Child.

Here I was thinking I had my temper under control

Here I was thinking what she said was worse

Here I was thinking you’d changed

Little did I know you were still the same

If not worse

If not a little more up your own arse

If not with more audacity

If not more foolish

How can one travel so far in reverse?

How can one devolve to a state of pure delusion?

How can one be so clue-less?

But here you are, blind

There you are

There you are unaware of your own stupidity

There you are naïve in the light of the obvious

There you are uneducated

Unintelligent

Uncivilised

Unable to understand how unamused we are

You child.

What We Became

Locks on diaries became chains on hearts,

We replaced crouching over our words to shield them from offenders eyes,

With pulling down our sleeves, and muttering those empty words ‘I'm fine’

No more scraped knees and crocodile tears,

We have matured, with new gravel grating against our fragile skins,

We cry internally now, gasping for air,

Those scrapes come from blades, and scars from burns,

But some things still remain,

The way that people tell us ‘you’re overreacting’, ‘you’ll be fine’, ‘get over it’.

Of course we won’t,

The way we once sniffled and moved on was a product of childhood bliss,

We’re trapped in cages built from our own self-doubt,

Every breath takes effort,

Every smile is forced,

Thoughts of possibly being happy bring tears to our eyes because we’re sure,

We will never be.

Nothing is certain or stays,

Life fades and everything around us decays,

We will not get over it,

We will not forget it,

But We will move past it.

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Josie stared out at the mass of grey and white beyond her, and wondered what it would be like if she could venture down below.

The Savions had claimed the higher ground as their home for years. They are not aware of how they truly came to be there, but like all great nations, there are many great stories to guide the people to their destiny and the greatness they so desperately seek. These stories range from the much expected tale of being created as a type cast of divine beauty, to the most absurd scenarios which involve them willing themselves to evolve into the greatest creatures to roam the vast dimensions. Many Savions preferred the latter of course, as they are such a vain and proud people. However, vain though they might they might be, their hearts are full of love, love for the natural beauty tht surrounds them, and love for one another. You see, they are a gentle race who hold no one person more important than the next, each being significant in their path of life. 

But still Josie dreamed…

Always

To discover, that beneath the horror, which masked the pain,

Lay a girl.

A girl who is sweet and kind,

Loving and compassionate.

Knowing,

That for nineteen years of my life,

She was there, by my side

And I,

Was clueless.

We strayed beyond the realms of sisterhood,

Unhinged by pasts shared

Pasts we wish we could have forgotten

Torn away from one another,

By the struggles of coping with an angry mother.

It pains me to know,

That I didn't know,

Who you were.

I didn't know that you were mine,

That I was yours

That we have been always.

Held together by a bond we didn’t recognise,

Or consider being a possibility.

Now here you are, in front of me,

Laughing with me,

Smiling with me,

Loving with me.

Wishing we could have,

Thinking we might have,

Been,

Always. 

Accept the Unexpected

Stepping in you realise that this isn't what you thought it would be. You expected more, you expected excitement, joy… Fireworks! Instead you are left with a lump in your throat and the morose truth that things haven’t gone quite according to plan. Rather than scenes of vibrant, dancing colour, rather than bright lights, rather than shivers down your spine, and being left breathless, you are faced with grey. Life moves on, like some drab slideshow of bland with you merely standing and watching as you do nothing. Any attempts of yours to reach out, to force yourself into those images and paint the life back in, are faced with an empty palette, frayed brushes, and a marred canvas. It dawns on you that life may never be this wondrous journey, that the world will never become that amazing place you dreamt of, and instead it will remain a struggle, filled with suffering, and greed, and controversy. You don’t fall into the lull of depression you suspected you would openly welcome at this time, nor do you refuse to allow this understanding of yours to take over and decide you will fight against it. You just sit, in the position you feel you were destined to have, and let that slideshow keep running because you know that however boring and lifeless it may seem at first glance, it is still your life. It is your memories being forged, and your future ahead, and you know that amidst all the grey, there will be flashes of spectacular colour highlighting the most important and joyful moments you will be lucky enough to live.

A Sililoquy

I feel stupid... no, not because you let me down, I'm sorry, I didn't mean you 'let me down', more, because you couldn't make it. But anyway, it's not because of that. I guess, I feel stupid because... You remember right, talking about how I don't get excited that you're coming anymore, because I worry that you'll tell me you can't make it? Well... That pretty sums up why I feel so stupid. You don't understand? Ok, look, I told myself to stop being stupid, and I let myself get excited, for once.

You wanna know what's so bad about that? I'll tell you. My fear right. You didn't show, you couldn't make it, you disappointed me, you let me down. I'm sorry. I don't mean to make you feel so bad, but that's how I feel. You never made it, the one day I bothered to get excited.

I guess my timings just off, you know, you understand. Maybe next time, I'll be excited, you'll turn up. Maybe. 

A Day...

Sitting in the park watching the guys play basketball, with the footballers behind me, makes me think, that in the few short years there has been since I turned twelve, life hasn't changed so much. The boys still including new people into their games and the immediate acceptance that come with it.

This is what life should be, the barbeques in the park, picnics and family games and good moods with smiles from strangers. Why is it these moments only happen on days like this? Days of unexpected sun and last minute plans. Why cant this feeling of benevolence and lack of prejudice and judgement be apparent throughout the year?

Why are people so naturally hostile?

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And even though I had to wait that little while longer to feel your skin, lips, breath on my neck, and even though I won't be able to experience this love and affection for long, it is more than worth it.

These moments are fleeting, but when they come I am overcome by passion, and love, to feel you around me, next to me, to know that you are keeping me safe, for those few short moments, makes me the happiest girl in the world.

You leave me wanting for nothing but your attention, leave me thinking of nothing but you're presence, leave me needing nothing but your word in my ear.

This may not be the most eloquent description I've ever written, but I know you will understand; when a love like this comes around, words can not describe the extent of the pleasure I feel with you.


A dedication to my love.

I Once Wrote a Story

This is a short story in need of some serious work, but I thought I would post it anyway, just for the heck of it.

One morning I awoke with a burst of inspiration. The need to put pen to paper, to share my thoughts, with the world! With myself. The big question being what to write, I decided on a story, as well that’s what people do, isn’t it? They write stories and then they sell their stories and then people buy their stories. Well I thought, ‘If they can write stories, so can I!’ And that’s what I did.

Naturally, I began with a plot, as you do. Something big, memorable, new, fun, and oh so exciting. The kind of plot that sends shivers down your spine, that makes you want to savour every page, never wanting the book to end. Full of action, and heartbreak, the handsome hero humble in all his success and glory, the treacherous villain superbly defeated, the happy ending. The perfect story.

This tale, was one of complete excitement and joy. But.

The story was unoriginal, it was stereotypical and generic. So, I wrote a new one. Original, different, confusing, unemotional, unexciting, but so much more interesting. If you would like to read it.

Well, you just did. J

I Call It.

We sat together and watched time pass us by. We watched as day passed into night, summer into winter. As the world around us, developed, devolved. Diminished into nothingness. But still, as time ended around us, as life as we knew it, came to decease, we were, side-by-side. We remained, changing only in order to grow stronger, to bind us tighter together in trust and matrimony, as we lost what we had once known to be life.

On this day, I learnt. In life and death, sickness and health, during turmoil and hardship, we will stand strong. Because you are my defining force in life, you give to me what no one, and nothing ever could. You have created for me a home. It has no set location, no formation, no build, no visible substance, but for us, we can feel it, and only we are aware. But this home protects us, I call it our Love.

A dedication to my love.

One moment

In that moment, our bodies, our minds, become one. Your skin on mine, your lips searching for my own, so gentle as they press against me. I watch you so peaceful and calm laying in my arms, wondering what you're dreaming. I watch as your eyelids flicker, waiting for you to catch me watching, just so I don't miss that first smile of the day. Knowing that I've made you happy.

A dedication to my love.

The Writers' Torment

The naivety to think that the writers tormented and fragmented mind can be sorted into some sort of understandable order. For the brilliant mind was not created for that of understanding. It's purpose is not to sense make. It flows freely, bound only by what is put to page. Of course the writer runs the risk of losing brilliance without recognition in thoughts lost. But the brilliance of a writer be that none need know all those thoughts, all those sparks of genius. But that the ones they do know should be appreciated for their uniqueness, for the time put into each stroke of pen to paper.

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And I pour my heart out to you, let it flood the floor, spread slowly, engulfing all in it's path. Surrounding you, myself, I find myself hoping that somehow this will join us. That you will reciprocate my pain and longing. That my love will not be left unrequited, nor destroyed before my vulnerable self.

Poetry, How could it be??

How is it I'm back to writing poetry, the confines of rhythm and rhyme never did appeal. I like the fluidity of prose. The abruptness of an end stop. Stop. It's that which draws my attention to writing, but poetry. For the ease of reading? Is not how I try to appeal to the reader. But the point clear and simple, with the message scrambled behind to be deciphered by the next man, woman, child, to take the page.