The truth is I am not doing that much better since you left,Even if I sometimes post that I'm "living my best life" on the internet,The truth is I hate having a broken heart to mend,And I miss calling you my best friend.My fingers are blistered from writing sad songs,On my guitar about all the things I can say you did wrong,But really I'm just embarrassed that after so long,I haven't quite work...

I admit it has brought me much tension To learn that you vacillate between us.Today I want to change your intentions;Sensing you think this way feels treasonous.I see you as you do in my mirror,I can see your attempt to look away.I know one thought suffices to triggerYour unyielding want to watch you decay – It’s a two-sided brain discrepancy – You will not walk forward with your hatred. I list...

Cry mercy of a wretched thing Time-tailored, sewed beneath my skin Plead fallacy: that old defence Wanting, needing ignoranceRenewed and reborn Youthful squander is a blessing Wasted on the young but still It bares no thought, no second guessing Put me back there now I've learned my lessonI'll shine like no other. I'll not look or hear again That evil trauma I had craved Replace my spoiled pal...

Let it be this path between us shares A familiar softness, filled with cares Born out of that skipping stone That we had thrown and the wind had blownIntermittent but unflinching across the lake We're in the air now, say that it is true That's where this distance I feel from you Hails from, falls like icy stares That don't seem burdened by repairs The fixes we need to undertake We'll touch bac...

A seedling in sprout Wore a coat undecided by the likes of fateA hydrophilic drop awoke the dormant migrant withinAnd the Earth breathed love againBut it was not to last,Her famine grasped all and the soil was once more dropless. In the final moments did fate pursue,A shower of warmth,Another droughtless growth,

He is like honey.Eyes brown, speckled gold, like honey.Softness as soft as pillow sleeves.His words weave together,spinning sentences into lullabies,hands that make me dance to their lilting tone. I cut in careless and callously staccato. Incredulous all the same- at him. We speak, sometimes in harmonies andsometimes not. His low murmurs, my ill placed words,our symmetry is still found,we rest ...

I welcome you back into my life with open arms, we’ve been through too much not to give us a second chance. I know our friendship won’t be the same, I mean look at us, we’ve aged. We are no longer the giggly kids that run through the playground, creating a girl band and singing out of tune. You won’t laugh at me for eating too much green apple during the snack break of school (and for then thro...

It's referred to as falling butI feel as if I've been thrownI spin - but lose momentumas would a skipping stonePIT    PATpitter patter,pitter patterdrop -it's constantly moving,until it stopsPIT    PATpitter patter,pitter patterdrop -there's still a glimpse of it,until there's notBut I know, with knowledge of all the stepsthat I, given the chancewould be trudged up and tossed againfor another t...

Do it Do it Do it Leave Leave Leave I believe in youTear soaked face with no dignity leftFumbling to gather your things And yourself Don’t look at him Don’t look at him Don’t look at him I believe in you The open door beaconing for you The cool breeze waking you up The still night more welcoming than his arms Walk away Walk away Walk away I Believe in youThe soft glow over his shiny face His sa...

I love you. I don’t know you now but You were formative to my identity And set the blueprint for future relationships All the things I liked then Are still the things I like now But I think it’s best we stop speaking I like talking to you But there are times I come off the phone feeling just odd And I’m not a fan of feeling that way

Our mothers literally build our hearts. From a conglomeration of cells to a beating, breakable organ. Building a heart is no violent act.  My mother built my heart from the safety of her womb. But leave the womb and a mother becomes more. More than a mother, she is a person.  As a person, she carries her own beating heart which has suffered the wear of trauma. Our mothers build our hearts, but ...

I love going to sleep,For there’s a version of you,That lives in my dreams,And it’s him I want,It’s him I seek,It’s his warmth I crave,He just has your face,I can dance with him for days,It seems he’s not someone Who needs to be saved,So when I look at you,In waking life,and you see my eyes,So full of love,It's a love I have, for a sort of you,But in this life,I’ll settle for touch.