Life is here,
Then it's not,
One small portion of time,
It's all we've got.
You find things you like,
People too,
I found you.
No second chances,
No time to make up lost dances,
Or even a simple second,
To appreciate what you have.
I blinked,
Then October turned to spring,
Easter flowers came just in time this year,
I can only give them 86 more chances,
To reappear.

I may be patient, but nothing close to love sick –
Mind my twisted thoughts, to the twist of my hand;
The handy character, still carrying their tender wrist –

My heart beats true, to the beat of being so tender –
But it’s so hard, learning to love those I long to hate,
And I always ask myself, “can I really do all of this”

Yet, I don’t expect the purest of love from a heart –
A wicked place; a hollow that can pompously say,
“I love you,” with deceitful lips.

Actions speak louder than words; as your actions
All carry their own intentions, that you choose not
To whisper them all – only the heart knows!

There no such thing,
As a bad poem –

It’s merely a spectrum
Of Preferences.

my thoughts are not the
manifestation of a
universe amen

The Mind Olympics – thoughts going round
and round my once-stable mental state –
Where I transitioned from a season of declaring,
“I can cope with anything,” to now saying,
"I need anything to help me cope."

I am like a pristine canvas, pure and white;
yet, the moment a single black spot appears,
the harmony is shattered.

As the vibrant colours in my eyes fade away,
I find myself painted with the stain of hollow
anguish – empty victories fill my grasp, yet they
only amplify the weight of my own suffering.

Mental health is no laughing matter;
yet, in a cruel twist of irony, I find myself chuckling
at the absurdity of believing I am the sole bearer
of such heavy thoughts. All I yearn for, is someone
to truly listen to the whispers of my heart.

Can we please talk?

Desire has its fingers in every single fold of my being.
Yearning for the relief of connection
that brings me down to my knees
in front of my own femininity; the temple of my womanhood.

War is over.
The men can come home to their wives.
Who held their breath,
counting the hours like prayers
awaiting their arrival.

I want a love I’ve waited lifetimes for.
A love that stretches thick among the stars.
I want to touch every crooked fold in your being
imprint a sliver of my light on your darkness.
You hold your heater in my defense.
ready to black the sky on those who attempt to dim my light.

I’m built to consume, to ravage.
It’s in my destiny to be reborn by something delicate as a kiss.
Shall I always want more?
Like the kidnapping of my heart

As if, it was never mine.

the precision of a shooting star
cuts capricorn from horn and hoof
unscabbard moon left half ajar
the surgeons light on retrograde roof

unspooling stitchings from toe to tooth
they seemed less loose from where we are
unzipping zodiacs with exsecting truth
black blood pooling in gods back yard

Tell me what is it like to close my eyes
against the brilliance of your smile,
Yet I still feel it’s warmth on my skin?
Like a breath held in full anticipation,
I can’t wait to take you in, before letting
you out; just to find my natural peace.

Those intense stares, sending shivers
down my spine, walking round the corners
of uncertainty within me – you remind me
Of a picture of glass stairs, that leads straight
to your heart; yet each step must be taken with
the utmost caution– you are delicately beautiful.

Each dawn, I find myself quietly haunted
by the memory of your tender caress,
The remnants of yesterday’s air infused
with your essence, drifting into the promise
Of tomorrow – I wonder at which moment you
will unveil your love for me, as one might
delicately pluck the petals of a flower.

“She loves me, she loves me not…”
I am still unravelling that enigma.

But if I cannot place my faith in love,
how can I trust in myself?

But you can’t spell the word Love
without experiencing an L, pursing it.

As we adorn our hearts with L plates;
forever students in the school of love.

Every first kiss is like a cup of yeast;
raising our hopes for what is to come.

Yet, to yearn for more while offering
less in a relationship, is merely a recipe
for disappointment – a yeast infection.

There’s an imbalance when it comes to
your love life…