Can the truth be a lie? – A poem

A candle tells of air that never smelled so sweet,
And perfume plants fragrant flowers on my skin,
But with candied scents, she’s a liar, liar.

Reflection flips perception, I’ll never know
What your eyes see, my distorted vision vignetted
By my trust in a piece of glass, inevitably a liar, liar.

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Cocooned – A poem

It’s a relieved-the-party’s-over empty
That will leave me pruned and ready
To return to my roots,
Where I will always go back to trying
To write beautifully about
Un-beautiful things.

I wrap myself in a cocoon of blankets
That pat my hair dry.
Here I go to sleep a caterpillar
And awake, a butterfly.

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Poison bottled for later – A poem

you think bottling emotions will save you
but it’s only collecting poison for later
that will rot and spoil in your neglect –
it will eventually force down your throat
or inject into your neck, your hands will fly to the wound
to try and muffle the agony, but it’s too late.

to ignore is not to dispose, even hauling the bottle
overboard into a heaving ocean is only
a compromise or a suspension,
delaying the consequence to a later date

don’t you realise to suppress is to stifle?

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The end of the world – A poem

When exactly does the world end?
When it shatters into fragments of glassy particles
sharp at the edges, asteroids now feeling like pebbles,
with the explosion of shrapnel piercing space? It still exists,
just in a different shape, so does the world only end
when it has become the lunch spiralling down the digestive tract
of a black hole?

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not every silence is silent – a poem

an utterance is the heart’s way of shouting
but it does not rupture the enigma of a liminal space,
I am not waiting on the brink of a question, I am only
listening to a smooth swell of musical crescendo

As murmurs become a gentle nudge to fall out of almost-asleep
and into a dream that fills the night silence, not
with noise, but an explosion of colours
and stories we would never think to tell,
infused with (only-imagined) sounds.

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Happy Place – A poem

I can find sanctuary with as many people as I please
But it’s with myself that I need to find ease, where tears
Can flow as freely as laughter.
A happy place is more than pleasure and adventure,
It’s comfort, it’s safety, it’s home.
I can’t expect to fill a void with a hand, when I need to decipher
What to do with mine before ever expecting to hold another.
No home will ever be more lasting and stable than the skeleton
That keeps me together even when my mind tries to fall apart.
My bones may break or fracture, my heart may shatter
But my skin forever contains it all, and still,
They will be eternally mine.

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