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.

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.

Where You Are

Where You Are

Sometimes the world gives out

a little of what we need, and it isn’t greed

to take these opportunities, free our minds

from all the things we think we should be.

Lift your chest, raise your head,

find space between each rib bone;

it’s more than just a cage.

Stretch out each muscle in belief

that what it’s reaching for is worth the wait

and the growing pains from overcast days

are a sign for us to pay attention,

sit up straight, interrupt the chain of events

that’s causing our voices to shake,

to forget our breath. Whoever says

it’s not okay to stop and rest

hasn’t felt your feet aching,

hasn’t seen the sweat from your brow

as they drip down like salt tears,

tired and lonely, falling to the ground

like the perceived gravity of your fuck ups,

when this Earth only birthed humanity.

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.

This Year I Will Listen To Soul Music

This Year I Will Listen To Soul Music

At 2pm, last year breezed past me, out the door,

gracefully granting next year could plant her seeds

before sunset, steadily watered with liquid gold.

‘Hey Jude’ playing over the speakers

and I bless the drunken singers, warbling chorus

enough to cover for our quietness

as we stand there, feeling the corners of our lips

curl up in the sounds of silent serenade,

whilst tiny songwriters etch lyrics into our retinas,

signalling how these soft notes might look good on us.

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.