Have you ever felt
like a doorstop?
A heavy weight,
waiting to be needed?

Have you ever felt
like nobody would notice,
if the door slammed shut,
if you were not there?

Have you ever felt
like a ***** window?
An irritation,
that nothing gets done about?

Have you ever felt
like people would be happier,
if they had no windows,
if they could not see you?

Have you ever felt
like a pair of old trainers?
A useful object,
but not worth admiring?

Have you ever felt
like it would be easier,
if they threw the trainers out,
if they could rest again?

Have you ever felt
like a broken pencil?
A piece of litter,
waiting to be sharpened?

Have you ever felt
like you’re beginning to wonder,
if they are ever going to sharpen you,
if you were ever sharp enough?

Have you ever felt
like it’s too hard to even ask,
if anyone will come back,
if anyone even notices you fade?

I hope somebody else has.

Veins that branch up to the arches,
sun that rises, comes down, and parches.

It is mighty, it is strong,
it has been here all along.
The arms shield, the legs stand firm.
From tallest human to smallest worm,
it rises above and shields us all,
yet we hardly ever notice it, at all.

It is playful, it is kind,
it helps soothe our hearts and minds.
The fingers tickle, tease, and fright -  
letting in the dappled light.
It sees us laughing as we play,
it entertains us, day after day.

It is noble, it is wise,
it has seen so many lives.
The body will shelter and explore,
we couldn’t really ask for more.
It braves the truths and grows despite,
living through the darkest nights.

I cannot help but admire,
the trees – of their company, I’ll never tire.

walking on a tightrope
day in and out
and I ask myself
‘what are you afraid of?’
but I don’t answer
because I’m afraid of it
one foot
in front
of the other
constant fear
that I am going to
**** this up
the way I always do
it doesn’t take a lot
to topple me off this tightrope
I was barely on it anyway
and I’m so tired of falling
time and time again
I promise myself it’s over
no more tightrope
stay on the ground
where it’s safe
but something compels me
to get back on
like I’m a circus animal
it’s well worth a laugh
to an outsider
at least
I come to fear the tightrope
more than the reason for it
I want to hate the tightrope
so I do
without wondering why
and it destroys me
it only takes one step
to end my time up here
and there is a cruel pleasure in the pain of the fall
hurt myself
before somebody else can
stop trying
a tempting siren
but I know
that I’ll have to get back up
over and over
one foot
in front
of the other
in front
of
the
other
and I’m so tired
I never want to walk
the tightrope
again.

It is only at night that the fairies come.
Scattering petals,
with imagined promises.
Clouds of sleep waft through the air.
Breathing dreams,
that have gone stagnant and stale.

For it is our greatest fear.
Taking control,
of our solitary fate.
So instead we plead the fairies.
Passing tasks,
to our mirages of hope.

We are brought in as children.
Whispering words,
at clock faces and night stars.
Told, ‘everything happens for a reason’.
Crying tears,
but 'it’s not our fault'.

As we grow older, we find out the truth.
Learning facts,
about the way that we live.
So what’s left of us?
Throwing dreams,
to a paradise made of plastic.

Yet we all stay in line.
Obeying orders,
and wishing for better.
One day we’ll realise, with
sickening dread.
Nobody is coming to save us.

It is only at night that the fairies come.
Destroying ambitions,
as we encourage them.
And what do they leave behind?
Deserting favours.
Taking off their magic wings.

Left as shells of who we could be.
Following, mindless.
Forgetting, almost, that we are alive.
We wait forever, living only in death.
Needing change,
but begging the fairies. And doing nothing.

“In silence.” I say,
“In silence” I say, “we speak.”
No words need float between us.
Hopes hover, our secrets to keep.

Breaths trickle, heartbeats thunder,
But words remain withheld,
The beginnings of thoughts,
At our lips quelled.

Paper shields hang between us,
Halting our speeches.
We move them aside with gentle kisses,
As quiet as solitary preachers.

Fingers on lips,
Our eyes smile.
A flower of silence blooms between us,
Thinking not speaking, all the while.

“In silence.” I say,
“In silence we speak.”