Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Monday

You crossed my mind on Monday,

too late to recall the remains of a burning flame that once kept me warm,

so,

I woke up cold,

recalling the sweet shyness of your voice as you told me that you’d got glasses.

I recall the last time we talked,

like no time had passed at all,

like I had never broken your heart,

like you hadn’t kept a segment of my soul within yours for all these years.

Midnight struck,

but my life decided not to decline into the rags and pumpkins of the past,

because I used to be your princess,

and I like that you still treat me like I wear a tiara.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Chosen Family

We have never been in love,

but his name is neatly sewn into the lining of my long suffering heart,

and it is the only part that has always been hallowed ground.

Slipping his hand into mine,

with a chaste, close kiss on the cheek,

he knows the pain of my path,

and chooses to comfort me,

with no malevolence,

no malice.

There is nobody on this Earth that I trust,

but he is not of this Earth,

ethereal and empathic,

chosen companion,

spiritual siblings,

swept into the cyclone,

dreaming and dancing from Kansas to Oz.

Jill and her best Judy,

against the world,

against the wall,

watching the endless war,

and then writing verses from the vials of blood that surround us.

I keep his name sewn into my heart,

and I leave him all of my ill gotten gains in the will.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Forests

Swallows in the forest,

silently searching for a branch to call home,

spying on me,

as I swallow my apprehensive affirmations.

I will tell the truth,

tepid tears,

shining, sweet in the moonlight.

Birds brush up against my reality,

and everything feels so final, but so new.

The night is unforgiving,

and I am understanding a little better,

why the mornings are so needy.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Gargoyles

Do not give your love to gargoyles.

They gaze with awe and envy from their stony, storied homes but they will spend their nights tearing at your flesh,

stone cold,

staring into your eyes as they feast on your feelings,

a mere appetiser for what they’ll do to your entrails.

They never learned table manners,

human decency,

empathy,

and all you are to them is a trophy,

destined to stay, stuck in grey nightmares,

never feeling the sweetness of the sun’s rays again.

It’s true that the ugliest creatures do the ugliest things,

and you are so beautiful,

so when they call your name,

fix your eyes on the flowers that spring up all around you,

and do not let those enchanting eyes stray above the shoulders of your destiny.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Stornoway

I never made a promise that I couldn’t keep,

but I could never hold on to the many that were made to me.

Soaked in snake oil,

and given to a girl with an open heart,

they were just the right words, at the right time,

from the wrong kind of optimist,

one who thinks that they are capable of caring more than they actually can.

I was never going to be a star, or sew my seeds or go to Stornoway under someone else’s steam.

I dreamed of big things, and let them promise them to me,

because I had to learn (the hard way) that I had nobody but myself,

and myself was quite enough to take me anywhere I wanted to go.

I will manifest in the moonlight on mysterious islands.

I will mimic myself in the excited eyes of a new and hopeful child.

I will glow on low lit television sets that seem to skip and distort when my past sees what he has lost.

I guess that I’m a free girl now,

feeling seasick,

swinging from my necklaces,

tied to the lonely, broke down pier.

I keep my shoes dry,

but never my rosy cheeks,

or eyelashes.

I will never die,

as long as I shall live,

not if I can help it,

out of spite or out of fear.

Don’t tell my mother that I am damned to be a damsel in distress,

just tell her that the last time you saw me,

I was swinging and singing in the sunlight,

and that I had promised I would make it home soon,

with her grandson,

and all my souvenirs.