#18- Last Time

The next time you write,
A little better than the last time,
So by the next night,
You’re a little better than the last time.
So what if you make mistakes,
You’re learning and blooming through it all,
A wayward note sometimes escapes,
The next time you won’t fumble you’ll recall.
The more you do and the more you love,
The easier it’ll come to you,
Put it above,
Everything else you do.
Your last time a spring board,
Taking you to greater heights,
The more that you explored,
The prettier the sights.

#17- Spirit Animal

In a past life, maybe,
She stood at the helm,
Of a ship that she called her home.
Braving the cold weather,
Welcoming the taste of the salt,
And the tilt in each step.
She was a lover,
Of the mighty ocean,
And its many waves and many creatures.
Of them all,
Stood out her whale,
Solitary and the king of the waters.
Wise and kind,
Respected and venerated,
Strong and filled with gravitas.
With the whale guiding her,
She saw no failures,
She saw no obstacles.
But today, oh, today,
She admired them from a distance,
Her love for the ocean an irresistible pull.
The ocean waiting to claim her,
She knew she was one of its,
Her heart praying to be reunited.
A spirit animal,
The whale still guiding,
Guiding her through the many paths to home

#16- Forgiveness

They told me to let go,
Of the experiences I’d had,
To turn a new page,
And begin a story anew.
They told me to forget,
The mistakes they’d made,
To be the bigger person,
To turn a blind eye.
But oh, they’d ruined my page,
My chapter,
My story.
They’d ruined everything I had in me,
But I was to be the bigger person.
My book in flames,
For everyone to see,
My hands burnt,
From clutching it so tight.
How do you expect me to forgive,
How do you expect me to pardon?
They say to forgive is to help yourself,
So I’m going to try, I’m going to.
The burns turn to scars,
My new book flourishing,
Bookmarks and side notes,
Hard bound and titled.
Maybe forgiving isn’t so bad,
I say to myself,
To forgive is to help yourself,
I say to the bruised…

DEAD PLANTS

DAY-29

He wrote about dead plants,
About rotten hearts,
And their rotten love.
He wrote about the criminals,
The poor and victims,
And the pain in their hearts.
He wrote about felled soldiers,
About misguided lovers,
And their foiled attempts at life.

He wrote about autumn,
The unfinished paintings,
He wrote about the forgotten..

Strength in his veins

pickpick

Pockets light,
He graced the town with his presence.
Scared and cold,
New to a city of lights.
Try all he could,
To make ends meet,
Strived hard,
Losing sleep by each day.
Each grain,
Made him think twice,
Frail,
Skin sticking to his bones.
Sticky sides,
Didn’t sit right,
Hard floor,
Hurting his sore back.
No medicine,
For his hidden hunger,
Only a medicine,
For his beaten up soul.
Inebriants,
His only blankets,
Happy pills,
His only happiness.
Downward spiral,
He groped at the blacks and whites,
Will to survive,
Beating all in the game of life…

Painted Reds

Smile on your face,
All he looks for,
Toiling away.
Sadness masked,
With a painted grin,
Red nose.
Dancing, performing,
All to make you laugh,
Heart of happiness.
Colourful hair,
Energy on a tricycle,
True emotions masked.
Putting on makeup,
Caked on his face,
Stared at the mirror.
A slow deep breath,
Steadied himself,
He headed to the stage.
Again he performed,
His only push,
The smile on your face…

Beyond the veil

He looked at her,
Smiling and leaving,
Not knowing t’was the last time,
He’d ever look at her.
Had he known,
He would’ve looked deep,
Into the abyss that was her eyes,
And locked himself there.
She brushed his cheek,
Before turning away,
Not knowing t’was the last time,
She’d ever feel him.
Had she known,
She would’ve held a little longer,
Him still warm,
Heart still beating.
They didn’t look up,
As she walked away,
Not knowing t’was the last time,
They’d ever hear her.
Had they known,
They would’ve told her,
Of their undying love,
For her and her only.
But they didn’t,
Not knowing t’was the last time,
Didn’t plan on parting,
But death doing them apart.
Life as long as it seems,
Still coming to end,
Sudden and jolting,
But real all the same.
Live for the day,
For life isn’t a smooth
ride, but tumultuous,
Stopping midway…

Black Blood

Pretty plastic stretched out,
Clinging, holding her together,
Worms, beetles, rotting,
From the inside out.
A thin-lipped smile,
Holding back the pouring blood,
But a smile, nonetheless,
Face masked with black cracks.
Struggling to hold seams,
From ripping apart,
Stitched thread coming free,
Ripped by the pressure.
A deep grunt, shaking,
But still in one piece,
Didn’t stop her love,
For him, he was blind.
Still unnoticed, heart being eaten,
But beating for him nevertheless,
Seams broke free at last,
Fell off the face of the earth.
Vocal chords ripped as she screamed,
No sound coming out,
Miles under soil and mud,
Trapped, crying but still breathing.

Ocean Front

The thin line,
Ever-changing,
Separating two mighty worlds,
Brown and blue.
Minute granules,
Sparkling,
Light reflections jarring,
Against the white foam.
Sea shells,
Pale-pinkish,
Standing out,
Against the sandy chrome.
Embraced by currents,
Over and over again,
The forbidden love,
Of land and sea.
Morning golden,
Stark against,
The backs of sand-dwellers,
As they crawled about.
The thin line,
Ever-changing,
Joining two mighty worlds,
Brown and blue.

Do I exist?

He leaned forward,
Supporting himself with wood,
A stick clutched in his hand,
Propelling him forward.
He sat on a bench,
A heavy heave,
Leaving his lips,
Turning to fog.
Snow fell around,
Little pieces of beauty,
But was it still beautiful,
When there was no one to look?
All alone he reminisced,
About when he had a family,
Someone to look to,
Someone to look after.
If no one in the entire world,
Cared about you,
Did you really exist at all,
Or not?