Eggshells

egg

I’m always walking on eggshells
Those of dead baby birds
The tiny hollow fragile ones
And those cracked wide open
Corpse-blue and freckled
Weighing less than a breath
Having fallen from the nest
Pushed out by a careless mother
Or stolen by a raven
Seized away in curled claws
Then dropped, yolk splattered
Potential snuffed out by a predator

Advertisements

Butterfly kisses

people-3190085_640-1

I lie on the grass
And look up at the stars
But only in my imagination
They are so clear there
My mind works in space
Among the flotsam and infinity

I walk up and down
Heels stomping
Heavily preparing for a sleep
That may never take me
Nibbling chocolates absent-mindedly
I am suckling Read more

People are kind

hands-699486_640
People are kind
Sometimes those
You know very little
Or not at all
Are kinder than kin
Warmer than those you were born to
Wiser than their age
They courageously cross barriers
Face their own vulnerability
To offer you help
Because they care

People are kind
Like the woman in the stairwell
Who stopped to touch my shoulder
And with furrowed brow and concern
Asked: “are you ok?”
Because I dabbed at my eyes
Her kindness moved me
I felt like I mattered to a stranger Read more

This unbroken ring of solid gold

When you think about her know this:
never doubt she remains unbroken.
She knows of your iniquitous ring,
the circle you move in of
characters unsound, not solid.
Do not trust those who wear teeth of gold.

But on her hand a band of gold
fits snugly to finger and symbolises this:
a perdurable self-bond with tenure so solid
it remains forever unbroken.
Until her lungs shed their last sigh of
life, she will wear this one true ring. Read more

flotsam jetsam

When your constellation is not as it seems
it should be; like
it is for others, who speak of us and we
but don’t include me. Yet together they are
aimless, like flotsam drifting
on pulsing wavelets, further and further
out into the vast nothingness and
forever into the further
until it all breaks apart

…seems like we are drifting further and further apart.

Stressed Self

Stressed Self tells me what’s wrong in dots and dashes in cryptic code in cravings of body that reveal mother tongue of panic

Stressed Self lacks control is powerless because the future is a vortex of overwhelm a cataclysm of bastard men and their bitches and it is terrifying

Stressed Self eats half a Snickers a whole packet of English crisps a choc-mint icecream too many noodles and drinks four cups of tea all in one day Read more