Poetry

Special Offers

How much would you pay for bottled love?

Hanging up on a market stall

like fairy lights, all twinkling away

in different colours.

 

Bright pink for that first crush, that first taste of romance.

Steady indigo for familial love, overriding all those arguments that ended in slammed doors and broken crockery.

Lush, meadow green for those best friends who have stood by you for years

and will do for many more,

possibly because they now know you too well for you to let them escape.

How about that deep crimson

for a person you wish to wake up to every day, forever?

 

The vendor rattles them all enthusiastically as you walk by,

making them dance about,

shouting about special offers for previous clients,

two for the price of one,

a complete returns policy if things don’t work out.

 

She dangles a handful of free samples in your face

and you can’t help but get caught up in the wonderful scent

of love

that threatens to stitch up all those wounds

forming your heart.

 

It’s tempting.

It is.

But it’s fake.

 

Manufactured for the vulnerable,

and I know you aren’t the type to buy into it.

Poetry

Bliss

Your eyes will tell me all I need to know;

they can ask the greatest question,

and give the most honest answer.

 

One concept merging with another,

taking the rough ore of the mind and smelting it

into a pure resonance of the feeling inside.

 

Then everyone else appears.

Cosmic balance has been thrown asunder — they casually waltz into this space,

shattering, roaring like an ocean, waves crashing hard.

Up goes your invisible barrier, concealing

my best friend.

 

But I remember

falling asleep to your heartbeat

pulsing against my ear.

 

I know you’ll always let me in.

You gave me a key after all.

And as our fingers link, those emotions you keep contained

can finally be set free.

 

Like you’ve done for me,

I’ll squeeze the bad thoughts away

so that you can be cheerful again.

Poetry

Winded

Life can wind you even when you’re already struggling to breathe.

A sour taint that has you reaching for the super glue

to try and stick yourself back together,

though at first you hesitate, the thought that this is your fault

and not just something that’s been hiding in secret for a long time

waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike

staying your hand.

 

But the breath you’re seeking will returnĀ and fill your lungs to full capacity

with fresh, clean air

and not the toxic fumes you’ve been inhaling for so long.

Your beaten self will revive and flourish

in ways you never knew it could.

You just need time.