Hey guys, I have a blog chronicling my gap year adventures as they come, so please do check it out and show some love! x
Hey guys, I have a blog chronicling my gap year adventures as they come, so please do check it out and show some love! x
When the rain gravitates towards you
be still, my dear.
Be still and let it touch you
like a lover’s breath on broken shoulders.
It sings quite softly, my dear,
but when it does, I swear to you,
the world stops spinning to
let the stars sing along.
You’ll feel the tune escape your lips
and your soul will dance in bliss,
Be still, my dear, and let the lover’s
breath write stories of magic on your skin.
I would give you a long explanation over why I wrote this poem, but it is unnecessary. Just look at it as an expression of anger against all forms of rape and abuse that exist.
The first time i knew the meaning of consolation
was a breath of warm air into my ear,
air that smelled faintly of humour-laced
words and cigarettes, telling me
‘Shhh, you’ll be fine now.’
And I remember looking at his dark
brown eyes and the pockmarks
on his skin as he said this, and the bruise on
my knee stopped throbbing quite as much.
“It doesn’t hurt anymore.” I said
as he smiled back at me.
They say how an adult reacts to a situation
has a psychological impact on the child’s
reactions, but those are big words, and I
was but a small child,
and those words to me had nothing to do
and everything to do with magic.
Years later, I stand in front of the full length mirror,
like a broken sparrow with mulberry wings
and haunted eyes,
and I try to form the same words
but choke up mid-way,
as I see his form approaching,
once so familiar,
now so strange,
as I see his hands reach for me
I realised what words I
once thought were magic
in the way they healed me
were the words that had broken
me in the first place:
he whispers into my ear,
‘Shhh, you’ll be fine now.’
Have you ever seen a pattern woven so
delicately, the criss-crossing strands of emotions,
the overlapping of bodies draped across one another, the
kissing of fates, the magic of the intertwined,
the intimacy of words, the intricacy of life?
you impressed me
I plunge my fingers into the ocean
we call the sky and sift through the dreamy
translucent layers that are wings of
a broken butterfly hunched over
with sunlight streaming and i
play with the wispy clouds
like puffs from a fine cigar and
watch as the birds stretch their wings
to feel the wind bite into their
throats one last time and the ball of fire
that is saying goodbye drenches my nails
in liquid colours until they become
and one by one the stars appear
like a glimpse of a past long forgotten
guided by the imposter that brightens
the inky black of the nights
and my hands submerge into the sky
that swaddles its baby like a warm
blanket spotted with patches of
swirls and a bosom
of motherly affection,
the infinite that keeps us in place.
i held a fist of sand as i once
held your fist
and watched as the grains
like smooth fingers sliding
out of a warm
and the hollow air that
was a reminder
of you blowing
into my ear
and my red palms
stayed permanently blushing
from the absence of the sand
the absence of you.
A couple of happy news :3
I got featured on Writer’s Asylum a while back!
(Please do ‘like’ the story and the poem, hehe)
One of my poem’s also got featured here:
our spare room used to have blue sheer curtains
that shielded us from the rest of the world until we
realised that we didn’t want to hide anymore
and now we have no curtains just holes in the walls
called windows and it’s the best decision we ever made
because every morning the room gets flooded
with the richest shade of golden and then we watch
as clocks become obsolete and time is measured by
the mulberry hues that turn crimson and the twinkling
starlight that filters the darkness and as vanilla
and violets alternate to dance into our room
our bodies feel like art
our souls feel like rainbows.
she smells of sunshine and homemade pie,
periwinkle gardens and wrinkled skin,
winter fires and strangers’ lullabies,
barbie bandaids and hidden tears,
whispered kisses and sacrificed years,
she smells of
she smells of home.
the two boys held hands,
their backs pressed against
the scratchy grass,
their eyes fixed at
their starry hearts,
their lips parted with
the words unspoken,
and the brink of an autumn sunrise.
You can die a thousand ways,
but none as beautiful
the hands of the elements-
raw, untamed, merciless.
You can die in the lap of fire,
the flames licking every crevice
of your body, taming the curve
of your hip and
your dusty lips.
You can melt into lava.
You can die in the hands of water,
the waves crashing against you
sculpting the stone that is you,
tomb, for what will be.
You can dissolve into the ocean.
You can die at the mercy of air,
the irony settling in
as the life-giver,
slowly sucks the
life out of you.
You can steal wings from the storm.
You can die if the earth chooses to,
as the green turns into grey,
and the ground rumbles
till there’s nothing
left to shake.
You can fall into the earth.
You can die when the spirit leaves you,
when the emptiness inside
like a famine,
You can merge into the infinite.
I just got around to checking out my stats today and it turns out that over the past 3 weeks alone, I’ve got nearly 200 likes (?????!!!!) and hundreds of views and tons of warm, encouraging comments, and I cannot tell you how much that means to me. ( A LOT A LOT A LOT )
Unfortunately, I’ve had to delete a couple of posts for personal reasons (sounds ominous but it really isn’t), but I will get around to writing and putting up more poetry soon!
Once again, thank you all so much for reading x
Lots of love
I tried to write
But I cant find
a suitable metaphor.
You aren’t my Sun,
even though you fill every
pore of my body with your
you set the linings
You aren’t my Moon, either,
even though I’d be
left stumbling in the blindness
if not for your gentle
even if the
tides of my heart
And neither are you the Stars,
you take my breath away
in your glory,
every time I look at you,
I keep finding
more of you.
you’re the whole damn sky.
You’re the infinity that
You’re the comfort that
wraps my entire
and what is
and the moon
and the stars
when compared to
entire heaven ?
I cannot write
poetry about you,
but call this a
if you will.
There is wind,
but there are no trees left to sway.
There is water,
but there is no thirst left to quench.
There is music,
but there is no soul left to hear.
There is love,
but there is no heart left to feel.
There is life,
but there is nothing left to live for.
AN: Dismal day today. Current mood can be captured by A Fine Frenzy’s ‘Goodbye my Almost Lover’.
The dream-catcher came in a little
blue box with silk wrapping
and a satin ribbon, my fingers
clasping the little
strings of hope
in a cacophony of connections
and I hid it under my pillow
as I closed my eyes,
that this time
when your dimpled smile and
shaggy hair starred in my dreams,
it may do what I
“GO” I screamed.
Please don’t, my heart whispered.
“But…” he stuttered.
I don’t want to, his heart pleaded.
“I love you.” he mumbled.
Me too, my heart ached.
“Well, I don’t.” I snapped.
Don’t lie, his heart beseeched.
“Okay, then.” we said together
wiping our hands clean off dust
I’ll miss you, our hearts chimed together
silent fractures achingly exposed
You should leave, now.
I need you by my side.
I’ll collect my belongings tomorrow.
Don’t break my heart like this!
It’s all for the best.
My world is falling apart.
Good luck, then.
Hug me and say it’ll be okay.
The sounds of the man
and the sounds of the woman
and the sounds of their hearts
echoed forever in
the strange silence
I saw you wipe your red-rimmed eyes today, when you thought nobody was looking.
You quickly dabbed the edges of your monogrammed silk kerchief at the edges of your eyes, and plopped it back into your bag, in a matter of seconds. You pasted on that huge smile, flashing your pearly-white teeth at your friends, as you spoke about how much you adored that year’s Fall Collection. You watched as your friends lightly tapped your elbow, and you cringed slightly as they leaned into you doubled with laughter, but you smiled anyway. You thought I hadn’t seen your eyes, but I had.
I heard you throwing up in the wash room today, when you thought nobody was listening.
Your tender milky knees were on the floor, and you continued, without heeding to the purple swirly bruises that were now forming. You chose the stall when the bathroom was empty, but you tried to be silent, nevertheless. You slowly and steadily deposited your favorite pasta you had bought earlier from the store across, and you wiped your burning mouth afterwards. You made sure you used the perfume softly, listening against the graffiti-filled door of the stall for anyone outside, your head spinning just the slightest. You thought I hadn’t heard your noise, but I had.
I know that you contemplated killing yourself today, when you thought nobody would know.
You tried hard to fight the black monsters raging within your bones, but decided to finally listen to them. You felt the sharp edge of the knife against your finger, testing and deciding. You walked to the balcony, hands running on the railing, and wondered if it would hurt too bad or feel like flying. You wondered if it was true about drowning- lungs bursting and absolute misery- and vaguely registered that even that sounded less painful than what you were experiencing. That any amount of pain would be better than the cold numbness that had settled within you. You know that had it not been for the shrill call of the telephone, you may not have stopped yourself. You thought I didn’t know your darkness, but I knew.
I saw and I heard and I knew. I am time, you see, my dear. You try to box me into seconds and minutes and hours, but I am un-boxable. I am infinity. I stretch along, holding each one of you in my never-ending arms.
And believe me when I say- Your heart doesn’t have to stop beating to stop hurting. Trust in me and trust in yourself and all will be well. Your laugh will one day actually have happiness, and your food one day will actually reside in your belly, and the knives in your kitchen one day will only be used for chopping vegetables.
Today, I saw you and I heard you and I know you.
But tomorrow! Tomorrow, I promise you, You will see you and You will hear you and You will know you.
And eventually, You will learn to love you.
you with the smile like warm butter on toast
you with the eyes like a time machine
you with the hands like fluttering butterflies
you with the words like soothing balm
you with the voice like satin ribbons
you with the heart like an iron wall
I went on a road trip yesterday. I left early, when the sun was still on it’s upward journey, and like a dog I had my head out the window (I’d called shotgun) feeling the morning sunshine and bliss. I’ve always loved road trips because with the wind against my face, and my eyes on the sky, my brain always seems to go on overdrive.
Yesterday, I went on a road trip and I thought about you. I imagined a parallel universe where you and I had worked out. I imagined intertwined hands, selecting the best peaches and apricots from the bazaar sometime in the future. I imagined baking desert in the kitchen together, with flour on our faces and smiles in our eyes. I realised how the whole ‘Great Future Dream’ seemed shit without you in it, that the whole point of the ‘dream’ of our future was you, you, you. Just you. I thought about an alternate reality, where you and I were (as they say today) endgame. Where we had worked out.
Yesterday, I went on a road trip and it hurt to think. It hurt to think of “what could have been” and put it side by side with “what actually is” and see the harsh comparison and play Spot the Difference. The difference is the gaping hole in my heart, and the absence of a certain someone.
Yesterday, I went on a road trip and I let go. I accepted that my heart would never completely bounce back from all it has endured, but I suppose nobody does have a healthy heart in this world and scars and bandages are what make you normal. I accepted that I would never have you, and that’s okay, because I’d have someone else. Who wouldn’t be quite you, but he’d be enough.
Yesterday, I went on a road trip, and I healed.
I was waiting for the bus, one day,
when I overheard
There were two speakers.
The first was a boy with
stars in his eyes,
and the second was
with wind on her lips.
heavy from their wispy shoulders,
but the weight didn’t bother them.
Their hands were entwined,
in the shy gentle way of love
fresh from the oven,
and their voices
were whispered feathers.
I caught one of those
in my palm,
and listened to what it said.
“Where’s home?” the boy
his voice raspy
and she replied,
“Down the street.”
“Who’s in it?
he asked again,
eager to know
and she said,
“My parents and Toby.
My mom would be sitting on our
ancient sofa, in her checkerprint
apron reading a magazine.
Dad would have gone to work
in his tweed jacket
his watch wound 5 minutes earlier
to ensure he
was never late.
Toby would be running
around the house
in a flash of gold,
and waiting until I came home.”
She asked him the same.
His eyes hazed,
“My Gran. She has
the wrinkliest face
and makes the best
pie in the world.”
They laughed together,
in their own bubble,
that if someone were to ask me
who was home
they’d get the most
dismal response in
ghost of you.
I’ve been writing too many poems with a darker side off late, and I know there’s more to come so here’s a bit of fluff to break the monotony. This is a simple poem to all those girls/boys who have a crush on someone and can’t tell them. It’s infuriating, no?
I can feel the butterflies
playing catch in my belly
I know it’s time
I have to tell you
It’s now or never
My blush has become
I bet you think that
I was born red-skinned
better for you to think that
than know the reason is you
(always, infuriatingly you)
you and your eyes
shine the clearest turquoise
you and your large palms
cupping the side
of my red-skinned face
you and your lanky gait
lazily crossing the room
own the world
you and your dimpled smile-
the crowning glory
like the applause at
the end of a play
my fingers clutch the edge of my yellow
i know you like yellow, you
had told me once
I spot you, leaning against
the wall ahead
the cigarette dangling at the edge
of your chapped lips
you see me walking to you
your raise your eyebrows in greeting
my heart stops
I stutter a hello
and keep moving forward
not daring to look back at your
I simply cannot confess
I have lost my nerve
and my wit
and my ability to speak,
a young boy
with the ocean in his eyes
and death on his lips.
The hair is gone
as she chops it off
and it falls down the sides of my face
like a snowfall of brown
I try not to choke
as I remember the times
when you’d run your fingers
and tell me they smelled of strawberries
your strawberries lay at my feet
rotten and dead.
I look back at my
“Dear, it’s all done.”
I wince slightly,
as my head reflects the light
shiny in it’s new landscape
bumps and endless stretches
of bald pavement
“I look like an egg.”
but I see the tear.
Life is short,
And so is my bucket list.
It reads thus:
‘Let happiness make you cry’
I want to
bubble over with laughter and
so much so that the emotion
and my tear-ducts
I want other things, too.
Time to spend with you
and laughing at your geeky
I want time to create more memories
like the kind
when we spotted an owl during
a midnight swim
and the kind
where we lay entwined
indistinguishable as two separates
into each others beings.
I also want,
(she’d have your eyes, darling.)
A little token to leave you with.
to give you,
only one thought races through my head.
when I’m gone,
will you forget me?-
when my moment of daydreaming
comes to an end,
of only one more thing,
your gentle, patient face
shadows under your eyes
as you held my hand
and now, the sound of your
from outside the room
as you wait to see your
and smile encouragingly
(as i know you will),
and I ask,
when I’m gone,
will you forgive me?
The sunlight landed on the streamers
taped clumsily across the wall
chocolate frosted cake on the table
twenty pairs of eyes blinked at me
hands clapping in glee
“Make A Wish. Blow the Candle”.
mum’s voice blew into my ear
And I wished
that i could eat the icecream
from the cart
across the park
and I wished that
she would buy me that blue
car I had seen in the store.
A group of giggling teenagers
sat huddled across
on a warm bed sharing
snacks and stories
“It’s 11:11! Make A Wish”
And I wished,
that I was more thinner
and less freckled
and that the boy with the
hair like gold
and eyes like emeralds
would walk over and
It was a long drive
over endless plains and
the dark sky was lit by
we stopped for a while,
laid down on the sand,
“It’s a shooting star! Make A Wish!”
And I wished,
that my dead baby would
come back gurgling
and playing in my arms
my heart would
The fountain was crowded
by hopes and dreams
and I clutched the
skeptically in my palm
“Throw the coin. Make A Wish.”
the signboard promised
and tears in my eyes
and a fervent prayer on my lips,
I wished hard to go back
to those times
when my only
something to eat
something to play with.
I’ve always been
back as I recollect
then you came
over my limbs
heart raced faster
“It’s all wrong;
white is white
black is black
that is the problem (in its entirety)
I don’t exist
you don’t exist
I’m not white
you’re not black
BE WILD & WANDER FAR
Gareth and Simon's Motorhome Adventure
Brrr...eaking & Baking News Across the World
Life with all the ups and downs are life worth living. Just live..
Travel, Culture, Art and Design
The world according to Debbie
Together, we conquer ourselves.
Expanding Atlas - Drone photography for hire
A journal of space exploration
Young Adult Books, travelling, and a whole lot of bookish feelings.
A place for all things beer.
Empowering Leaders 300 Words at a Time
The home for obsessive fans of Cincinnati Reds baseball, since 2005
Kate's views on life edited by three opinionated cats
capturing pictures & words
Reclaiming my inner badass at 50
Straight up, with a twist.
Urban Landscape + Lifestyle Photography
Sweet Musings with a Bitterly Sharp Wit
Live to Explore
The Conceitful Discourses of Sundrie Catts, Never Before Imprinted.
A Spiritual and Artistic Pilgrimage Around the Globe
FAMILY LIFE IN A RURAL FRENCH VILLAGE
~ Be Here Now
Life and death and sleeping on the ground
Commenting on developments in the English language
Photographs and stories by Jim Grey
adventures of an aromatherapy beekeeper
cycling | pro cycling | the bits inbetween
Some stories just have to be told: healing and wholeness in everyday life