Posted in Blog

The Half Blood Princess

The sunrise and the sunset,

swirling above the clouds in the skyline,

daughter of two warring tribes,

half blood princess,

a patchwork blanket that will never be finished.

There is conflict in my skin,

and the many mannerisms I stole from the two that built me.

Two,

going on a great adventure,

but growing impatient,

with how slowly pages turn,

and how the cycles around the sun are unpredictable.

I was once impossible,

illegal,

but I am the end of war,

for the brief moments that they remember,

how happy my arrival made them.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

The Girl In The Mirror

Everyone says you have beautiful eyes.

I think they may be right.

They follow me,

as I apply layer after layer of lip gloss in the mirror,

warmth waiting with every stare,

soft against my soul,

making my heart race,

because I appreciate the finer things in life,

and also because I’m a narcissist.

I hear you humming a song you wrote,

way back when you used to believe in love.

Like always, you’ll believe again eventually,

because it’s deep in your core,

like a kid who believes in Santa Claus.

I believe in you,

even when you don’t think I do,

and one day,

I’ll love you again,

entirely.

It’s coming,

in time.

You just have to give me time,

to remember your eyes,

your muddled but meaningful turn of phrase,

the way you get frustrated when you think you aren’t being understood.

I understand you.

I still love you.

I just need time,

to find a way to fix things between you and me,

because we haven’t been kind to each other.

When the world wasn’t kind to us,

I blamed you.

I always do,

but I never stopped loving you.

I would lie in bed,

letting you go to waste,

cursing the eyes everyone allegedly adores,

wishing I could wish the words you write from existence,

waiting for you to become somebody else,

somebody that someone else could accept,

but you are my beautiful girl,

with bad luck,

a bad sense of direction,

and a bit of a reputation,

but my sweet,

I still love you,

even if they don’t,

even if you don’t feel it from me,

I do love you.

Sweetheart,

you just have to give me time.

Posted in Creative Writing, Writing

Temperance

New days are never promised,

until the storm is calm,

and assurance is redundant.

I’m a little reluctant,

to wade through rivers and reeds,

born again,

for the thirteenth time today,

destined to be saved by the divine,

just in time,

but wondering why we have to go through this,

every single time.

The star lights the way,

but I still don’t know where I’m going.

I have made this journey,

so often,

that the slabs of the path,

sing sweet nothings to my shoes.

I send postcards to the many places I’ve called home,

anchored to a feeling of belonging,

that never truly belonged to me,

waiting for secure foundations,

that will never be found,

holding onto the hope that they’ll materialise,

manifested by a shy sense of entitlement.

I want to live in a love letter,

where happily ever after is sweet and certain,

drinking from the cup of a King,

who will be kind,

mine,

the final destination,

but,

to be happy,

at last,

always comes at a price,

and I’m running out of credit.

 

 

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 Beauty, Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Tea Tree

Tea tree tells me I’m nervous,

sitting on my face,

as I step back in the game.

I was raised by feminist wolves,

in the wilds of the world,

and I feel

I should be braver,

bolder,

brighter in the face of danger,

but the tea tree,

like a concerned stranger,

seeing my frozen and unconscious stare,

into the mirror,

whispers,

“You’re worried about your skin”.

He told me,

I had pretty eyes,

my voice,

a volcano,

molten,

melancholy,

sultry syllables,

and yet,

today,

my voice shakes,

eyes teary,

tea tree,

trembling on my shaking skin,

because fear is a four letter word,

and a constant state,

when you are in love,

and need to trust someone with your heart,

and your broken out skin.

The bus driver told me,

I was beautiful,

and I shyly smiled,

hoping you’d agree.