X Marks The Spot

X Marks The Spot

The seats we sat on,

mine precariously, cross-legged but not comfortably,

balancing the weight of something both new and nostalgic,

the way you took off your denim jacket,

the way you fidget with your wristbands out of habit.

The cups we drank from,

yours plastic, mine ceramic.

I think they sensed the flush from our skin

when the ice in yours melted,

no attention paid to how they tasted.

We all knew, me and you didn’t show up for the coffee.

The ground we walked on,

mindless pacing yet purposeful.

Were our steps in time,

following the trail of crumbs through our past lives?

I’ll mark each stop with a cross,

treasuring the map that sends us round and round in buried circles.

Vigil #2

Vigil #2

I am still not accustomed

to being wanted for my company,

so used to hosting men

in my bed and this body,

the universe expanding

as somehow my space becomes erased.

To be asked what brings me pleasure

should be so everyday.

I may not be convinced of my beauty yet

but I can believe that I am safe,

even as my deepening breath

begs for armour

or out of habit, sleep hesitates,

both waiting up for the decision my heart makes

to trust the hands that hold me.

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.

Scrabble

Scrabble

Dividing kilometres

by the words I can add up on my fingers,

hand to heart co-ordinating my pen to write

of your absent mind

whilst my mouth holds back lines,

sentences strung from the day’s reminders of you.

Tina knew,

love has something to do with it

but now is neither the time nor the place

to submit to measured spirits,

I’ve always drunk till contented

and even one can be too much for me.

So I sip today slowly,

stall my letters, keep them short,

the score only matters to those playing the game

and I am no one’s to gain.

I race with the softest of movements,

choices so silent I could slip away.

One For The Road

One For The Road

This empty hotel room

senses the lack of you,

scent lingering on sunken pillows

smells bittersweet, blended with jealousy

as my heart bottles this moment,

cap screwed on tight

in an effort to capture perfection

before it leaves on a plane.

I belong to the longing

and gather what stays,

your tiny imprints and easy mornings,

how you take your coffee,

the fit of your arm

as it curls around my waist.

Time’s precious reminder to stay present,

savour textures,

so I’ll take one of everything you sell

and make each bite last

somehow

until the market stalls open

with even more of this good for sale.

Pickle Jar Karma

Pickle Jar Karma

Today I’ll sit right in the middle of it,

in the thick, dense, lush bustle of love.

It does not do me any good

to exist on the periphery of this one.

Feel the pulse of my heart beat

as it runs through your finger tips

and turns your lips the richest mix

of red and pink. Forget all future things;

now is for sinking into our spirits,

the way yours sparkles through your eyes

and I’ve lost all doubt in universal signs,

spellbound in this spotlight for as long as it shines.

You’ve conjured up an aura that preoccupies my mind

with fascination for how the chapters in our stories

might use the time these bodies

find themselves writing the same lines

on the same side of the page.

Walking The Streets Of A Guided Tour

Walking The Streets Of A Guided Tour

The human heart

in search of a hand

that will hold it when the ache starts,

sharp bursts that break apart

our cold exteriors, tearing a hole

through calm atmospheres.

Craving someone else just to be here

to hear us shatter

and understand our cracks in the pavement,

how we fall through the gaps out of fear

of losing something worth saving for later.

Clinging onto the bruises that might matter

as if they are clues mapped out on skin.

Wearing ourselves thin,

instinct starving by the second,

till we can’t tell where the road ends

and the souls of our feet begin.