What I Owe To No One

What I Owe To No One

This might be a year of firsts;

the year I learn not to shrink

into a space neatly prepared for my heart

since I am a privilege

and not a ‘one size fits all’,

that even good things can fall away

and words left unsaid

are a bottled scent left on the doorstep,

a perfume I can’t wear anymore,

pick my power up off the floor,

feed on its potential,

adore myself.

Red Shoes and Life Signs

Red Shoes and Life Signs

The famine started long before this soul could read,

letters giving way to patterns,

stolen colours mixed with second hand scraps

and fashioned as freedom.

A skin that falls away from the bones

to expose the starved sinews, weak from sneaking sensations

in all the wrong places.

Months spent as an empty shell

longing for the sea,

weighed down with sand and plastic wrappers;

cheap treasure, shallow digger.

All that tickles and thunders was buried deeper underground

but detecting only shadow signals

instinct gave way to injured impulse

and lay dying in final defence of the once courageous heart

who lost its rage to a captive life

in a weather-beaten cage and severed from the body,

power seeping out the cells into a muddy puddle on the floor.

But home is where the heart is,

even when it fights back at a crawl

this body will regrow limbs, applying medicines

to clot the blood back into these veins

and the whispers of the wild woman

will echo through each chamber of the heart,

breathing gulps of handmade air

just to howl at the moon.

Raw Soup for the Skin Soul

Raw Soup for the Skin Soul

Pain pitted me to the post, and in defeat

I drag these heavy limbs across the finish line.

Body battle-worn, at loss

with how to rise from this crumpled pile.

The devil’s flames lick my feet

yet here I lie, stone cold,

crowds hurling their hurt in oblivion

to the collected suffering we already carry on our collective shoulders.

But carry on, we do; and if I have to crawl

over shards of broken glass with a broken heart

I will get us through;

the world has good in her yet.

She promised me once, and I hold her to it,

joy wins the war in the end.

“At Least We Tried”

“At Least We Tried”

At times I come across a soul

so quick to bring me down

I wonder what their story is

and what joy they have found

in superficial conflicts

or actions brought of anger,

how do they think

that will make the world a better

place, for us to live on together?

Hearts closed to the bigger picture

this is how they respond to the suffering

of others, by increasing the fracture

till we’re all just single broken bones

in a human body,

dysfunctional vessels

for a collective heart heavy.

Spreading the disease

of jumping to the worst assumptions

about another human heart

without knowing its best intentions.

But love is a doing word

so let’s all keep in mind

that in a world already tough enough

at least we tried being kind.