far too long

it had lived in the darkness.

twisted and writhing

sunlight had tipped its precarious balance.

oh dear.

an unearthly green

with lime lines.

it had belonged to the oracle

her magical properties adopted by it.

maybe we should water it?

while others would stretch

fingers unfurling to the sun.

it shunned away

shrinking smaller instead.

i hope it's not dead.

it had its place

it did not like it outside.

a mere house plant

meant for the inside.

warm greens greet me in my past. these timely tests talk of loud, luscious occurrences, swallowing me whole before placing me in situations familiar to few.

the meaning of such instances?

...well, I don’t know.

perhaps its...

a love so subtle it yearns for vicious validation - hungry hands grasping at flailing features of dreams dared imagined.

o r

a kinder heart, holding on to hope once lost in the battle between desire and destiny.

o r

a future fonder for flowers - a reflection on self-care, content with casual intimacy.

o r

all of it, in its entirety, bound tightly to the strings suspending life in an aimless state of constant change.

sweaty palms and

grimy fingernails

stretching, reaching for

something that’s not quite

here, nor there.

cheap substitutes for

drugs, rock music a soundtrack

to the indescribable nature of not

the human condition but rather the reeking

mistakes of failed teenage endeavours.

Oh, baby.

the world spins like a top upon a spinning wheel

that i cannot stop.

  i don't want it to stop.

and i thought i'd never write poetry again - 

well this response of 

some sort was expected.

because writing poetry is for the weak and

i am not as strong as i say

i am. 

  gosh.

what i'd do to

let you whisk me away 

in arms so gentle.

someone,

       please tell me what to do.

       i don't want to hurt myself again.

#poetry #love #notthateasy #ohbaby #love

her daisy crown lies humble on the top shelf,

now part of the golden antiques-

those who have collected more dust than memories.

it is now that no words rest on her tongue,

instead, her head lays heavy on her pillow;

for this time, she is not draped in royalty.

her fear of becoming this, now true,

she can't help but wonder how she fell-

her world has lost all its colour.

#poetry #flower #crown #royalty

So she said she would buy the flowers herself

and she would avoid unnecessary niceties.

the people wouldn't mind anyway.

i haven't been sad for some time (which is an achievement in itself), but why now?

and he tries to say something new

but everything ends up sounding the same.

it's much like the dead geraniums in every neighbour's hand.

so maybe i don't understand modernism, but they didn't know they were living it, right?

so worry about your predestination

and what your god has to say about your life.

we all end up in the ground again one day.

i'll stop hoping for a better grade if they stop making it so hard.

#poetry #modernism #t.s eliot #woolf

and we’ll be friends at parties 

laughing but tired.

nothing but sickly pop music to drown the looks we get

and i’ll have a dream where we meet at a park bench

laughing but tired.

we’ll befriend the sun who blessed us with freckles.

and i’ll see you around

laughing and tired.

we’ll be burned out, but it will be okay.

#poetry #friends #tired #laughing

you say it hurts.

your eyes itch more than ever;

the sneezing never stops

you want no more pain-

but I always loved your cream roses.

you threaten to kill it.

spread poison across the soil,

watching it seep into its roots

shrivelling up, colour now fading-

but I always loved your cream roses.

you like winter a lot.

i guess it' because the buds disappear,

the thorns its last prickly reminder;

it's future now mostly bleak-

but I always loved your cream roses.

you give up in spring.

packing your things stubbornly,

you know you should've killed them;

the colour teasing you tenderly now-

but I always loved your cream roses

#poetry #roses #cream #subtle #seasons #love

The stars were so far away that night- their luminosity dull on the canvas of the night sky. The regular flecks of gold, white and blue had disappeared- I guess a magician had stolen them for his magic show. Not even my favourite globular star cluster was its usual self, almost as if someone had flicked the switch off on its bright persona. And this time, I didn’t try to reach for them like I usually do; instead, my arm hung limply by my side.

#short #fiction #stars #night #sky #story