POETRY [UNTITLED SERIES] – 13

Cameras & a rear view mirror

You don’t drive a car by looking backwards. if you do you’ll crash.

Cameras and rear view mirrors are only there for glimpses at the past.

You’re not meant to stay there.

I’ve stripped all the photos from my walls.

I’ve pulled the bricks apart in order to reshape it to something I recognise.

To reshape myself into something I recognise.

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POETRY [UNTITLED SERIES] – 12

Over and Over


I sit disassociated and numb

Between a sleeping cocker spaniel and the noise of the street

I’ve been crying all day and every time I feel like I’ve gotten some sort of closure only to be pulled back to April over and over.

They tell me how well I’ve done. That April’s Spec wouldn’t have believed it.

My car that sits in the drive. The job I have from home. Paying for my mortgage. My food prep and my cleaning.

Words and words I never thought I’d say. Simply pushing on day after day.

If this is what moving on is then I don’t want it. How could I stay in a place most haunted?

Every time I feel like I’ve gotten some sort of closure only to be pulled back to April over and over.

I’m lonely for the touch of Clouds fur and that goofy smile.

I’m lonely for your eyes and warmth of your smile and how your touch could hold me in time.

I’ve filled notebooks of witchcraft and spells, of affirmations and hope. All for your safety, your freedom, your heart, your hope.

Every time I feel like I’ve gotten some sort of closure only to be pulled back to April over and over.

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POETRY [UNTITLED SERIES] – 11

“You look awful”

That’s all I could say while my heart collapsed.

New numbers, new addresses, new emails.

All enough of a reason to feel the things that I’ve been told I should. Betrayal, rage.

But it was that photo.

Of you and our youngest

It ripped through me faster and harder than any of the words, or thoughts or feelings that came before.

The pain in your face

Of those couple of hundred of pixels

The years and years and years of studying someone’s face the way I have studied yours.

A doctorate in knowing your eyes and smile

I know when it’s sincere, I know when it’s true.

But your shattering is like glass to me.

And I would suffer a thousand cuts time and time again if it meant I could put you back together.

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POETRY [UNTITLED SERIES] – 10

There is a small difference between pain and peace.

Of peace and pleasure.

Of pleasure and persecution.

It’s in the details, the movement, the pacing.

The way you pause and see.

The way you look at me and know

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POETRY [UNTITLED SERIES] – 9

Slash and Burn Tactics

_____________

I couldn’t tell you when it started

When I decided to destroy my mind.

I couldn’t tell you if I was the one who put the torch to timber or if I was just burning from the inside out.

The hand may have been mine

but the oil was yours

and the fires you bore as your sigil was what finally shot us a blaze.

How does it feel now to burn my love?

Is this what you wanted?

You preformed for years with that glowing orb in your hands and I never thought that it would be used to strike me

but here I am

In a grove that I’ve raised

engulfed in your flames once again

I forget you’ve danced with flame so often

you were never going to get hurt

A symphony of light and sound and movement

You bob and weave so gracefully in my minds eye that all I can do is stare

While the flames grow higher and higher.

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POETRY [UNTITLED SERIES] – 7

Shoes and Coats

________

People ask if it’s time.

“Time to pick up his things?”

His shoes, his coats, his clothes.

Washed and as he would expect to find them.

But words cannot detract from the miles that we’ve walked together.

Your Wedding Shoes.

They’re stacked like worlds coliding each taking up a portion of my mind.

The shoes you got for being his best man.

The shoes you got for walking

Each miles and miles and miles of stories and life and stories of life.

They say if you take a mile in my shoes will you understand.

I’ve walked in your size 9s for 3 months now and I’m no closer to finding you.

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POETRY [UNTITLED SERIES] – 6

As soon as these shackles come off you’ll come home,

Little do you know the shackles were never locked,

as the only person who bound you was yourself.

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Poetry [Untitled Series] – 4

You chisel away at me until you get it to fit into a mould of you’re making.

Then you continue to chisel it.

You watched me break and bend and break and bend

Into the shape you wanted to make.

Blemishes and imperfections cured and purged and purified in fire and cold.

only to realise you can’t make gold into silver

And you decided that gold just wasn’t for you.

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Poetry [Untitled Series] – 3

an engines purr

gives rise to a hope that I’ve long since abolished.

how do you rise when the noise drives right by?

you learn in the fumes of what goes by

“it was not for you child

faith lies in the unseen”

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Poetry [Untitled Series] – 2

Ripping

r I p p I n g

ripped

I feel the swell

from wounds not of my own

a deep seeded root

an intolerable pain

knowing is torment

the realisation

the choices you made

the ramifications I suffer alone.


like a thief

you stole

a phanthom thief

stealing

my world

my body

my choice

my children

emptiness

that I must suffer alone

for someone who could give you more.

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