The Arrogance of The Pen

In the world of poetry, many poets have flung their words across the canvas and painted why the skies take after violent after dark. Marking their name across walls vibrating a bravura. While I double tap on their poetry reading words that echo through my mind. My pen has become arrogant and refuses to write. Poetry doesn’t come to the snobbish. Why do you pride yourself haughty, what have you written that’s so tidy? I’ve put down my pen for just a little while, so I can breathe a world into me that I can explore by ink. Think. It’s the new sexy! Ink. That’s always been amorous. 🖋📝🔏

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Meet Me Under the Glowing Confetti

Sometimes all it takes is one cup of coffee. It had taken her many years to build the walls tall and strong, but for him she always left the door unlocked; And on that fateful day he knocked! It’s like someone had finally responded to her ‘lost and found’ flyer. For some inexplicable reason you were here. Even though in the last 20 years our lives hadn’t crossed paths, you were right here.

Oh the things that you’d love to hear from people you know you will never hear from. So when they do, you are deaf and misconstrue what they mean. Isn’t that funny? I took my soul out of my pockets. Like origami that has been folded and refolded and worn at the edges with alcohol and coffee stains, greasy finger prints and smudge marks.

A cup of coffee maybe? Even the dustiest corners of my mixed-up soul dressed up to meet you. I ran as if to meet the moon.

Together — under the fancy dome of skylight that emitted glowing confetti, we compared our souls. Years later he had aged so gracefully with grey hair and folds across his chin, yet his charming smile and aura stirred a blush within. The perfect stranger was finally a friend; the puberty-hit girl never imagined she would meet him where time would never end. All it took was a cup of coffee.

395 grams of likes

Don’t forget to get away every once in awhile,
To lose yourself in a book.
Or in the streets behind your home,
Riding your bike into the sunset at the beach.
Sit on your front steps and count the cars passing by,
Lay on your roof and gaze up at the night sky.
Drive along backroads with the windows rolled down,
Listening to nothing but the sounds all around.
I hope you take the time to be alone,
To sort through the cluttered shelves of your heart.
I hope you take the time to be silent,
To close your eyes and just listen to your heart.
I hope you take the time to be still,
To quiet your mind and experience the beauty of simply being.
In a world that tells us we should always be connected,
on the go, and doing something worth sharing.
I hope you know it’s okay to disconnect, slow down, and keep some memories;
Between you and the moment you shared it with.
I know its the ‘gram with pictures that strike, but there more you can do than the 395 posts you’ve liked!

Rock, Paper & Scissors




Rock, Paper & Scissors:
Rocks can weigh the paper down,
Like dead weight you lug around.
Paper covers the rock by constricting,
Like excuses you cover all your failings.
Scissors bend and fall apart,
Like the words that sting and stab the heart. It’s the worst game of Rock, Paper and Scissors; And we are still playing it!

So, this time I’ll be the stone,
as your paper crumples into folds.
Over my dead body you don’t need to be strong, I was wrong to hold you, just like love I erode.
This time I’ll be the paper,
as your sharpen your blades.
Cut me into pieces until your misery fades.
I’ll come back with just enough tape,
pretend like I’m the hero without a cape.

This time I’ll be the scissors, as your rocky exterior holds back your very soul. Crushing me with gravity of you black hole heart, I surrender to you, take me out and break me apart.

Weightless and Free Children of the Sea

Plunged into the blue waters, where we’re unburdened by the gravity of our landward lives. We are weightless and free all the children of the sea. Loaded with pockets of air the barrel of my head forgot how to breathe; I sink to atmospheric tides that serve me with fresh shots of oxygen. The gas trapped on land got too stale for me to breathe. Slowly I pass through the threshold of 15 metres under the Dibba Rock and my air-sick ears didn’t take long to adjust. I stay naturally buoyant suspended between this world and mine, I breathe life between the ocean bed and surface line. Here is the kind of place where I could put down my roots, live out an idyllic being, imagining my life in a coral townhouse. But for me to stay, would be severely fatal. I’m just a visitor and my visa is about to expire, I look back one more time as my head breaks out to the surface and the sun stings. I blinked.

Coffee-Coloured Eyes Dipped in Honey


Running my fingers through your mane, for once you felt someone really call your name. Time decays the years in passing, And although your body fades, his soul still fights on; And that’s what sparkles in eyes like these. Glowing with brilliance earned over many years; piercing deep he had the power to speak, a language I hadn’t known. His eyes were like coffee-coloured almonds dipped in honey; he saw a world through eyes like these, ain’t that funny?

Comfort at the bottom of a swimming pool

I want to take a deep breath and immerse,
Propel myself to your ocean floor
Where the darkness and the unknown
Has always existed but was never explored

I find comfort in the bottom of a swimming pool,
the streams of light overhead
quietly drinking in the water,
lapping at this microcosms feet.
The familiar weight
in my ears drowns out the noise,
The coolness against my soft skin
feels weightless and beautiful
the eventuality of breaking the surface
is almost sorrowful
No one can touch you here,
like a stone you sink slowly,
you are cut free from the ties
that have held you for so long
and just like the tiny bubbles
you’ll race towards the curving surface
and into the light
and realise you were never meant to breathe here.
Not long is left and you break through,
only wanting to escape
back to where everything
was so clear, and so simple.
But, although out of the water,
and into the hands of a new morning
the fingers still curl around your neck,
and you realise
you’ve been holding your breath for a long time
and you’re still holding it
And you wonder
if you’ll ever breath again.