To The Pilot Who Didn’t Follow The Flight Plan

To The Pilot Who Didn’t Follow The Flight Plan

Too many of us grow up and forget how to play,

become lazy in settling for the mundane

Monday to Friday. We convince ourselves

to stay in the steady job, the still mildly satisfying

but faded relationship, semi-detached house, because we signed a contract,

we made a commitment, we think of the money

and material we’d lose or gain and weigh our options accordingly,

decide what’s less risky at the risk of wasting our life. Dig our heels in

till we’re all stood just the same – at the alter, in line at the lunch queue, school pick ups

in the playground, all ignoring the sound

that pounds at our guts. You’ve learned

to block it out, it’s started to learn to shut up.

I’m not saying we all need to be Peter Pan

but the boy had a point. To live true to ourselves

doesn’t mean we all remember how to fly; but I bet

you don’t even jump.

I bet you don’t even try.

Love Made Easy

Love Made Easy

You can take my time, tie it to the bed. Spread apart the seconds and divide the minutes into drawn out mouths and slow talk.

You can have me because here I am free. I can flower or I can plant myself in dirt but you always leave out a teaspoon of sugar water. Like a glass of milk and a mince pie for Father Christmas and never forgetting the carrot for Rudolph. You always believe in me.

You brought me pancakes in bed and it meant something.

I read you like a slow digestion, savoured and not greedy, burning off the excess punctuation.

(I don’t care about bad spellings, just give me the words.)

Your devotion on my black tar days; the non-linear nature of all things when done right.

What we expect is only adventure.

James Brown

James Brown

Barefoot, bold feet feeling out the dance floor

for the first song at the wedding between your body and you.

Bravely finding what fits

so yell if you need to, scream at the ways you were burgled.

Sometimes it’s not so easy to forget yesterday

or the fear that stays buried under fingernails;

but your self has always belonged in these bones

and brand new cells will shed old skin

to show the warrior you became,

battle-scarred, the sun senses the beginnings of a smile

and bathes in her yellow freedom.

Animal, Vegetable, Mineral

Animal, Vegetable, Mineral

I am the hunted,

scent carries on the wind, tastes

of a three course meal

on the tongue,

we meet at the waterhole

to savour the other use for these lips,

preparing for the chase with palate cleanser

they would think we are but grazing creatures

but this prolonged gaze is sizing up sinews, how they execute

movements with the bones,

as nature meets wild beast

my flesh is the feast

upon which you will later feed,

with sadistic grip of incisors,

pinned neck to Savannah dust,

coats collide in frantic lust

as to evolution’s displeasure

I plead guilty.

Taste of Heaven

Taste of Heaven

Don’t kid yourself,

this barely ruffled my feathers,

my faith belongs

to the way the wind

strokes between my open wings

with nerves left trembling,

but sometimes even wild things

rest for a while

and still the world

has ample love to go around.

All creatures adapt to the changing seasons

and these sharp claws

would be constrained

by an existence in captivity,

a birds eye view is only bestowed

to those blessed to be free

and I was born an untamed spirit

touching everything

and nobody.

Double Rainbow

Double Rainbow

Long for the calm

and the storm will arrive

in her place

as a reminder to brace

for the inevitable impact

of a life made

for neither the ordinary

nor for the faint-hearted

but marking the journey

from where the light first switched on

and to live

meant leaving

in exchange

for the pounding rhythm of freedom

and nowhere

did the universe

promise this would be easy

but we’d all die of thirst

without a little rain.

Believe It Or Knot

Believe It Or Knot

The first knot

I came across

was that of a bow,

checkered ribbons on show

exchanging laces for Velcro

and point shoes on tip toe

as every growing girl should know

that shoes can make your feet bleed

as long as you look pretty.

At 15 I learned the hangman’s noose

wasn’t just a game

when the lack of mental health support for young people

showed me how it’s played,

I’m still not sure who won

when for months I couldn’t sleep

without the light on

as depression became a lesson

for our school of life curriculum.

As a young woman

I was tied to the highwayman,

made so insecure

by our bodies viewed

for trivial use

then our brains dumped at the back door

for refusing to copy the women in porn

as society manufactures more

unrealistic expectations for our pubes.

What the media forgot to tell my younger self

was I’m allowed to feel good naked

so here’s where I heard

of the barrel sling

and how BDSM, like all sex, is a consensual thing,

and that he may be good at flirting

but no amount of fucking

will make up for the orgasms you are missing

because you think you have to fake it.

I think the one known as common whipping

describes all the ways

we’re taught to tie ourselves in knots

for fear of getting frayed

so we don’t take the road less travelled

because we’re so afraid

of all our flaws being on display,

we forget that being unravelled

is to give ourselves away.

For there exists a social structure

which tries to doubly constrict your voice

by telling you how you should be

then criticising you like there was a choice

and amidst all the white noise

that says you’re already free,

remember even falconers

keep the most powerful birds of prey

tethered to their perches

caged to a piece of tree.

So check yourselves for knots

and run fast towards the sea.