I keep forgetting to post my poetry here! I’ve been trying to write daily haikus (have managed 4 in a row so far) but also responding to prompts and such.
across yearning skin;
doubts are quelled
during the certitude of
yet moonlight tosses
the heart to nauseous seas
sending the soul
so far east,
in the west
beyond the gilded orchard
in the corner,
my sanity matches yours.
I mean, hello.
I’m sane, I promise.
(a different kind of sane – the kind
that terrifies people
who can’t navigate storms)
– would you let me? –
take you away
from this sunscorched place
and wrench open the
trapdoor to the
jagged gale of my heart
let’s run away,
laughing and whispering
into bleeding nights
with nothing but stars
for a blanket.
let’s hold our broken skin together
and tattoo over our
till no one can tell
we were shattered in the first place.
let me kiss
the scars they’ve left on your soul
while we weep ritual salts
on our rusted
[still a few weird prompts left!]
I have no voice
to call my own
and no one shall speak for me;
they only expect immediate delivery
while they vandalise my bones
[prompt was ‘spoon’]
softness of curved edges anointed
with the depth of souls;
the spoon was surely invented by
a lover of the world.
thus when I am ill,
I beg you deliver my cure
through spoonfuls of languid nights
spent tumbling into you.
I light matches for ghouls’ gunpowder apocalypse
when all they wanted was ‘a smoke’
I tread all along the road, thinking I am doing well,
when in fact I was heading to hell with average intentions.
I set bombs ticking under straw houses
when all they wanted was a heart to call ‘home’
I spit snake-like venom against all I know
to stop them melting into my skin
I confess to saints and monsters alike
but when they hold up the mirror, I am the sin
earth and light; hear them sing of
worlds we lost at dusk.
[response to a prompt on tumblr; the prompt was ‘lose myself in you’]
someone once told me – possibly my swim teacher –
that it’s less likely you’ll drown,
if you know how to swim.
I don’t know about the death rate,
but I can confirm, it’s such a lie;
as a child, I learnt them all: freestyle, backstroke,
breaststroke, and butterfly,
yet given the chance – just a single glance –
I drown in you.
[this one just happened… even I’m not sure what it’s about, so don’t worry if it doesn’t make sense]
if I did not choose you
and you did not choose me
any more than either of us choose to bleed,
then why does it hurt when we choose not to see
that we’re both colouring each other shades of raw
in the half-light of dawn,
plummeting naked into the waves
of each other’s eyes?
and back out of sentient rooms
as though looking for
when, in fact, I’m trying to
lose the feeling
of being forgotten.