Holding onto that which does not exist is way of a escape for me. Notions of grandeur and character that I have not, lets me forget who I am. Someone lost, someone like many others...young, unsure and holding on to too much. Envisioning and speaking my problems through imaginary characters let’s me feel detached but at the same time connected in way only I benefit from. It’s makes me feel the way I can’t grasp or hold onto long enough to make me smile. It allows me to be a king, to feel strong, to feel happy, hurt, listened to, worthy, dashing, brilliant, a leader and so much more. I have always since childhood connected with this image of medieval knights, kings, jousts, and the like and I use it to heal my mind when it becomes to over run with thoughts and feelings that I hate and feel shame for...for not loving the delicate, stark parts of myself that make me feel as though I do nothing but hurt, burden and hurt again. Writing within fantasy shields who I am but also allows me to share some of my deepest feelings.

i thought i deserved

to bleed my hurt

in waves,

oceans wild and

salting my wounds

i thought i deserved

to mourn our love

in storms,

winds heavy and

battering my skin

i thought i deserved

to miss her touch

in dreams,

mind clouded and

tricking my heart

but i don’t deserve

to bleed, to mourn,

to miss

a touch that loved

to hurt me.

1. forget about all the yourselfs you've lost in empty hotel rooms that nobody paid for,

forget they even existed.

you are the only yourself that the world will ever need.

2. if you wake up in the middle of a sleepless night

sitting cross-legged

on the edge of your bed,

gun pressed to your head,

fingers clenching like the blinking stars of our hands

when we were five and sang twinkle twinkle little star,

know that i love you

and please remind yourself

which side of the gun

you should be on.

3. your arms around me

are enough.

they always will be.

4. if you can feel a panic attack

coming,

please don't lock yourself in your room

and turn the music up

just a little bit

and check, frantically,

that the curtains are closed

and press your eyelids shut

as if they were hands pressed together in prayer.

breathe slowly and ground yourself:

find five different things you can see,

four things you can feel,

three things you can hear,

two things you can smell

and one thing you can taste.

take a deep breath with each thing you find.

5. i know it's never nice to lose yourself,

but sometimes it happens

so you can become stronger.

6. your favourite flower

is the yellow chrysanthemum.

7. you matter.

8. in the end,

you are your own hero.

you don't need wings

or a cape

or a wish

to fly.

9. don't be scared.

10. i love you, i will always love you, i have always loved you. now and forever.

11. i'm sorry.

#poetry #fiction

“What's in the ocean?” I ask.

She didn't hear me.

The tides were furious,

I couldn't see her face.

But a little spark from the

Ocean leaped into my ear

Told me that she's

Drowning in the depths...

Of her ocean~

،,،,،,،,،,،,،,،,،,،,،,،,،,

Her voice was like

Creative spark

From the chaotic

~Ocean~

~ ~ ~~~~

Silly boys

Who drink too much,

Curse & such,

Chasin’ wimmin,

Boldly speak

With tainted tongues,

Smoke-filled lungs

& eyeballs dimming—

Sipping scotch

Like Auchentoshan,

In the Glen

Or by the ocean—

Die too young

From self-styled glum,

Poison-pens,

& sun-screen lotion.

I've heard a story of a lonely being who did not trust their own. A creature who feared those who were of the same ilk. Such a fear that could not be squashed through friends or birthdays or pleasantries. A fear that would rest on in the back of their mind, a feeling of dread, shame and a wish for peace a part from the quarrels of adolescence. A wish to not feel as though they were under microscope the entire time because they did not want or relate to their 'friends'. A two sided coin, however, it came to be as this creature knew on the other side there were those that had left them behind who were the opposite. Those who fought with fists instead of words and played capture the flag instead of trapping them in a endless cycle of secrets and uncomfortable conversations. This creature longed for a day when they would brace enough to ask to be a part of that other side, but knew also that they would be rejected. It was nothing to do with wanting to invade or infiltrate but only to feel a peace in their heart knowing that these others...these long forgotten strangers were akin to brothers and friends than whatever others imagined. Such a wish that never came true because these paths divided and never met again. So the creature grew up to cling to any sense of belonging they felt even when they knew that it was surface and meant little when it would not last. Was it better to be a lone or lonely? That was question they never answered.

this is what i never saw coming.

seven months after you asked me to say

sorry — i am lying awake

looking at photographs of you

and feeling all the love rise up inside me

again, as though it never slept.

when are you coming home.

i am using the kitchen curtains as

kindling so when you open the gate,

you can see me slow dancing

alone beside the microwave.

kiss me. tell me you were wrong

and that you'll always love me.

why is it always my hands painted

red like the town, flowering

with guilt and skidding on freeways.

how much can i depend on you

before you know it.

if stars were girls you'd be the sun,

and if you were here

i would never stop kissing you.

your rose-lips. hair like salt waves.

am i nothing else but heart

when you are with me.

but the house is empty, so

i am standing here in silence

and praying for absolution.

god help me i am not a romantic.

i've fucked for rent

and paid my father's debts

with this body, and your body —

you should know this:

your body could take your place.

sometimes i look out at the harbour

and we are lying in the wet sand,

still making empty promises.

(and i think i will always be one

to leave goodbyes open-ended.)

Not since a century long past

Has the Moon dethroned the Sun

From the two oceans so vast

That embrace the bald eagle’s son.

Not since a hundred years ago

Has the crown of fire been taken

By the mover of the tides that ebb and flow

By the pale, two-faced, ghastly maiden.

Not since the bloody apex of the First War

Have the cattle and owls been driven mad

By the mirage of Night from field to shore,

While countrymen stare upwards darkness-clad.

Not since the zeitgeist of patriotic wartime

Has the syzygy caused the world to tremble,

As priests warn of the wrath of gods sublime

And the wild eagle’s adversaries assemble.

Not since the age Man took to the clouds

Has totality cast the land of the beavers,

And the land where the palmettos form nervous crowds,

In the darkness they fear as eager sun-believers.

Not since the whole world was in ominous discord

Have the native elders prophesied a transformation,

While tribesmen from all Four Corners pay respects to their lord,

Who dies and is reborn in a ritual of sacred purification.

Not until seven, then twenty-eight years after today,

Will Selene twice more ambush Helios’s chariot afire,

And will the dark snake devour the gleaming egg laid by Day,

Before being frightened by Man’s screams and drums of ire.

pushing ninety on the turnpike;

listening to soft grunge: so american,

white lies and white supremacy.

youth – beauty – adrenaline –

clinging to these childhood fantasies,

desperate to turn body to hard cash.

and this is summer in the city,

writing love songs in funeral homes,

pretending life is like art

when the blind truth is

cold coffee in an empty car park –

sun city with its windows

all smashed in, blue glass

on concrete, and imagining life

in a one-light small town

with nothing to remind us

of warm days on the east coast.

someone saying in a voice

like a sunrise: one day, a window

closes on the sound of blues music,

that could be new orleans.

these quiet nights,

speaking in line breaks to sleep

and turning sun to shadow.