She knows all about timing,

the perfect time to enter,

the perfect time to play,

she is a violinist.

She didn't know when it was time to leave.

She knows all about gravity,

the force tethering you to the ground,

the ways to defeat it on your toes,

she is a ballerina.

She forgot that even stars fall.

She knows all about colour,

the perfect blend for that elusive shade,

the way green doesn't go with orange,

she is a painter.

She saw sunset and thought the green of the grass went with the orange sun.

But she forgot,

even sunset is fleeting,

and then you're left with darkness.

She knows all about mixing,

a pinch of that

a dabble of that,

and magic you have a cake

she is a baker.

But she forgot,

some things are just not meant to be,

some people just cannot go together,

and sometimes we make problems and not magic.

She knows all about why things work,

she knows why magnets attract,

why rain falls,

she is a scientist.

But she forgot,

that like poles repel,

and sometimes the why is impossible to know.

She knows all about feelings,

how the mind works,

and handling your emotions,

she is a therapist.

But she forgot,

that knowledge is not always enough.

She helped others and forgot to help herself,

burying her feelings lost in the world.

She knows about healing,

clean the wound,

and wrap it up,

she is a doctor.

But sometimes things aren't so simple.

So she sat,

the broken pieces in her hands,

waiting for someone to fix her heart.

Dear Me,

Sorry for all the time I wasted. Chasing after someone who has let me down. Looking back, I put you last. And him first, delighting in just a smile thrown my way.

I apologise for deferring your needs, ordering his favourite dishes, and not eating the food he found "absolutely disgusting"

I apologise for always taking his side, blaming you when he was angry.

I apologise for keeping quiet that day. When he hit you. Screams echoing only in your head.

I am sorry for putting you last. And give me time to learn myself.

But I promise you,

from now onwards,

you're first and foremost.

Sincerely,

Me

Obsession or passion?

Where does the line lie?

I knew he existed when he sauntered into the coffeeshop.

I knew I liked him when he ordered the exact same drink as me.

I knew his likings, when I saw his Star Wars keychains.

I knew where he lived, as I followed him back.

Silently, watching.

I knew so much about him.

But I still did not know what he would think of me.

And so, I will remain, silently sipping my cappuccino with extra whipped cream.

If passion is obsession,

I guess I’m obsessed.

I love her.

She taught me the colour red.

First dancing up to me in that red flamenco dress,

inviting me in with her ruby lips.

I saw her and we were love,

red like the crimson of the flowers I gave her.

We left a trail of scarlet that followed us.

From the love we gave each other.

Or so I thought.

Until I saw her in bed,

with another.

I saw red as I smashed the vase,

as my heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

And I realised it was the trail of blood

as I gave her love and

she pierced my heart once and once again.

I love her.

She taught me the colour red.

But when I saw her last,

red was not the colour I saw.

I loved her.

See me,

I begged,

hoping you would look up and meet my eyes.

But even if you looked,

you would not see.

Even if you saw,

it would not be me.

For your gaze passes right through,

piercing my heart and shattering it.

Hear me,

as I whisper comfort to your ears.

Where even when no one hears your voiceless cries,

I will be there,

listening,

always.

Feel me,

and my presence,

I always was,

and always will be there for you.

Even when everyone has let you down,

even when they did not see you for who you were,

I will be there.

Catch me,

you ask.

For you have fallen,

but not beyond return.

I promise,

this time I will be there for you,

so catch this heart I give to you.

I asked you to see,

but you could not.

So, I will ask you once more,

do you see how I love you so?

See with your heart,

and not your eyes.

See me,

for I see you too

See me,

she said.

But he never did.

He squinted at her in frustration,

like she was the sun,

too bright for his eyes.

See me,

she begged.

But he rarely did.

Only noticing when she first entered,

a sunrise in the making,

instantly raptured.

See me,

But he didn't,

for it hurt him to see her in all her glory.

She was everything he was not,

and it hurt him to acknowledge.

See,

but he didn't.

And only as she left in the beauty of sunset,

did he gaze in awe

with regret.

Tales about faeries of the past,

seem so out of place in our urban landscape.

Yet, I will tell you of the children with mixed magic blood in their veins and smog in their lungs.

I’ll tell you of those unknowingly descended from the faeries, living amongst us.

You might not believe me, but you can see a fairy in the ballerina leaping in the air. Hovering above the ground for a second too long. As she feels for a moment, what it is to be free.

I will tell you a story of the pharmacist, administering medicine without referring. She closes her eyes and mixes and stirs. Shaking up the bottle, drink 3 times a day. As you see the liquid swirl under her deft fingers, you wonder inside, that she has witch blood.

You barely notice the one with the blood of wood nymphs, watering her plants. Sparing them barely a glance, but her balcony garden flourishes and blooms, greener than others.

You see the fine worksmanship of that apprentice, far preceding that of his master. You see him hard at work, furrowed brow, slightly shorter than you. He twists the gold and delicate metal, and in the light of the furnace, you see reflected the blood of the goblin.

So, close you eyes and listen out. You might hear the singing of that sweet soprano as she smile with fans fauning over her. You blink as she dazzles in the stage light, a siren at heart, she belongs to the sea.

Even amongst us, hidden even from ourselves, pulses the blood of old, the blood of faeries, the blood of our ancestors. Maybe you see better in the dark, maybe your hearing is a bit sharper, maybe you have vampire blood, maybe your grandmother was a werewolf...

But we’ll never know. The secrets remain hidden unless you search much deeper within.

Remind me to tell you,

of the stories of old,

now the stories of of new,

the stories of us

They ask what I desire most.

And I smile secretively.

As the probe further,

I tell them I seek thrill,

the fun and excitement of youth.

But that is not true.

Some look at me,

and tell me what I seek.

For love and not to be lonely.

But I have grown accustomed to silence,

and welcome the breaks to hear myself.

I will tell you once,

and never again.

I seek nothing,

for I have found it,

contentment and joy,

in life's simplest things.

They say,

Youth is wasted on the young

as they sigh and shake their heads,

weighed down by decades of wisdom

"If only I were young again"

they grumble

complaining about that arthritic knee.

But is it wasted?

I might not live every moment in pure joy,

But I live every moment to the fullest

You say I waste my youth away,

But I grab every moment,

relishing every opportunity.

They say we do not treasure it,

But I do

I might not know the right decisions to make

But is youth not innocence in disguise?

Pulling on my strings,

I am a puppet to their words.

Craving approval,

lapping it up like a thirsty puppy.

I dance on my toes,

spin on pointe,

giggle and laugh,

in hopes for a nod.

An acknowledgement

of my existence.

I offer up my heart,

present them the key.

Unlock it for them,

hoping for a glance.

Yet,

they throw it away,

flick it with their manicured nails.

And I watch it roll,

hear it shatter.

Into a million pieces.

And it takes a while,

as I look around.

For me to find myself...

But I pick up my pieces

and put myself together,

gluing my heart back,

with hopes and dreams untarnished by judgement.

For,

I do not need them and their judgement.

I do not need them to paint my existence,

I do not need their approval.

For I know who I am without their help

I am myself.