You Needed To Hear This

You Needed To Hear This

Enough now,

lay down the weight which you carry,

nobody is owed the heaviness of your soul

and there are other ways to find justice

without holding on to the hard places.

Enough now,

this burden of proof doesn’t belong

to the heart that knows the truth,

whose body shattered into pieces

reflecting someone else’s shame.

Enough now,

name what hurts and let it be,

these wounds may be deep

but do not silence their screaming,

they were never the enemy.

Enough now,

who said you have to do this alone,

healing comes collectively, like a universal truth

and love, it’s time to come home.

You’ve been gone long enough.

Saviour

Saviour

I do not want me,

my brain rejects every organ of this body

and bleeds out acid rain.

Joy ran away,

caught a boat across the ocean

now I’m stranded on the bay

with a raft built from rotten wood

and a single bullet

to either bury myself where my soul breaks

or shoot for an SOS.

I’m stuck rooted to the spot,

like a dead weight drowning slowly in quicksand

unsure I rate this life high enough to save it

as the storm cloud approaches along with my fate.

A lightening strike splits the clouds,

allowing space for the heavens to open

as my own hand reaches down.

Good Old Days

Good Old Days

You came to me as a match,

that one chance to spark a flame

created a candle lit dinner

with soul food to take away.

It’s the risk of burning which tells me I’m safe

building bonfires with the childlike abandon

of a heart who believes

we’re dancing in circles where we’ve already been

and we need no time to waste

all the time in the world.

Whenever I Go To The Coast

Whenever I Go To The Coast

The glare of the afternoon sun

caught sight of your hands

as they grazed my skin,

lightly committed lines leaving traces

like sand grains, sprinkled thinly into glistening patterns

where our dry backs meet the ocean

and gave in to melting.

What I mean to say

is that I cherish these soft days

where souls are christened with sea salt

and float atop peace waves,

where healing is a boat

that casts out its anchor

on the beach shores of our suffering,

nets spread tenderly with intentions

to carry the load off my mind.

Groundwork

Groundwork

I would like to rely a little more on myself

and not see hope as a chore,

like eating healthy or being kind to my anxiety,

something other than just coping

when lack of sleep slides into the bed beside me

and swears he’s the only intimacy I’m worth.

Can I place a hand over where it hurts,

yours or mine, or both together,

allow scars to touch bare skin

without lying about their origin,

my longings and wishful thinkings,

mistakes and misplaced trust.

Of the things I find hard to accept,

the most difficult is knowing

how the next steps require

I must let go of them all.

Brainwork

Brainwork

Meandering around the back alleys of my brain

the dark accentuates the corners and amplifies the space

left for the odd socks, neglected ideas

like pennies that drop out your pocket,

falling between the car seat and the door,

the lost and found fashion of mismatched PE kit

and school pumps that stick to the gym floor.

The cleaners don’t come here, dust lies so thick

I could make a snow angel with it,

constricting rusty daydreams of the place’s potential

like an amateur home improvements TV show.

Being alone is not the same as being lonely

and though the air here tastes stale,

it’s comforting to be away from the restless nerves

my body becomes a slave to, under pressure

to play the game, this world’s trivial pursuits.

I think I’ll visit myself more often, being back some food

for the frightened mice who find solace

in this hideout too, maybe we’ll share a picnic,

finally sit across from our fears

and talk until we forget

which of us was taming who.

Here Lies Grace

Here Lies Grace

I woke up this morning and sensed the air

mingle with the spaces between my fingers,

the weight of your absence

like a twenty pound blanket I sometimes carry

as extra skin

when I long to feel less fragile

and more oxytocin, more real

and less repellent.

I round up my knees

to cradle the present,

give it the human touch it needs

in moments of discomfort so quiet

that I hear the birds outside my window

breathe in faintest echos

like the words my lips speak silently

across an empty pillow.