yesterday I made a zine

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turmoil.
(n.) a state of great disturbance, confusion, or uncertainty.

Cover: Turmoil – of & by maggy

Page 1: “When the sun comes out – but the clouds / stick to stray lashes / and all she sees is rain.”

Page 2: “There’s a wrenching pull / back of my head, / slur and babble / asks if anyone noticed / no. yes, / if not, why not.”

Page 3: “No occupation: all men idle, all, / And women too, but innocent and pure.”


So this was a 3am project & more about remixing other people’s art than creating my own but it was really rewarding all the same.

After all, it is so important to take some time to recharge by finding inspiration in the beautiful things that already exist.

Continue reading “yesterday I made a zine”

before sleep comes

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Image courtesy of: StudioUndertheMoon

do you ever lose yourself
when the night breaks to day?

and sullen silence is stained by white noise
but the darkness remains, caught in the ridges
of your molars as you grind down life
into ingestible inches of time.

there’s these sticky, murky thoughts
stuck behind the tongue and you’re not sure
if they’re even yours, head pounding
from all the muddled drinks
and puddled tears, you feel your heart
ache for someone you have yet to meet
and might never know, maybe that’s
for the best because the ones that get close
tire of how you dwell over the same mistakes
day and day again, the wayward words
carried by the wind litter barren streets with bro-
ken signs, nobody bothers to listen.

too many already dance in our heads,
hallow skull but a crowded stage,
no space for new thought or moving on,
only screaming matches against ourselves,
stubborn anthems against unmovable fate,
I don’t know if I’m starting to lose voice
or mind, I think by the time both go,
it will time to close my eyes.

People I noticed: 2017

A:

wild curls, soft eyes.
strong hands, gentle smile.
like light rain on a sunny day,
or childhood games and daisy chains.

– for M

B:

her eyeliner could slice
through my confidence
like I was a paper lion,
gawking at the sun,
casting shadows of doubt
onto fragile mind.

and I can’t fault her
for those pretty little
knives, throw my
shredded words up
into the sky –
you scare me,
but my heart,
mistakes these
palpitations as love.

for A

C:

clean neck and moon shaped eyes,
hollow bones and sharp black lines.
ticking, clicking midnight lights,
hazy moments frozen in white.

she strums silence into lullabies,
unravels kindness from fingertips
and sends them up to the skies.
a fluid beauty glowing in the
frozen winter nights.

– for D

20 January

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Image courtesy of: Hideyoshi

I could hear in his voice
the conviction of youth
and I wonder if mine
was wasted on a fool
who has chewed down flesh
and bone to leave a terrined-heart
dished out, cold.

Do boys like to wear suits and
swirl wine, slice through
boundaries like butter
because they think that anything
in the world can be bought by paper,
and if not, they’ll burn
it down instead?

They wear metal on wrist
and hold metal in hand,
thinking they were born
as natural protagonists, except
sometimes forests are not yours
to cut down or even explore,
who gave you permission
to scale these walls?
she was never yours to save.

Now, I’m not saying women
are any better at sorting through
this tangled ball of fate and quick
mistakes, but I have always envied
the rain for how it melts into waterfalls
and I could always trust the ocean
to cleanse any small cut or graze.

she feels safe,
maybe soon the hesitation
will fade.

Continue reading “20 January”

absurday

 

 

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she,
slots symposiums in envelopes
that she never sends.

he,
has fingers that shiver with reconnaissance
but uses them to play the violin instead.

they,
make drunken contact, share
evaporated kisses and a temporary
osmosis of the soul. 

swimming in the lacuna
of disillusioned love
feels more like drowning than release.
they,
emerge from the dream
covered in crushed
butterfly wings.

Continue reading “absurday”

Goner (Renga)

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Grubby faced player,
toy car takes tree root race track,
ancient magpie gaze.

A stolen swoop of fortune
and changed race track game now played.

Rules lost in the clouds,
the wheels or magpie screeches,
into golden rays.
Continue reading “Goner (Renga)”

here I lie

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Image courtesy of: Qinni 

when was the last time
I cried?

maybe that is why
words no longer roll off
my impatient tongue
and spill across blank pages
like sunlight adorned with
the oddities of a kaleidoscopic heart.

Instead, I am drowning in debris,
shattered glass and cheap neon beads,
mirror shards reflect my inability

to colour these heavy, broken dreams.

Continue reading “here I lie”

the empresses’ borrowed robes

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Photography: Flowerfolio

her footsteps echo through
another nameless tunnel
in this concrete maze,
all the lost ones, left searching.

the train rumbles above
towards its destination,
as inevitability echoes around
the thought of destiny, it ricochets
in her shaking fingertips
passing through flesh, bubbling blood
sinking into brittle bone but doesn’t quite
pierce the soul, she is so afraid of others
but also the dark, of herself,
and of death, leaving no mark.

nobody is born a voyeur
but life told her she is not a voyager –
so what else can she do but
wrap the strands of strange,
perfect lives around her like
golden silks embedded with ruby stories
pretend to be the empress in her
borrowed robes, she quietens the child
who wants to shatter these delusions,
and let the rainbow light
dance off her skeletons  –
what to be when waking
feels like being asleep,
nothing to see but these false
and wonderful dreams.

villanelle in the sky

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I have always wanted to fly,
but the sun burns sickly bright,
and I am much too scared to die.

Don’t we all dream of blessed light,
shadowed by wings unfolded up high?
Aren’t we all born wanting to fly?

But mother gifted feathers not fit for the sky,
and life-altering wax is too hard to find,
eyes on the ground, too scared to die.

Then the storm hit in the dark of the night,
the winds did scream and clouds did cry,
heaven is just as absurd as wanting to fly.

Alas, no time to dwell on man-made lies,
eyes straight ahead, forget the idealised,
it does not matter if we want to fly,
life is wasted on being too scared to live or die.