Am I done yet?
I feel like a draft of myself — Could some budding artist fold me up and carry me to their studio pin me up high or lay me out flat, I don’t care… just rub out the parts that don’t feel right, smudge over past versions still on show, my canvas is exposed, incomplete. Pull out your brushes and paints, enhance my colours that are fading away. and while you’re there, please scale my proportions properly to frame.
This is what your clickbait articles smell like
It’s not shit. — Early on, I read what you wrote on here. But one day I had an itch. I picked up your how-to articles and complimentary comments, careful not to drop a single word. I clenched them with both fists and wrung out a stale sweat, no lavender or rosemary only desperation…
The Sun and The Water
A love story — “hold my image in yours”, the sun said to the water. “I’ll stay solid and you’ll shiver; ripples rise and fall. The trees, the buildings, and the humans will see us part ways from the horizon but you and I will blush, turning the earth’s sky and bodies of water…
Being raised a girl — something slips out of my mouth unabashed I won’t even notice till I’m three letters in the ingrained habit I’ve always leant on as any opportunity someone might misinterpret me my breath my tone smile a gesture I don’t want to offend ! I need you to understand -Sorry!
Call me your home for the night
and I’ll make a home for myself in you — let’s sleep inside each other tonight so no dust settles between a separate us encouraging yesterday’s invasive roots to grow further down the middle of our bed let’s sleep inside each other tonight so no seeds fall from the air, carried by tomorrow’s expectations floating around you and floating around…
Cook up a poem
Why yesterday but not today? — I smile confidently The recipe worked last time but today’s words don’t rise; each one falls flat. I remind everyone the recipe worked last time but I chew on every word; each one tastes bland. I scream to nobody the recipe worked last time but I throw salt on the words; each grain stings my wounds. I cry to myself the recipe worked last time yesterday these ingredients filled me with words