Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Everybody Out!

Sell me a space in the shadows,
let me live behind a locked door,
surrounded by the sweetness of unspeculative silence.

I care for the kind of quiet that doesn’t guess,
a lush loneliness,
moonlight serenade of stillness.

I am sleeping in the dreams of somebody else tonight,
littered with letters,
sewn onto my skin,
because I stopped being convincing, somewhere in my second act,
according to some of my harshest critics.

Now, the stage is bare.
I sleepwalk as the audience screams,
so many crossed voices and contradictory phrases.
All of the things I was supposed to be to all people,
spill around my shaking legs,
and I am submerged.

Who am I?
What am I?
What I am, is “not ready”.
Is that an option?
Can I find that on a form that I can fill in and pass to the furious crowd?

Is that such a crime?
It there a set time in which I must be presented,
centre stage, ready to be torn to pieces with a smile?

I am not ready,
but they are waiting.
Sell me a space in the shadows,
let me live behind a locked door,
surrounded by the sweetness of unspeculative silence.

They storm the stage,
accusations and assumptions circling angry expressions,
and all I can do is stumble towards the back of the bare stage,
begging for mercy,
because I am not ready,
and I don’t know what they want from me,
but they are so… hungry.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Is it really this easy?

Gaslit by the spirits,
watching them twist and turn under the lamplight as I dream my silly dreams,
pleading my silly case,
watching their lips curve into crooked smiles as thunder crashes, collapsing against the clouds.

Is it really this easy?
Is it really this easy to get the things you want in life?
I should ask,
but I don’t.
I know that we’re playing a game.
I am the mistress of make believe,
and these are the things I want to believe:
Number one, it is this easy, if I allow it to be.
Number two, closing my eyes is enough to close the gap between myself and the world I wish to awake in.

My eyes are closed.
Give me something to believe in.

When I was a small speck of a thing,
I loved an audience but had no talent,
so I broke myself into pieces and paced the trails of the stars that once resided in my grandfather’s record collection,
placing each part of myself back in a specific order until I was something special,
I think of the child often,
and I know that they do too.

Sometimes,
it seems that this life is too bad to be true,
so I saunter off to my silk sheets and I let the spirits speak.
I lay in still silence,
letting them lull me to a land of lilac,
like a lamb, I walk slowly, with a smile to the axe.
It’s all going to be alright,
isn’t it?
My hands are clasped together,
with the beads of my God braided between my fingers,
and this has to be the moment where it happens.

I just need to hold out for it.
They told me that as the chimes rang out and the child slept,
and I stared into the darkness of their eyes,
wondering how long it would take them to consume her.
It isn’t their fault.
It’s all they know how to do.

Is it really this easy?
Is it really this easy to get the things you want in life?

I saw my darling with the long, blonde hair.
I dreamt of her last night.
I heard once that you’re rich if you’ve got one dream,
so I kept the thought of her close to my chest,
like my last penny,
waiting for her to be more than a series of moonlit visions.

Is it really this easy?
Is it really this easy to get the things you want in life?

I believe that it is,
and so do they.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

It Was Just A Dream

I had a dream that she stopped loving me.

The sky was pretty when she sent me away,
not a tear from the clouds, who were braver than I,
but I left an ocean on her shoulder,
my claws deep in the flesh of her palm as they pulled me from her and down into the abyss.

I didn’t mean to be a monster.
I spent so long keeping myself at bay,
but the truth is full of terror, and it tears it’s way out of well meaning skin eventually,
and then, you become a monster.

It’s not her fault.
Nobody wants to have a monster as a daughter,
but she does,
and now I dream about her looking at me as I do.
I wake in tears,
wondering if she lies when she says that she loves me as I am.

It was just a dream.

It was just a dream,
but a monster still stares back from the mirror.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Thunderstorms, Tempting Gallows

She’s hiding somewhere in lost memories,
lips lost behind her hands so she won’t make a sound,
thunderstorms,
tempting gallows,
while the earth keeps turning round.

Not tonight.
Not for a minute.
You’ve got plans.

I wish I could call her tomorrow,
say that it all turned out just fine,
but she knows every inch of my voice,
she knows when I lie,
even if I do it for the right reasons.

Thunderstorms,
tempting gallows.

Not tonight.
You wrote something really good last weekend.
People should hear it.
Not tonight.

You were born in the city.
You were raised in the country.
Your heart never strayed from the sea,
and your eyes never strayed from the lightning in the sky,
those thunderstorms,
tempting gallows.

No.

Little girl don’t you cry,
‘cause I’m willing to lie.
I promise,
everything was fine in the end.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Inevitable Rain

The sun rose,
so I followed,
the sky, warm and welcoming,
before the clouds came.
The clouds always come,
and I am always surprised,
as if the sunrise cannot ever be a signal of something other than brightness.

The sun rose,
and I responded, with my usual enthusiasm and blind optimism,
running around myself to escape the inevitable rain,
but just like the clouds,
it found me.