POETRY [UNTITLED SERIES] – 23

There is a curse that will be broken

Slash & Burn Tactics

Purge me and cure me in the fire

I screamed for mercy

I begged for release

I begged to die

Incredulous

That being burned alive, my intestines shreaking, my skin sizzling

The smell of burnt hair, urine and death

Burned at the stake

Like my ancesters before me

Would lead me to anything more than an ash pile

Reveals me in my truest form

I

Did

Not

Die

Metamorphosis

Into a being of fire, water, air and earth

There is a curse that will be broken

POETRY [UNTITLED SERIES] – 22

Keep Forgiving

“I don’t think I’m there yet.”

Is all I could think of as the crown of daisies circle my arm

A reminder to keep forgiving

Is it ironic that my favourite flower is a weed?

I guess it depends on what you want to do with your lawn

My yard is now filling with wildflowers

Healing from the years of distruction

As they bloom so do I

Signalling what I knew all along;

There is nothing left but forgiveness.

POETRY [UNTITLED SERIES] – 19

Nothing was Different

The sun still rises and falls every night

The rain still falls and rises

Both give and take away life

As the moon watches on

Where do we go when we sleep?

Why do you visit me in my dreams?

Why do I wake up alone?

POETRY [UNTITLED SERIES] – 18

Everything Has Changed

It’s in the things that are put away

The shelves that line the walls

The washing machine that spins

The food in the fridge

It’s in the music that plays

The clothes put away after 6 months of sitting in the kitchen

The wedding suit that is folded and put under the stairs

The crop top that cuts me off at the right points

It’s in the reflection in the mirror

The person who stares at me that I recognise as

Beautiful

POETRY [UNTITLED SERIES] – 14

Everyday I dress up in my own words

Pulling Strength from what lies on the floor

Unable to breathe any Hope from a closet

The Comfort in a black oversized t-shirt

Oh god I want to feel again

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POETRY [UNTITLED SERIES] – 13

Cameras & a rear view mirror

You don’t drive a car by looking backwards. if you do you’ll crash.

Cameras and rear view mirrors are only there for glimpses at the past.

You’re not meant to stay there.

I’ve stripped all the photos from my walls.

I’ve pulled the bricks apart in order to reshape it to something I recognise.

To reshape myself into something I recognise.

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POETRY [UNTITLED SERIES] – 12

Over and Over


I sit disassociated and numb

Between a sleeping cocker spaniel and the noise of the street

I’ve been crying all day and every time I feel like I’ve gotten some sort of closure only to be pulled back to April over and over.

They tell me how well I’ve done. That April’s Spec wouldn’t have believed it.

My car that sits in the drive. The job I have from home. Paying for my mortgage. My food prep and my cleaning.

Words and words I never thought I’d say. Simply pushing on day after day.

If this is what moving on is then I don’t want it. How could I stay in a place most haunted?

Every time I feel like I’ve gotten some sort of closure only to be pulled back to April over and over.

I’m lonely for the touch of Clouds fur and that goofy smile.

I’m lonely for your eyes and warmth of your smile and how your touch could hold me in time.

I’ve filled notebooks of witchcraft and spells, of affirmations and hope. All for your safety, your freedom, your heart, your hope.

Every time I feel like I’ve gotten some sort of closure only to be pulled back to April over and over.

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POETRY [UNTITLED SERIES] – 11

“You look awful”

That’s all I could say while my heart collapsed.

New numbers, new addresses, new emails.

All enough of a reason to feel the things that I’ve been told I should. Betrayal, rage.

But it was that photo.

Of you and our youngest

It ripped through me faster and harder than any of the words, or thoughts or feelings that came before.

The pain in your face

Of those couple of hundred of pixels

The years and years and years of studying someone’s face the way I have studied yours.

A doctorate in knowing your eyes and smile

I know when it’s sincere, I know when it’s true.

But your shattering is like glass to me.

And I would suffer a thousand cuts time and time again if it meant I could put you back together.

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POETRY [UNTITLED SERIES] – 10

There is a small difference between pain and peace.

Of peace and pleasure.

Of pleasure and persecution.

It’s in the details, the movement, the pacing.

The way you pause and see.

The way you look at me and know

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