Posted in Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

World Queen

When I was so small,

that being a woman,

was a far away fairy tale,

I saw a ticking clock,

each morning,

when I met the gaze of the mirror.

Intuitively,

I was aware,

that there were only so many moments,

to collect all the trophies I had promised myself,

in between birthing and bridal business,

that belonged to me,

by virtue of my Venus energy.

I was surrounded by baby dolls,

as a baby.

practising a walk down the aisle,

before I could even stumble,

so I often wondered how I could reorganise,

my expected life,

to factor in my hopes and dreams.

Once upon a time,

I wanted to write a new world,

Aquarius angel,

in the amphitheatre.

Playing with my hair,

as people fill Parisian playhouses,

waiting for me to unveil my latest child.

My mother’s grandchildren,

are trafficked,

from my soul,

to crowded, excitable bookshelves,

and sometimes I wonder,

if I will disappoint her,

when they are all I can give.

Maybe they will have a father,

or I will be immaculate,

it doesn’t really matter,

for I am a poetic python.

Every now and then,

I watch the clock in the mirror,

staring past,

to discover the daughter I left behind,

and I wonder,

if she will be happy,

with what we became.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Hunger Pains

I think I was ten.

Wearing midnight blue,

in the middle of the day.

My neighbourhood knew that one day,

probably in the middle of the day,

I’d be the world’s greatest dancer,

and so it span around me,

as I sat,

in the big girl’s passenger seat,

feeling real sweet,

in my midnight, midday, blue,

after dance class.

img_4959

Hawley Road.

You were my hero.

As I said,

I was probably ten,

but now,

I’d rather not say how old I am,

just that I am taking strepsil after stressed out strepsil,

hoping to finally choke to death.

img_4956

Anyway,

back to the car,

Hawley Road,

and the ten minute drive I cannot forget.

I think I was ten.

You were driving me home,

after dance class.

You’ve just done it again,

and I can’t see what I’m writing,

because the day you drove me home,

is replaying,

and tripping down my cheeks and lips.

img_4957

I was ten,

dance class.

I was a booster seat for a box,

filled with my favourite cakes.

I was Hawley Road.

Driving down ten.

Box booster seat.

I’d been dancing for hours.

I asked for a cake,

and you said,

that I was sent to dance,

so I could lose weight,

and suddenly,

I fell from the stars I performed for.

img_4958

I’m still falling now,

and I can see you,

forgetting to remember,

what I cannot forget.

I hadn’t had breakfast that day,

because we had overslept.


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Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Toyland

Summer seeps through the spokes,
of your baby blue bicycle wheels.
From the sidewalk,
I stare,
through long lashes,
and tinted glasses,
a popsicle in my pastel pout.

I hope you’ll fall,
graze your knee,
tumbling in my direction,
so I can peek,
through tinted glasses,
and eager eyes,
at what you hide,
in your toy chest.

Take me to Toyland,
on the very next train.
Wind in the white ribbons,
my mother hoped could keep me pure,
as we lean out the window,
making faces at the future.

I’m tentatively tempted,
to give in to growing up.
Discovery is a toy for two,
but once we play,
we can never return,
to being just friends,
or being just strangers,
or being untouched,
by the claws of candy concupiscence.

pexels-photo-1056555

You lay out the board,
like you’ve done this before.
Mystic, merry, mistakes are made,
your intentions spilled in my lap,
crawling up and down my legs,
as I coax myself from the ceiling,
with promises that nobody will know,
and that all the cool kids are doing it.

Then,
it is done,
and I am torn from the grounds of Toyland.
Marched to the gates,
by beanie babies,
who hold my white dress,
spotted with my innocence,
above my head,
monkeys playing the drums of my demise.

I can never return again,
and I don’t have your heart,
to remember you by,
because you only wanted to play,
for the afternoon.


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