Poetry

Tree smiths

The elves slipped quietly into the girl’s dreams,

carefully tending to the seedling of her imagination

before adulthood sprayed it with weedkiller.

‘Grow strong,’ they whispered to it, ‘into a mighty

tree that will only expand as the years pass,

never withering even with extreme age.’

And then they bowed to it and each other,

before drifting out to find the next child

threatened by the corsets of society and peers.

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Poetry

Tightrope walking

I take a cup of water and shake it up like dice on a gambling table,

throwing it out to watch it splash down on the invisible webs

plucking as my eyes, at my hands, at my will.

The droplets reveal them, more than I knew there were

(though I had suspicions), stretching far back into the past

where I thought it didn’t matter anymore.

But it seems that though the spiders have long since died,

their silk is as strong as it ever was, and has bound me

more tight than I can bear.

I have nothing that can cut them, so I must work to unravel them instead.

I don’t know how much time it will take. It doesn’t matter,

as long as I make sure to live along the way.

Poetry

Forgive

Forgive the way I find it uncomfortable to be around people,

forgive the way I dress, comfortable loose t-shirts and harem pants,

forgive the fact I don’t wax, shaving my legs only when I feel,

forgive my inability to be okay with strangers touching me,

forgive my blunt nature, stating what I think,

forgive my lack of make-up, wearing just my face,

forgive me for not understanding ‘obvious’ directions,

forgive me for not getting your witty jokes,

forgive me from stepping aside when you get too close,

forgive me for being me, acting ‘separate’ or ‘aloof’.

 

Wait.

No, not forgive.

Accept.

 

Accept me, you shit.

Poetry

Lip Locked

Considering all the words I have in my head, all the thoughts, opinions, the attitudes that make me me, why, when I have chance to open my mouth, does the flow of my mind run dry?

Why can’t I be the one to argue a point and deliver a message succinctly? Why do I stutter and stare, fighting against my very self just to say something simple, or think in a straightforward way, before my answers stumble, scattered, from my lips?

Why? Why? Why do I need to justify myself to myself? Justify the way that I am? Why does it matter if I can’t verbalise my thoughts, when I can with paper and pen?

Poetry

Watering can

After all the hours of pin-pointed work, no end in sight of the path,

I can’t help but dream and long for the touch of a hot, comforting bath.

 

To soak up all my sour maturity, ease out my twisted frowns,

wriggle out of my seriousness and stay awake, lest I accidentally drown.

 

Eternity in such a healing pool might prune my fingers and toes,

but I can say, without a shadow of doubt, that I’m no delicate rose.

Poetry

Midnight dream

This time the dancing bears circle around the sun,

while the stags haunt the moon,

fleeing from the horns of the wild hunt.

The air shatters, clouds move in like ships

coming into port; great hulking cargos

unloading the spirits who holiday

so gaily, submerged under the bath of stars.

Poetry

Little demon

There’s a snide gremlin in my head.

Picking up my faults, saying the stars will never greet me,

the oceans never rise to meet me,

nor the clouds ever offer to carry me up

to kiss the moon.

When it drones on and on, pulling and twisting

every nerve in my body to get a reaction,

I swear at it and plough on with my day.

It won’t bring me down.