once upon a time
she hardly remembers,
the girl with tumble weed hair
and rose petal lips
was not afraid of heartbreak.
she kept her head held high
so she could learn
from birds in the sky
how to gently unfurl
the delicate wings encasing
a heart three-sizes too big
for her hope-filled chest
watch her as she breathes in
the meadow-scented winds.
what of hope
but empty promises
if you do not
dream of dandelion fields
and look for four-leaf clovers
in pavement cracks
sometimes?
(even though you’ve never seen one)
what of ambition
but unbridled fantasies
if you do not
bellow your wild ideas
to the skies?
(the ones that make
the earth tremble and the seas part way)
what of love
but heartbreaks and mistakes
if you do not
try to swallow it
but find its fluttery wings
tickling the pit of your stomach
leaving feathers on your tongue
when you least expect it to?
(the 2am I miss yous
and 2.05am tinder convos
tastes strangely like vodka)
all paper skin
and glass bones,
directionless,
trying to find home,
do not give up
just yet.
join me
in the search for solace
in tomorrow’s sunlight.
let us
reel in untethered minds
and remind ourselves that
we are seperate
from shadows of the past
and that there is always something more
to look forwards to.
“being bodies that learn language thereby becoming wordings, humans are the symbol-making, symbol-using, symbol-misusing animal, inventor of the negative, separated from our natural condition by instruments of our own making, goaded by the spirit of hierarchy acquiring foreknowledge of death and rotten with perfection.” – Kenneth Burke on what it is to be human
we are all flesh and no soul built weak dreaming of going to sea so the waves may wash away the minutiae not so we can ‘find ourselves’ but to just be ourselves won’t you join me, before the beckoning of the earth takes hold?
you see, the ocean is no place to venture alone I’ll need you to be there to steer, paddle or shout – “Land Ahoy!” as you run about distracting us from the starless nights when we can’t help but wonder if the moon pulls the tides of fate or if we’ll have to find our own way in this cold and empty place
unfortunately, even those at sea fear inevitability that, my love, includes you and me one day the monsters will drag us to the murky depths of abyss but right now our fragile bones are overcome by the silent song of the salt-stained breeze they move because they know the music of life and you are enough of an excuse for another night on this rickety boat even though we’re scared? we’re here
it was 491 days later before something shifted in the atmosphere rolling eyes and loud sighs displaced indestructible sea floors sharp tongues like whips cut masts of pride torrents of heavy words sunk ships and a tsunami of sky-high idealisations couldn’t hide the realisation that it hurts to love with a washed up heart darling, it was your voice, not the endless, breathless siren’s song that reminded me both the ocean and tears were not as beautiful as I imagined I suppose adventures don’t make for smooth sailing but look, the sun is rising and if you still dare to brave the scorching days and relentless rain
won’t you please
kiss my bruises away and hold me when phantom pain haunts the moon-lit night?
the waves are calling,
let’s not keep the ocean waiting.
once upon a time, caterpillar thoughts crawled over restless minds stirring paper leaves into a story about a life that did not blend into the trees
sunlight streamed on her face
and she started to believe
maybe…
yet in the company of others
she felt herself
trapped in the same routine
chewing over unspoken words cocooning beautiful thoughts into regurgitated strings of anxiety drinking 6 bottles of vodka cruisers to drown her palpitating heart from fluttering between not giving a fuck and caring too much
she found herself stuck
but
something was different today
her nightmare-filled breaths held the faint perfume of waterlogged wings from trembling lips and strained smile she spilled a kaleidoscope of butterfly corpses. hope-blotted wings no longer flitted through hazy memories
spinning a fantasy
where she could be happy
the sun hid behind the clouds
for the plot did not twist
she should have known metamorphosis does not occur in reality.
definition: a lyric poem, typically one in the form of an address to a particular subject, written in varied or irregular metre (a classical poem of a kind originally meant to be sung)
Mayflies.
Mayflies spend a year awaiting their birth, and then most die after living just one day. Their sole purpose is to pass on their genes.
we all are born bright eyed like mayflies on a linear path to our own demise no purpose but to
die
but that doesn’t mean we won’t try find meaning to a short lived life no time to cry fly towards the light quickly, before – good night.
Leaves.
if my hope for humanity had to be stored somewhere I would place it in a seed planted into the palms of lovers entwined love grows a giant oak tree
eve’s apple
bleeds humanity
yet I see some leaves are caressed by the sun while others f
a
l
l silently littering roadsides, trampled over, so carelessly even though the shared roots suggest we are all children from the same family tree