Poetry

Deal?

I never want you       to be anything less

than yourself around me       let yourself out fully, don’t       hold back

no matter what       tell me anything

bounce ideas off me like I’m a squash court

same with emotions: let them       out

laugh, cry, be low, be high

show me the darkness       show me the light

anything that’s on your mind, anything at all

I will always be a net to hold the rawest parts of you

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Poetry

Trauma

it’s a shadow in my brain

a lurking, creeping, whispering thing

that doesn’t shy from light

but swallows it

if I do nothing

if I do nothing

if I do nothing

it will block me in. block, block, block

if I step into it, let it feed off me

and find my blood is its poison

my pulse is its poison

my heart is its poison. beat, beat, beat

it will shrivel up

and become nothing more than a stamp-sized portrait

reminding me that it rules

no longer

a memo note

it happened, it happened

but still I can stride

 

Poetry

Peach Stone

1.

Inside, it’s cold. The density

causes ice to vomit from my mouth,

fingernails blue up to the cuticles.

If I were to examine my chest,

open my flesh and push apart my ribs,

would I see a ball of obsidian

or a fleshy, ripe peach?

 

2.

With you, the limbs of the tree are always

bent with fruit

no matter if the middle of winter

grasps at its bark. Soft, plump, nourishing.

I can always pick how much I want,

cook it up and make sweet crumble

to warm our bellies.

 

 

Poetry

Silhouette in water

I can’t inhale the salt anymore,

I’ve become immune to it.

The course crystals on my tongue

might be grains of sand, fragments of places

history has long forgotten.

They’ve found me, and I am alive.

So they are alive.

The faces in the ocean, bloated, pale,

give me envious looks.

I chose to swim away on my own,

they chose to stay.

Refused the fresh air

so they could mingle, lungs full

of false laughter and smoke.

Mine are clean.

Poetry

Shards

It’s all up in the air,

setting the places on an already cluttered chess board

and there’s no time to

 

let’s try it again,

how many times can a game

be taken back to the last save

before it

 

the mirror was kept so highly polished

no-one noticed

the hairline cracks until

 

a bright tartan dustpan collects it

and glues it back together.

Not seamlessly: the past happened,

it wasn’t reversed.

But now the mirror reflects exactly,

as it always yearned to.

 

Poetry

I am your mirror and you are mine.

I could go on about how it was a glimpse

of some things I didn’t imagine.

My brain still turning

despite the gears being clogged.

 

You made a box for me.

Hidden compartments, secret codes,

a smile, that does glisten,

an endless stream of patter,

a bond stronger

than papers and regulation.

 

Cradle it. 

Cradle it.

Cradle it.

 

I know the answer, what

all the decisions have led to:

different ends

of a spectrum but closer

than anything.