Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Pride Month 2022, Writing

Flashback – Shadow Banned

I left lavender letters on the pillowcase,
my eyes glittering in the sunrise’s gaze.
There were shadows spying in the door way,
but I had resigned myself to life as a laboured spirit,
so I had accepted it long ago.
The shadows toddled down the hallway behind me,
endlessly emulating the soft sway of my hips,
but never quite getting it,
reaching into the cupboard under my sink,
to search for a pot of paint, about my shade, to go for a swim in.

It made no difference.
I wrote myself in synths and sighs,
immortalising the girl I was last night on a cassette tape,
and the shadows sat at the kitchen table,
playing it,
rewinding it,
playing it,
rewinding it,
until I got sick of it and snapped the tape in two,
ribbons of rarity cascaded to the carpet,
and the shadows wanted it so badly that they launched to the floor,
holding what remained of the cracked shell and torn up insides.

I had become so used to telling people that I was a poisoned apple,
that I forgot to tell them I was cured,
fit for consumption,
keeping up the hostility,
the shadows once again copying me,
until they became so unbearable,
so unbelievably hard to love that even I became appealing by comparison.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Pride Month 2022, Writing

Flashback – Growing From A Wasteland

Maybe it was meant to be,

honestly, it’s so hard to tell,

all roads have been taken off the map,

I am walking with my eyes closed,

running every now and then,

inside a maze of my own making.

Let the answers be clearer when dawn breaks,

obvious and open, crystalline and closer,

violet rain raising my soul from the dead,

ending the apprehension, at last,

so I can finally live.

All that remains is to open the front door,

smile as she stands before me,

holding out a hopeful hand,

letting everything go, for a moment.

Iridescent eyes shine up ahead.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Pride Month 2022, Writing


These lips have secrets,
but I won’t keep her as one.
There is a determined desire that has delved into my depths,
and I must confess,
I have no choice but to crumble under my compulsions.

True love is an addiction,
a habit I’ve never been able to kick,
and as the heavens open and the world ends beyond my bounds,
high up in a tower is a Princess,
purring beneath her Princess Charming.

I think of her as my saviour and my downfall,
awestruck at the alter,
my baby is my religion,
and I am as devout as I have ever been.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Pride Month 2022, Writing

Everybody Knows

Everybody knows.
They’ve seen the stars gathering in the sky,
the waves of the ocean changing direction,
following the wayward moon that moves past the need to understand.
It all adds up,
complex, soft hearted mathematics,
shifting skies and warring waters.
Something is changing.
Something is coming,
and everybody knows.

Everybody watches with baited breath,
but I am wandering the world without a clue.
I don’t look at the stars and the moon anymore,
I keep my eyes focused on the road ahead,
hoping not to topple from the tracks I have been trained to try to follow,
and I’m just looking down.
I just look down as my shoes shuffle on,
amid the screaming of everybody about the stars,
the sun,
the moon and the sea,
they’re all broken,
they’re all breaking formation,
but I’m not paying attention,
because I’m walking,
and walking,
and walking,

Everybody knows.
Everybody sees the full picture that I am a part of.
Everybody sees the fickle fingers of fate finally beckoning to me,
pushing me, blinking and stumbling from a wooden prison that I had learned to call home,
and off it sent me,
into the woods,
and of course,
everybody knew,
watching with wide eyes as I tripped and fell,
swallowed by the forest.

The crowd clapped and whistled,
waiting for me to regain consciousness,
as a Goddess gave chase to the monsters that surrounded me,
nursing my naive, maimed mind,
patching me up with her passion,
until I was strong enough to be the lover that everybody knew I would be.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Checking Out

I wrote of demons and their dreams,

falling awake as the night nestled into a deep sleep and was replaced by the sun.

The blossoms made a bed in my black tresses,

and the stress of holding the pen became too much to bear,

so I let it fall from my hands,

hearing it clatter on the cold floor as Spring came.

There is only so much I can do.