Category: Poetry
-
Hopelessly Hopeful
I think my problem is I’ve learnt to carry so much hope.Where once I turned to different thoughts less pleasant just to cope, I made a fundamental change in how I view my life. An ending I would like and not decided by a knife. And choosing that was harder, yes, but also brighter too;I thought…
-
Compulsion
I close the window on myself before I break my gaze,Cut short the first and only breath of air I’ve had in days. What is this thing that moves my hand instinctively ahead,This foreign arm that reaches in to cut my single thread Of lonely twine I’d woven with the hope of sewing shutThe ever…
-
Selfish Dream
I thought that if I took the time to focus on myself,To take a step back off the ledge and focus on my health, That surely now with time again to pause, to breathe, to think –I’d see that life has more for me than living on the brink. That maybe, if I took this…
-
When at Best We Die
I open my hands,To reach for sincerity,But find only barbs. We go to others;Hoping, praying, begging, please –The line disconnects. Just keep faith, they say,But trusting faith never works.Breathe in. Breathe out. Stop. The world only takes.It rewards the worst of us.I hate my landlord. I hate far too much.I carry this bile in me,I…
-
Toys
I try to find the words to say but nothing comes to mind.Or should I say more honestly that words feel ill-defined When used as blunted tools to try and exorcise the noise, I feel just like a child again equipped with only toys. Except my toys are older now and missing half the parts. How foolish,…
-
Fear
How to talk about the fear that strips you of your voice?The fear that chokes your every step and takes away your choice Of how to act, and what to say, and dominates your mind,That wears you down and makes your breath a feeble hopeless grind Against the stone of unrelenting pressure that you faceThat…
-
The Brink.
Too long she walked a broken path that spiralled ever down.A road that felt accustomed to this girl who wore her frown So plainly on her face unchanged with every step she took,Who prides herself to wear her grief; a shameful open book. As if her mask was any less a fake for being known…
-
Little Lamb
She lay awake another night of staring at the floor,Her tears had dried and through red eyes she wished her life meant more Than simply being used anew and only worth a damnWhen giving up a piece of her – like farmed and slaughtered lamb; She thought her woollen coat was soft and pretty in…
-
Ghost
We act as if we do not seeThe empty chair unmoved,Or spot the steaming cup of teaWhich everyday’s removed. We act as if we do not mindThe silence in your wake,Or note the absence left behindEach time that lull we break. We act as if we do not careYou’d rather be alone,Or that it hurts…
-
The Whore of Babylon
Pt. 1 Upon my forehead’s carved my name,Etched in blood and bone.Though meant as shame this name’s my claimTo sainthood of my own. You brand me WHORE and Mystery,As Babylon The Great –A motherhood through historyFor harlots born in hate. But what you see as horns and claws, And swear denotes the beast, Are righteous in their…
Anthropologist Astray 