Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Purple Princess

My blood is violet,
my aura, lilac,
amethyst around my wrist,
soft kisses and passive violence.
Sweet as jam,
the right kind of timeless,
heather in my hair,
as I hold onto healing.
I was once reeling,
reaching outside the raindrops,
feeling nothing,
until I took a break from myself,
deciding I could smile,
if I wanted to,
and that I could share sensual summers with Saints and spirits.
I am the daughter of Prometheus,
Athena’s angel.
My cards are on the table,
telling me all the things that I already know,
weary sighs are my symphony,
as I sleep with my eyes open.
I am a widow of my own war,
sangria spills from my eyes,
and I am at peace with what I’ve done to myself.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Running Across Broken Bridges

There she stands,

clear path,

created from necessity and staring up at me,

her body, bright under the kind light of the moon.

It is time to be true to myself,

but I take one step,

full of dread and then I hesitate,

staring at the quiet confidence of the bridge before me,

who stares back towards me,

asking what I’m so afraid of.

There may be voices beneath her,

planks that go missing,

parts of her body that will not survive our journey together,

and she has the audacity to ask,

“What are you so afraid of?”

They say that the longest journey begins with the smallest step,

but small steps feel substantial when you look down,

suddenly confronted by everything you have to lose.

I lie.

I tell her that I’m not afraid,

I’ve never been afraid,

because I am not that kind of girl.

I tell her that I am a child of the sea,

so,

if she were to drop me into the river beneath her,

it wouldn’t be such a crime.

I am, of course, lying.

I may be a child of the sea,

but I have no wish to drown,

and I may be afraid,

but something about her tells me that I can’t confide in her,

so with my eyes closed,

and my lies beneath my cheap shoes,

I rush along the bridge,

walking with such purpose that I think I may be possessed,

because if I am quick, and if I feign confidence,

I will make it across before she can convince me I can’t.

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.