Poetry

You say, change is not possible
Well, I say it is
You say, there’s too much to do
I say, yes there is
But, I say, that’s not a reason
to give up and give in

Photograph courtesy of Umar Ibn Hussain

You and I, we
Swung high, we
Thought that we
Could, if we
Flew high, that we
Could touch, we!,
the sky. We.

Through my lashes
I see yours frame
glistening grey eyes
reading me inside

Wisps curl away
from worn knuckles

Your right hand
wipes the liquid
that leaks
on to my cheek

My face rests upon
your cupped strength

Your pale palms
are filled with dreams
crisscrossing
a future uncertain

photo courtesy sxc.hu

The point of remembering
history,
Is not to harbour hate
against
the people that inflicted
pain,
but to avoid the same mistakes,
to not
repeat the same mistakes

How everything resounds!
The lift of the duvet cover,
the rustle of it reverberates.
And the careful foot steps,
down the stairs,
seems so magnified!

Despite the predawn darkness, (more…)

you said
the right words
only
you were
the wrong person

photo courtesy Kat Jackson via sxc.hu

I hope it
stays lodged painfully in
your heart, this
piece of mine that’s
broken

It’s a scrap of me from
when I tried to
fit in to your desires, be
moulded by your wants. You
wanted me
broken

I lost myself in your
destructive spirit, wanting
to be yours as
you wished. So I
became
broken

Shards
Splintered hope. There
will always be
gaps where I couldn’t find
the missing pieces of a
soul flung across
broken

I’m sticky tapes and
superglue now, I
couldn’t live
broken

But I had to live. You
taught me something you
didn’t intend in your
need to have me
broken

You taught
me that I can survive
anything because I
survived you
leaving me
broken

Today I peel
off sticky tapes and
superglue, I
am repaired
skin and stitched soul
Whole

But you
You’re still
broken