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Here's a little collection of my favourite poems that I've written so far. They're depressing, empowering and maybe makes you feel a little gooey. We love a little gooey.
Drunken Hypocrisy
All it takes is a drunken mind to change a man.
Indifferent, unknowing, yet aware of your actions
Do you love to hurt me?
Drunk you loves to love me.
What happens when you repossess your conscience?
Do you lose your heart when you regain your mind?
(Pastel Shorts)
Just Right
I have been searching, for a long time, for the perfect one.
The first was too fierce, scalding my tongue with his fiery words till rendered a blistery silence.
The second too cold, freezing my heart and my head with his chilling silence and icy spirit.
The third too hardened, unfeeling and unwilling to open his heart. I left before I shattered myself into speckles of jaded splinters.
The fourth too soft, too untouched by the world that I crushed his fortress of innocence.
I now return home, from my failed adventure, to seek refuge in the one place that was always just right: with myself, a warm bowl of porridge and the most comfortable bed.
(Fairytales)
Would You?
Would you love me? If I gave you the world, kissed you and cared for you in your darkest times? If I never left your side no matter how you shunned me, if I loved you unconditionally? What if I gave you my heart, what if I gave you my life?
What if I shunned you, never gave you the time of day? What if I made you beg for my love and treated you as dirt all the same? What if I made false promises, and lied to you day after day? What if I slowly suffocated your heart, would you love me then?
(Musings)
Reality
I often find myself lost in a fantasy, trapped in a world of problems I can face and solve with just a sentence I rewrote in my head until it was perfect.
That’s why we read and watch art that transports us to magical worlds beyond. Because it’s fiction, it’s written, there’s a solution and an escape. A happy ending because our own world never has one.
So what happens when I am forced back into my own skin? When I am no longer an elf or a viking or simply me in a better world?
Who do I become? Who do I fear?
Do I fear the oppressors, whom I have been taught to stand up to? Do I fear the evil that I was taught not to become?
Or do I fear myself, whom I have no control over? The one who cannot fix a problem with a script. The one whose fear rules their life so much so that she hides away in her stories?
Who am I to be the hero of my tale when I cower from the story I was born into?
To be a leader, a hero, someone who gave a shit and did something about it, how can I become the one who I always dreamed to be?
Fuck fear. It’s time to be real.
(Musings)
Buttercup Bravery
The wind told her secrets of undiscovered worlds painted with rose thorns and buttercups.
It stirred within her the oceans of her soul and aroused the fire of her heart.
She ventured into the night with her broken sword as she searched for the danger she craved.
And she found it, lurking in the streetlight – a danger only she could brave.
(Pastel Shorts)
Looks
I looked in the mirror and saw my flawed mind in a body that was nothing but flesh. I looked in the camera and saw the same mind, but in a body of numbers and hearts.
(Pastel Shorts)
Sunset Murial
Do you see the colours?
How they fade into each other?
The pinks and blues melting into lavender?
Or how the gold peaks through
the various hues
of white and grey and blue?
When the green of the ocean
joins the orange of sun
and ripples along the water?
When the light of the sunset
reflects in your eyes
as we sit here in forever?
When the day says goodnight
and the stars shine bright
and the wind whispers in your ears
The promise of unity
with our hands intertwined
and our hearts remembering
the colour of time
when the day turns to night
right before our eyes
and our lips are frozen with smiles.
(Musings)
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