Thursday, September 7, 2017

The Slow Regard of Silent Things


The touch of an imaginary finger
Smoothening away the furrows on my brow

The spaces in between the lines I write
The grey areas that fight my black & white

The intense concentration of silence
As it listens to what I leave unspoken

My fingers that clench into fists
A mirror that shows me the truth
My pillow that hugs me to sleep
The red lipstick that kisses my mouth

A life that's surrounded by the inanimate
That has more life...than my life itself


Tuesday, August 1, 2017

My father had taught me to be nice first, because you can always be mean later, but once you’ve been mean to someone, they won’t believe the nice anymore.

So be nice, be nice, until it’s time to stop being nice, then destroy them.

—  Laurell K. Hamilton

Monday, March 20, 2017

Late night musings...


Another night, another city, another hotel room
The view is great from my 26th floor window
Inside my head, not so much

It's strange
How I spend my days on flights nowadays
And my life rooted to the past

Dreams that were simple
And now seem completely out of reach
Over compensating with meaningless triumphs 

An Instagram feed that speaks of great adventures
And friends in every city
The filters effectively camouflaging my solitude

No lack of attention
Compliments, flattery, harmless flirting and unwanted advances
But what I want has turned to dust

Sitting in a darkened room
Twinkling city lights below and that fleeting sense of glamour
An ordinary girl craving an extraordinary love


Hey you!

Yes, I'm talking to you.

I have a bone to pick with you.

I don't like this. Not at all. Not one little bit.

This feeling of restlessness, of some vague unbalance.
Of something gone missing, or a tad out of place
Of looking around for the familiar - and finding the unwanted
Of waking up to forgetfulness, and the rising consciousness of reality
Of the expectation of laughter and calm - replaced by a jaded perspective
Of trying to figure out who I am - and coming across scattered pieces

This is not me. Or who I want to be. At all.

I need you to fix this. You are the only one can. The only one who can put these pieces of me back together.

You are the only one who knows how they fit.

After all, you are the one who shattered them with such careful consideration.