tortured artist, thing.

We feel so deeply, us creative folk, and therefore, we capture the world in its fullest expression.

Which is beautiful. Really, ice-shatteringly beautiful.

But we are often not understood, at best. And at worst…we are grossly misunderstood, usually by the logically minded folk of the world, who do not (perhaps cannot) see the world the way we do.

Sometimes we are judged as weak, overly sensitive; irresponsible, messy. A lonely human, this does make, at times.

A lonely human this does make, at times.

I remember sitting at my piano as a nineteen year old, feeling the world in all its depth; the beauty of the autumn leaves outside the window, a huge comfort as I sat and wondered about my place in the world.

These creative eyes.

They make everything a little more beautiful. A little more horrible. A little more alive.

I’m grateful, for them, I am.

I’d imagine all the tortured artists out there were grateful, even the ones who battled to a sometimes tragic end.

Misunderstood, they were, and a little bit lonely, maybe.

A little bit scared of the depths that dragged them beneath the surface, on occasion, maybe.

Especially at 4am, and the very next day.

Photo by Anthony Shkraba on Pexels.com
Categories
Poetry

Together, Alone

In the lonely hours

they cry for their humanity.

For the lost past,

for the uncertain present

they wander lost.

Together,

alone.

Categories
Poetry

Cookie

Wondering about that second cookie.

It exists, should I eat it?

If I eat it, it will still be all it was

before I gobbled it down.

New shape.

Different texture.

Same ingredients, same everything else.

Should I eat the cookie?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Maybe.

Categories
Poetry

To Escape

But if you only have eyes

for the way you think life

should

be,

then surely you are forgetting

to live.

To truly live.

As you are.

In this moment, this

version of life that you

so desperately wish

to escape.

Categories
Poetry

Sleep

If sleep could touch my cheek,

I would ask for her slender hand

a thousand times.

If sleep did fall upon me now,

I dare not wake.

No.

I dare…not…

Categories
Poetry

Clear Air

One day,

she sits alone,

and understands it all.

That she’s never been alone.

That all this time

their pain has lived within her,

pain she never asked for,

pain that is not hers to bear.

Clear air is what she knows she is,

not charcoal-grey squalls,

nor black-rimmed mud.

A heavy reality,

a scared, scared world

drowns her in the darkness

of humanity’s shadow.

Until she removes the soot

and clears the air

once again.

Categories
Poetry

My Own Peace

Some days,

I take a deep breath

and ask the world to soften.

The world never does soften.

So I fall behind its wind,

and I find my own

peace.