Your assumptions of who I am, what I am and why I am the way I am, have nothing to do with me. You want answers ask more questions and be satisfied with what you get or fuck off entirely.
Distance Is not a factor. Closeness Has no correlation to initmacy. Kilometres from kin– Irrelevant. You are simply Filled with excuses Not to see me.
I’ve started exercising again. I know, I know. I hate New Years and it’s new yous, but this isn’t like that. I’m just trying to move around more, y’know, to get the blood flowing, get some strength and tone my legs. I used to run on the treadmill at the gym, remember? I’d watch the…
I’m so sick of hating my body. It’s so much work. This constant fixation on things that are too big or too small or too loose. It’s exhausting. I’m sick of comparing myself to Instagram influencers and curvy celebs. I’m tired of counting spoonfuls and tracking steps. Leave me the fuck alone. Let my jiggly…
We fall back into old routines With the same affection and uncertainty. Forgetful, Distracted by the lure of love; Behind our eyes, A dozen unanswered questions.
Oblong and oolong Orange leaves Whither in winter’s wake.
Speak them into existence And they will haunt the air. Ghouls or goals? Your tongue is a sharp thing, A pointed wand, and All words are magic, So think before you speak.
Coconut shells Glazed Glided in gold Given in goodbyes. Etched Their lacquered depths And chipped edges Reflect your clumsy hand Your dry humour. Somewhere Bundled and bound In the abyss called closet Are my letters. There Pages peppered My wit, the quick whip Of my tongue, temper flaring Deep, down, the dark depths Hidden Between…
Pylons, The honeybees of a developing city Over flowerbeds and bike racks Making way for city plots and Parking lots, and 40 storeys– Tales tales Which wake us in the Early morning Cracked concrete and reversal beeps. Playgrounds removed And replaced, Children displaced, Our rent rising As old homes fall.
Hopeless romantics Cling to connection Like baguettes and bike rides, or Late nights laying in the park– Gazing golly and glee– The stars tell stories To the eyes that gaze upon them.