If you fixed it last night
You wouldn’t have to this morning,
if you spoke to who you were meant to
and read what you should have.
You’d be free if you said things aloud
So now it’s here, you lack solution.
Set for 8, it’s half 11 and you lie down
studying the ceiling,
deep inside space
Listless as said before,
You’ll find a way out:
Turn to your phone
Scroll here and there
Plan your day,
Look at what you should have done
He told me to welcome them:
‘Let them in, entertain!’
With open arms,
“Enter, come on in.”
But at times, they stayed for too long.
We lived around each-other
frustrated and compliant,
“I’ll make room for you.”
Though I wish I didn’t have to.
impulse summoned through shattered windows
and beckoned with broken arms,
“Come in guys, you’re at home here
I like how you feel.”
The self-pity, still a drug,
Something I knew before.
I sleep in the garden,
They, on king-size beds.
I eat blades of grass,
And they feast on steak.
I shower with the hose,
They get the tub.
Pretty soon, we’ll swap places
and they’ll go where I should.
People will ask what’s wrong
and they’ll respond:
She let us in.
(With love to The Guest House, Rumi)
It was never personal
so I don’t know why it got me down.
Sad it’s been about me;
I didn’t know what you were up to.
And if you told me,
I’d have pulled the divider from the glass box
and released the pressure,
reclaimed my mental space.
I want my space back.
I want things on this side to
expand and move
freely and I’ll perch on top, move freely too.
Happy it’s coming out,
I needed it all back.
Pressure formed cracks
on outer corners.
I knew I could reverse it though,
If I released the other side
And, I did.
So that’s good.
- Things fall apart
in a bed ridden with healing
And a handkerchief ordained by God.
Do you know what healing is?
- it’s a trail
From two to 21 –
as you realise that time is done
and the sun won’t shine like it used to.
- Reminisce on good times
rhymes, wonders and signs
Then focus on now,
when things are harder than they’ve ever been.
- Master deterioration;
This is the first draft.
I used to only drink Lemonade
but now there’s Malibu down there.
- here’s where things changed.
I span through glasses,
Stuck to my drink ‘cause it was mild
though mild is monoxide too
it’s all about adjustment.
Malibu is sweeter now
There’s no life without it
I made room,
and it’s not so bad.
Because flowers can’t grow without rain,
I flew to Nigeria in July.
I won’t romanticise this for you;
The come-up is something I chased.
In dead dreams, my hope I placed,
and raced with the pace of my desired image
Traced my thoughts to Book 21
and wound beads round my waist.
(Laugh) The sound of futile action
is so much more profound,
when the round shape of the dahlia’s stem blends,
and soaks into the ground –
I had to get on board.
“My friend the clouds won’t last always”
The point was to make me grow.
So when the clouds play their part and go,
Slow, I’ll die – I know
There’s more to life than love
And I am trying to find it,
to struggle in drawing my attention from paintings and gowns.
I want to reach mountain tops and cascade down hillsides
with nothing on my mind but natural pleasure.
In love, I mean – there’s more to life than that.
There are moments with friends
and mastering of theories,
Concepts yet to understand,
and new series
More to life than love.
I like to defy conventions and prove that’s okay.
We hold on to comfort ‘stop slipping away’
Yet there is significance to find in everything,
and this love journey has grown too familiar.
There’s no enthusiasm in this.
In this, your eyes are from space.
At nothing in particular, they cover ninety-one thoughts
Sometimes when you hear your favourite song,
Your heartbeat remains the same
Or, covering eyes don’t blink.
Listless, let’s remain seated and ruminate.
Some of these plans never come to life
And some of them fail halfway,
That’s never okay
Maybe you’ll scroll and maybe you’ll sleep
The pace of it all, lethargic
Listless, with dark matter around your eyes
And dead volcanoes on your face,
That’s what the feeling does to you.
We know that love won’t make things better
But you still try to fall.
Listless, you fill black holes and write down how you feel,
Fuelled by the last of your enthusiasm
Listless, you contradict and
Travel further into thought.
You should snap out of it soon,
There are two things I’ve heard:
-All good things come to an end
-Everything comes to an end
So surely, bad things come to an end as well?
I look forward to the end of confusion,
I’m waiting until the end of pain,
I’m excited for the end of nostalgia–
The part of it that hurts, I mean
Because looking back shouldn’t be that bad.
Sometimes, the sun pours through the clouds
like sand through a child’s hands in the wind.
Each grain flying west, east, south, north,
redefining what it means to be at home.
Finding a new family and a different place to belong
Eventually, landing somewhere between familiar and unknown
Where hands outstretch for help and home
As metal coins weigh down rough palms bitten by the cold.
It’s not this cold where they’re from,
but life is harder.
Hard, as a focus on your future instead of the trivial things that pass,
or nostalgia that speeds by on train tracks in your daydreams.
The sun pours through the clouds like a go-to image of Revelation
when the trumpets sound and Jesus descends a red carpet as promised, –
you’ve cried too many nights and gone through too much to not make it.
Because, you have a mum there and a friend too.
The journey is long and you glide on individual beams of fairy dust,
each hearing a different chord on a harp,
each looking forward to seeing your father,
each likening it to real life.
And the sun pours, a malleable stream of silver-gold.
Is that so real?