breathe

 

femininity
ivory skin, not in colour but in brawn
bronzed with bruises, fingertip worn
dawn warms the blood; conscious–

breathe

embers glow next to infinite skies
even in the demise of innocence
remember,


breathe

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sleep

a shiver, darts uncontrollably over my skin
goosebumps prickle as a I sip at the brim
of my coffee. I am tired– as always,
isn’t everyone tired, standing in doorways
dreaming of holidays, in a state of daze
running around the maze, ‘it’s just a phase’
and always
tired.
That word, with so many meanings always acquired
in society, never admired in society unless your tired
because you’ve been inspired, or recently hired
but instead we are just tired
all the time,
because we are obsessed with our cultures paradigm
to be the best, feel blessed, not be depressed but manifest
ourselves in our best dressed attire. Always stressed because
we constantly assess ourselves and others, when sometimes
we all just need a hug from our mothers. I want to be tired
because I have expressed myself, and I am ready to rest myself
and explore my dreams.

 

[to be continued]

tea and empathy

[This poem is to be spoken aloud]

tea and empathy

‘Come sit here, just you and me
let’s have a cuppa,
a cuppa tea
or are you a coffee lover?
because I can make another,
you’re not sure?
well this talk requires a cuppa tea and nothing more’

I am here to listen because you need to talk
because if more of us listened, then we wouldn’t need help to walk
why don’t people listen and love anymore?
it’s always a battle between lipsticks and couture
who wears the best armour to hang in their armoire,
young girls wearing padded bras to send male adoration
to mars because, nobody listens anymore
they are all roar and no core
— they only listen when it’s silent offshore
and the winds cease post war
the feeling that nature’s left and your not even anchored to the seafloor
anymore, cos’ you just don’t listen
hush now
for I’ll be your addition to listen given your permission
I’ll listen to your rhythm and witness your vision.

I seem to have a lot to say, nowadays, when a friend has gone astray.
I can’t help but to try and help these lost souls
because they are my lost souls
they are beautiful
like new-born foals trying to stand on their own legs
for the first time, out of control but still trying
still clarifying who they are
constantly purifying
the doors of perception, as Blake spoke of
trying to make folk
realise who they are.

She’s silent. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt anyone’

You have to break a heart sometimes to make a heart
because you can only appreciate love
when you witness, hate and the heart-break
but you hurt because you feel empathy
a telepathy
electric that is the power
behind our heartbeats,
that defeats—
the shattered feeling
when he meets a new woman
and falls in love with her laugh
and out of love with your photograph:

but the past does not sleep
in the corners of your mind
it swims in the streams of your consciousness,
deep in the scrapheap,
the heat it brings
when you remember the wasp stings,
of the three words,
‘you hurt me’.

her eyes water the seeds of doubt that grow behind her eyes,
green saplings and trees;
for she is new to this self.
I suggest another round of teas.

You see listener, I hear her just as you can hear me now
I hear her trembling voice
full to the brim of mountains
and fountains of youth
but most importantly, of truth
because I am as much her as I am myself
as much as I am him and my brother’s health
I am made up of reoccurring selves
that have existed since the ancients
archetypes and types
the ghost of the little girl from my childhood,
she shares my name
and she still feels the same shame
as she did when she first made a mistake
for her own sake she couldn’t make
the cut.
She had to stand on her own legs
and stand up for her own complex,
it hurt.
But everyone makes mistakes and wrongs
it is what makes up lyrics in songs
it is what makes us belong, to one another
together we can discover how to spread joy
but we need to be wreckless and destroy,
to learn and employ our new emotions
so we can cause commotions of love each year
sit smiling and crack open a beer,
cheer to the open skies and realise that we
are all but one self
relying on each other, to mend our health
let the elders become teachers
and the youth become preachers
of nothing but love.

I refilled her tea and she smiled brightly at me.

 

[…] to be continued

 

 

.a

[second entry to my upcoming series ‘saplings]

[so far i have: .s.a]

sanctuary is in the small yet
silent spaces that exist between my words- 

the singing of birds, hush.
silence that lasts on the tongue,

rose lips that swallow verbs
the letters that are left lackadaisical and unsung
but –
they hang like stars in space, dot to dot
fashioning the shape of your face,
another knot-I hear the echo
the sound of your voice paints the skies,
with sapphire-coloured memories
to harmonise; but a moment, crystalised
i’m not longer wise as I’ve left my
heart in the mud
thick, I fantasise and epitomise
what it is like to be
no longer a rose-bud
but an old oak tree, sturdy
against the flood of fear within me.

with the beat of our hearts
one of the only remedies 
that mends my broken bones and hushed counterparts
of the ghost behind your fingertips
which guides me home,
reminding me that I am not alone –
tracing the map of my vermilion veins,
a moment
so sweet, but so delicate. 
but eternity
bound in the chains, so perfectly

for you are now but a mere shadow
dancing in the background of my dreams,
not a lover,
but another; yes another,
who I hid under for cover
another muse,
who still sculpts my poetry
that my consciousness, refuses to lose, 

 

Paper-Mache Mars

Let us make animals and stars,
Just me and you
Let us travel together to Mars,
On a rocket made out of paper and glue
Just me and you

Then we can follow the Equator

In the silence of Space
And worry about words later
So I can watch your face,
Light up against the ancient stars
As we travel to our own, Paper-Mache Mars.

s.

[new spoken word poem, it changes a lot when I speak it]

I watch videos of Kate Tempest, my inspiration to make this,
work,
when I feel down I write and I rhyme because every time the season’s change, the reasons why you left leave me feeling strange they twist and turn in my gut, but,
I’m fed up
of seeing people lose themselves
of people disagreeing with themselves
because cupid’s arrow fell short
again
and again
instead of this being the typical-tale of a woman’s snapped heart-strings that made her lose her head
let us listen to how a broken male sings, instead
again.
this is a poem for the men who get lost at sea, who aren’t sure what they are supposed to be,
because they gave up freedom because their cerebrum couldn’t control itself around a creature,
a teacher of light. A woman, who won the fight, a woman who has blinded their sight.
[…]

People talk of the emotions of a female when a relationship fails, how she constantly wails alone in her room, forgetting the details of how a man can hurt too, how a man can cry too, how a man has to throw away his feelings because society says they aren’t true.

[…]
his mind wonders back to when her green eyes held no disguise and she verbalised how she felt, how her naked body used to melt
at his touch, but
her heart is now hollow and she can hardly swallow
the panic, she feels sick
because she is lost in herself.
smoking damaging her health,
drinking destroying her mental health,
she doesn’t need anyone else
she just needs herself, back.

[…]
meanwhile the broken heart
turns into an insomniac, trying to be an amnesiac because he hurts. he doesn’t want to remember
that he had to surrender
himself
how he used to defend her, when she abused drugs,
when she amused thugs in smoking areas of bars
how he used to hug her against night-terrors, even in her errors when she smelt of cigars,
and how she said she’d never leave
that she couldn’t believe
that they hadn’t met before,

[…]
but now his heart lies still
still
on the sea floor, as he just can’t seem to ignore
that she’s gone.

_______________

He lies alone in his room, he tries to soothe the cyclone that is soon, his chest is made of broken glass as her being somehow manages to harass
him, still. He lights a cigarette and tokes it, but then chokes on it as she opens the door.

[…]
He had wanted nothing more
than to see her, to see those green eyes that can both terrify and purify him.
he is shocked
as he expected to be mocked, but
he no longer can see her beautiful bright eyes he sees trouble, a lost angel
her heart is now hollow and she can hardly swallow
the panic, she feels sick,
because she is lost in herself.
She doesn’t need anyone else
she needs herself
but

[…]
they both need an embrace,
so they can face the dark corners of this world,
no longer be the mourners of this world,
because love feels real
when one realises that love can heal
heart-breaks
and stomach aches
as it can eliminate
the hate that is also present on this earth.
A single hug
allows the re-birth of the man’s soul
as he can start to control
the energy that stole
the sparkle in his eye,
a woman;
a creature of light,
that had also lost the fight.

So now they lie together,  as the weather changes from the sunset of a storm to a sunrise that is warm.
because they were both warned of the drugs on the streets, but never the ones with beautiful eyes and a heartbeat.

a photograph

there are two pairs of green eyes
staring at me,
one pair of bodies twisted
like tree branches,
a misted memory
that I covered in clouds
of smoke
from my own lips,
but a cold sea breeze
has seized
me –
and now the smoke only stings my eyes
and causes tears
to water my poetry,
one of my fears have come true,
despite everything
I thought I outgrew you,
but in truth
we were two saplings that needed
each other’s petals,
to map out our hearts
and to soothe our heads,
now I am left with
a body full of sand
a weakened hand
and unable to stand,

holding a photograph.

bruised leaf

knotted rope wound around her hips
Morphing into ivy vines,
sewing shut her rose-tinted lips
Her brain fusing into another’s mind,
The plants tighten their grip
then,
slip
leaving grass-stained handprints,
stamped into her bark.
leaving hints
of overgrown moss on old windowsills
that were swept off by your wings
and replaced with daffodils
next to
two silver rings
wrapped in an endless knot,
by my ankle
the rivers feel warm,
but not refreshing
and the pressure is compressing
on my lungs
the birds warn me,
of the loss found buried in the compost
of

that is yet to come.

shadows

[written in devon a few months ago when driving from cornwall to bath]

You lie under warm cover
with stars exploding in your eyes,
enchanted by Her, the Mother,
heart hooked by a tangle of lies,
he greedily widens your green spheres
restless: Alive and worrying of past years.

shape my name with your lips
as your hands remember my hips,
thirty-two perfect pearls encased
around a pulse that I miss.
cheeks flush with the warmth of her breath
a tongue that can move mountains
until you have nothing left.

you lie under warm cover,
with stars exploding in your eyes
enchanted by Her, the Mother,
heart hooked by a tangle of lies
you lie awake at night like the flowing streams
Because your dancing,
together,
in his dreams.

sunk

I roll over and hold him
and witness his eyes
sleepless;
with no disguise.

An ocean
captured in a bottle.
 
A little lost sailor at sea
 
Curse the cruise ship that sails,
across the blank horizons
The ship has fell
through
the
expanse 
.




_ a Lillie blooms on the hillside but with a breath
she slips into the boundless
waters.