November is littered with unfinished poems
– yet a poem is never complete, only abandoned
we send flowers when death arrives
– as if the earth won’t eat those too
what do i do when i feel abandoned
– bury myself and hope to flower
Month: November 2018
Wavy
when I do
I love like a south east Asian tsunami.
I don’t know how else to be,
I could try being a steady wave
a love that is lapped
onto shore
and stored in seashells…
what kind of love is that?
not mine.
not mine.
I will always be
white capped
hundred feet
waves.
The girl in flat 12
It's been months and I still have your dimples dented round my mind like a steel door round a tree. with you I felt five and fifty at the same time like pooping my pants and holding your hand. Like a pirate who'd stumbled on the spot marked X & landed head first in a well of pearls. God and the angels burned so brightly in my lungs, melting my shadows around you. I wanted to drown in you suffocate in your breath. and this is not love.