#33 healing poetry; dust-mote demons

In the hazy summer light,I fight, I fightGentle demons that onceVisited me at nightNow, they hitch rideson dust motesand oh – what a sightwhat a sightdemons turn toangels – mid-flight.I fight, I fighttheir handsclutching atmy heart.Tearing apartFrom the dark –I start, I startTo sing a lullabyI knew long agoNow the flowersBegin to sway Their petalsAreContinue reading “#33 healing poetry; dust-mote demons”

Swirling Skirts

She wore three skirtsIt seemed the airLifted her higher Sheets of fabricRustled against her skinReminding her how thin Life wasWithout danceAnd subtle movement In a tranceShe heard violinsBreak the dawn She had crafted from dreamsThat settled in her chestThe night before And as the stars began to singShe settled inAnd woke up The dream siftedContinue reading “Swirling Skirts”

#29 healing poetry; starlight steeped souls

I fall asleepto the moontide,noontide, after-in-between darkthat I thought smelledonly of the spaces between yourlegsI tasted the dawn, brieflybefore skipping to the nexttown for coffeeand I held his handfor a moment – his soulthe water stills at timesWhere you least expect toSee the reflection of theWorld as something beautifulBut there you stoodSlightly unsure, totally misjudgedInContinue reading “#29 healing poetry; starlight steeped souls”

The Writing Balm

When we stand in drifts of rainThat bathe our bodies underTrees that shudder in windCarrying new seeds to new placesWe know that nature is somethingto fearand to wonderat.I wonder at the rows of tulipsBright like freshly kissed lipsat dawn, and it reminds meof sweeter holds in bedroomsI’ll never visit again. I didn’t wander lonelyI wanderedContinue reading “The Writing Balm”

Language of my Heart

I think thatSometimesThe right wordsDon’t comeWith the right feelingInsteadI try to tell youSomethingOnly I can feelIn a language made By manIn a language thatIs not theLanguage of myHeart -A.A. @nyxilotbiscuit I don’t talk often about the feeling of loss that comes from not knowing my native language fluently. I don’t talk about what it’s likeContinue reading “Language of my Heart”

That Dance

So I closed my eyes And I cut my hair Wondering if anyone else was there That you could see With eyes so wide It almost defied Belief – It’s not the seeing that’s lost But your presence was the cost Of a self-entitled, self-appointed ignorance To loss I was the cost, and you madeContinue reading “That Dance”

The Taut Truth

I feel tautNext to the presence of your possession.An extra person, is convalescing,In this room, built for just us two.“Is it true?”I think, and worry thatA part of me is excited — To taste the excitement of someone else.To breathe it in through every sense. Does that make sense? They say that if I forgiveContinue reading “The Taut Truth”

Writing when it hurts…and a poem about us.

This post will be a little different, because I’m in a different space while writing it. But, an important one, I think. Recently, my body went into shock. Then, I had an actual real-life shock. Then, I said, well fuck-it, what do writers do when everything goes to shit? We write. I’m used to theContinue reading “Writing when it hurts…and a poem about us.”

Writing on Valentine’s Day

I was young. My yellow room was lit in a hazy filter of sunlight, that somehow ended up muted despite the colour-match. The curtains were open because I had been sitting on the cold, deep, white window ledge, looking out at the dark water again last night. I turned around and gasped. A teddy-bear, aContinue reading “Writing on Valentine’s Day”

Where It Hurts, To Be Alone

I wanted you to know,The beauty of being – When you’re lost. Even if it feels like the cost,Is your heart.This grace will make yourSoul start. Bright, in the mornin’ light,The smoke is gone,And, dazzlin’ mirrors Reflect the cost –Of what’s been lost In dark corners,On a bus. When you’re lost – Take a momentContinue reading “Where It Hurts, To Be Alone”