Postcard From The PastTo a future love,It's been 21 years now and I feel that it's time I wrote to tell you it's okay to come home. I know I did things and felt things that may have kept you away, and I apologise for that, but I'm ready to meet you now.They say that there is someone out there for everyone, and that one day we all meet our soul mate. I'm finding it hard to accept this prophecy and I guess most people would until that day arrives. That day when they meet the one that they'll share their time with. I need you to prove them right, otherwise I'll always be just another non-believer.I know who you are and what you'll be like. I don't know the physical attributes, but they are neither here nor there to me. I know that you'll enjoy random trips and new places, the smell of bonfire and thunderstorms.Your ideal evening would be spent under the stars, no modern appliances to interfere with the nights ambience.You wont shirk at bolts of lightning across an inky sky and you'll hap
I thought I knew my death.I thought I knew my death. He grabbed my heart one day and squeezed tightly, banded fear wrapping its way around my body and terrorizing the air from my lungs. "Not..Like..This.." I would gasp, thinking that there must be some better way out. I would start to beg but it would soon be over. He'd release me and my body would give up. There would be nothing left to say.I thought I knew my death. She would slip into the shadows some months before I thought my time was up. She would slowly take my memories for my own, replacing them with child's talk and nonsensical things. "Oh please, won't somebody help me." It would be a rhetoric, although I wouldn't know that then.I thought I knew my death. He would seep into my skin and beneath my bones. Disease would spread through my veins, shutting me down. My very soul would ache, because cancerous ways could do cancerous things. He would wrap himself around my very voice, my heart, my tissue and my being. "Take me home." I w
Counting BonesTo An Unknown Lady,They found your remains a few days ago. They speculate that you were buried more than half a decade ago. Yet people have only been looking for seven days. Properly looking I mean. Somebody somewhere must have searched out of love for you the minute you disappeared.We don't know much about you yet, but the newspapers will begin to piece together fragments of your tragic life and how you came to be lying in the earth without recognition. No gravestone, no testimony to your living and breathing existence, not even an empty vase with the congealed dead particles of flowers to signify grief.There are flowers there now. Does that make you feel any better? That hundreds and hundreds of people now know of your existence in death? Recognition such as this would never have been craved in life, but if it was all you could claw back once you had died would you have shouted from the hilltops that you lay beneath cold grass?You're not the only one. You are
The Grey LadyWhen I first saw her, sitting in the middle of a vast armchair, staring out of the window - I was reminded of the Grey Lady. She was Grey. But she couldn't have been more than eight or nine years old. Her hair was long and perfectly straight but it looked dusty. As if she had been sitting there for years, forgotten. Her eyes were sunken, sallow. Her skin was a pallour of grey that I've never seen on a human being before. Dark, damp, but it looked as though if you touched her a cloud would form in front of you. Dusty.I was one of the unfortunate parents roped into going on a residential school trip to the Lake District. It was my job to tick off the names as people left the reception of the school and clambered into the bus. I ticked my own son off as he stood beside me, nervously reaching to catch my free hand and continued through the list of his classmates one by one. The grey girl didn't move and I hesitated as I ran my finger down the register. I had ticked every name and it was a
Three days of the LastShe spent a lifetime of living in order to prepare for her death but the final steps and the lasting moments were spread out poignantly across just three days.On the first day of the last, she taught all that she knew to the one who would be left behind. She imparted the final gifts of her wisdom with every ounce of strength that she had left.On the second day of the last, she said her goodbyes. She visited each of her family in turn and helped them to understand, in her own unique way, that it was finally time to let go.On the third day of the last, she removed herself from all that she knew and all that knew her and climbed the highest mountain with the bestest view from her dreams.On that final day, the last of the last, she fell into the deepest of sleeps.Peaceful, endless and comforting.
I am not myself anymoreDeath lay in the middle of the lawn this morning. There was no frost or early morning dew, instead a cool grey palour explored the sky with fingertips of gruel. There was nothing to suggest that anything else had changed, only the smell of grief and the echo of regret crossed into the morning air.As Death lay, the sun rose and lit up the curling tips of springtime petals. The leaves on trees crackled and stretched almost imperceptibly. They shook away the yawns of Winter without a backward glance. Hungrily, with two steps to the left and a raunchy shake of boughs they jived into Spring.Life continued as Death lay. The groans of people as they woke to face another day and shrugged off the idea of somebody else's problem tiptoed out of half open windows and unhinged doorways.Death didn't change her position in the middle of the lawn. She lay beneath an Oak Tree that they say takes three hundred years to grow, three hundred years to live and three hundred years to die. She tho
Four Thousand PiecesWe met outside the morgue. You were there with your hair too bright and clothes that we had fought over that very morning. You were crouched, your body looking impossibly small and broken. You can't wear that out. You look like a prostitute.I'm eighteen years old Mum, I can wear what I like. All at once you were the brand new baby that I had held in my arms, sobbing over the tiny miracle that your Father and I had never thought possible. Then, you were five years old, and it was time to begin school. You had looked up at me with big green eyes and a serious smile as you proved over and over that you could fasten the Velcro on your brand new shoes.You smiled at me now, outside this place that we didn't belong in, and I saw the stabilisers that Gary had taken from your bike. He had watched you cycle down the road, ten years old, the proudest Father at that moment in time. I could tell you that he hid tears from you that day. But I don't.Instead I ask you how your day wa
The Anti GuidebookI don't expect you to understand. Nor do I expect you to believe. I always believed in telling the truth unless I got myself confused in which case I would lie as convincingly as I can for as long as humanely possible. My propensity to begin this guide comes from years of staring at glossy picture perfect photographs of far away places. You know those kind of books, the backpackers guide to wherever.... The kind of books that you take for granted the author has seen and experienced the taste of Africa and the smell of China first hand. When in reality they could have wiki'd or google'd or found the information needed for a bestseller with some quick tickle of fingers.You see, I stood on a bridge on a balmy summers evening with my back to the moon and my chest braced against the breeze. And then quite simply, I let go. I never expected the August wind to carry me, I had no hopes and no expectations. I had no need for any sort of guidance in that
Ward 7 Nurse? With a sigh and a roll of her heavily made up eyes, the nurse trips across the ward. She bends over the frail woman calling for her and waits expectantly. Nurse? 'Yes I'm right here Mary' Can you tell me what's happening to me? Her question goes unanswered as the nurse turns away to tend to another patient in another bed different diagnosis. Same story.On the opposite side of the ward another women sits awkwardly in a chair, her limbs stiff and unmoveable. She tries to cut her modest lunch with hands that shake and eyes that are old and beyond seeing. She calls for the nurse and another steps up informing her that she's not a baby and she can eat her dinner by herself. Come on Betty, pull yourself together The woman relents with a soft sigh as she's left alone again. She doesn't pick up her fork.Back in the other bed the elderly lady takes her medication with frustrated assistance from the nurse stood over her.'When's your birthday M
UnforgettableFive years of uslearning each other,loving each other,before we took our vowsand began anew. Twenty hours of travelwas well worth it.The paradise we foundin that faraway landtook my breath away. Twelve daysof celebration.Just us,and a cabin in the rain forestoverlooking a black sand beach. Our pale skin pinked under the Costa Rican Sun,the burn soothed under a cloudless sky.We watched glimmering stars,brighter in the absence of city lights.Transformedby foreign tongues and familiar arms.An experience with no parallel.Taking our commitmentand testing itmaking it stronger.I hiked on slippery rocksto get to that special place,to stand underneath that waterfallwith you.To laugh with you,to take in the wonder of the worldin your company.To smile just because…I married you.
28 daysthey came over on a boat, i imagine,(for i was not the there and they do not speak of it)they came over on a boat i imagine,just like the rest of them,from lucerne or bavaria or kaposvar or drywsevedescaping medieval forests, rain playing peat bogslike organ keyboards,they were farmers, sown to wheat like arranged marriage,mike had one ox, two bulls and a chest like stone & mortar,he was a good man, looked god in the eyes at dawn,whispered secrets to his bedsheets at night,ed, ed was a freight train, handlebar moustache & coal-fired cheeks,when he was eleven, ed built the honesdale canal with nothing excepthis hands and the lord as a witness,don't take my word for it but rumor has it there was a little napoleonin him after all,it was after the war,the one of blue and grey and redthey must've looked up like children domust've seen her, slow dancing in the harbor,marveled at the way her arm never grew weary, brow never sweaty,the way the green brown water smiled up a
The Guardian Wraith of Starlit SmokeOur sitting here by lantern-light together In the thick of a teeming snowfall;The final golden glow,Against the ancient sovereignty of night,Like the last petal off a flower. It is turning three hundred yearsHe never let the lantern drop.The illimitable dark and cold and storm,Whose work is to find out God;And when they came it seemed with a will To carry me with them to death. What comes over a man, is it soul or mind-(The Devil enters like a sapphire wasp)Twixt what to love and what to hate To find out how to get away from God? No one has seen him stumble looking back From having diedInaudibly in thought;The sorrow of having been left behind. The land was ours before we were the land'sAnd having it all made over new From force to matter and back to force,The alrea
you losing mefull title: every conversation we ever had about you losing me, and how you almost didthings have shifted,the slightest tip of the universeon its infinite axis; into an oceanof arctic darknessi plunge.my peripherals are encasedin caverns of ivory teeth,slick-back orcas and the ominousterror of frigid waters pushingagainst skin, pressurized likepuncture wounds.slivers of glass tracing the rivuletsin my palms like fingertips,faces carved in windshield cracks,sails carrying me away like stretcherson silver wings,toes poised on the precipice ofwhat everything really means -do you know how it feelsto be smaller than those ten letters?soul in the back of your skull,the world in one moment,one fraction of existence,one shard of luck and beautyhanging haphazardlysomewhere between the collapsed roofand the radio skipping in and out.
If...If all the world knew our pain we might never have sufferedIf all our friends helped us through we might never have sufferedIf all our parents ever cared
What's The Point?What's the point in livingWhen the world is caving in?What's the point in survivalWhen no one gives a damn?You might think I'm crazyFor living on the edge.But It's better than living on the safe sideOnly going where you've been.
Seattle NightsCoffee shops, raindrops,My heart stops.Phone calls, shopping malls,Youve broken down these walls.Romantic dates, a warm embrace,Entwined are our fates.Sinking ships, pressing lips,The way you move your hips.Smooth strides, my heart glides,My nervousness now hides.On my mind, pain in rewind,You are the perfect find.Time to waste, off to space,Always making my heart race.
It Only Took 3 Little WordsAfter all these years, I still dont understand why it was so difficult for you to admit it. Why couldnt you just utter those three simple words Id been waiting to hear ever since at the carnival, when I won you that stuffed teddy bear. Once I saw your normally pale face become flushed with color, (and that crooked smile of yours) I knew right then and there that you would be the one.------We first bumped into each other at a sandwich shop. I mistook you for one of my brothers friends and spoke for what seems like ages, (realistically no more than 30 seconds) before you stopped me and informed me that we had never met before. I bit my lip and turned bright red as your lips bent upward forming a smile. You assured me I wasnt that red and there was no need to be embarrassed. (Dont take me for a fool, even though Im just a fool for you) You then convinced me to buy your sandwich, since I obviously knew you so well. (I always was
Sonnet VIIIBrush my lips with medicated kisses,Trace my heart with your love-laden fingers.Your arm reaches for the sky but misses,But the hope of grabbing a star lingers.We have crossed the line from friend to lover,Filling the sky with carefully made lights,Images of past, present, future hover,Reminding me of all the tear filled nights.Wind brushes through hair, enticing my lips,You nudge near, whisper secrets in my ears,Fill my head with dreams of space, rocket ships,Flying through space, traveling in light years.Let us go to the moon and see the stars,Grabbing a handful to store in glass jars.
grow up, dreamer girlwe can't all keep wishing and running on starlight.sometimes, the magic runs out.you may be made to run your fingers through silk petals and glossy hair,but i am expected to be dark earth, a pillar of metal and rust,an open woundi want to run back to my dreams, but sometimes they areno longer there, or their flights have been delayed again.
Who Lives?"Your choice: You, or him.""Him."
uncertainty is a meal i can always finish.i.she says she thinks i wear my heart well,and i tell her it's only because i don't wear it at allii.sometimes i think my veins are breaking because they get so thin and purpleand sometimes they are blue as the sky we live under,bulging beneath the unbroken skin of my wrists like they are straining to touchthe oxygen that writhes above them, so close to contact butnever able to truly meet.iii.we stay together, not through thick,only through thiniv.my friend confessed her sexuality to usmaybe three months back,but i still can't seem to find my own "label"and it is sad because i want to be able to label myself in aworld where we are shamed by our namesv.i live in a city where the people care so little for each otherthat each passing day i am painfully remindedof how much i can hateand not enough of how much i can love
do you believe in the lies we eat?i think the roles of ink and blood are reversed:i write in blood (my words are my lifeline)and my flesh is sewn from dead-black ink, coursing through my corrodedveins like venom
there is steel underneath these layers of fleshpeople say hearing is the last of thefive senses to go.if that is the case,breathe by my side when i die.
blueheartshe traces her veins with a shaking thumb,she sees blue and purple highways, and sometimes guitar strings
blood impulseshe took a dagger to the gutto save her heart.
the truth behind loving someoneyou didn't love her.the only movie you watched that ever stuck with you was 500 days of summer, and when she asked you to carry her over the rush of the creek that way that summer would have, you did. you never knew what it was that attracted you to that movie, or the idea of loving a girl as much as the protagonist had, but you assumed it was something you should do. you were young, anyways, and you were good looking, and she, among many, had dropped words in your hands, hoping you'd hold onto something. take it somewhere, ask for more, take more, like you deserved. you don't know why you took more from her. maybe she looked best for the part. you don't really know.she was happy, always. she listened to music, you knew; she wore her favorite bands like clothing, wore art in her denim and hair length, and maybe she was better looking with makeup on or off, but she looked like a project, color paper cut and placed over her body in haphazard precision. she was a doll, everyone said abo
Losing my BreathIt's 2amand the calling birds are hatching in my heart, I feel it crack and they emerge. Feel them drilling on my ribs, the steady anxious thrum of a flight risk waiting to happen.It's 3am and I can't breathe, memories of you are nesting in my throat and now I can't work around them. It's cutting off the circulation, and my frantic heart tries to keep on.It's 5am and tears scratch their directions into my cheeks, they flounder and meanderand they erode. My skin and soul is scraped down layer by layer to nought.It's 8am and another day is heralded by the angry flutterings in my chest. I try to swallow my pride, dam the tears and crawl through the dark again.Coughing up bloodand inhaling iron filings(The remainder of what used to be my life).
Six WordsIt was a matter of Justice.