pas-le-mien

His body sprawled out across the bed, his blanket draping softly; and, one arm tossed over his head. There are daisies in his hand. His smile is covered slightly, by shadows of the eve. Yet eyes illuminating, he speaks: “If you only believe.”

the sweat, cold dripping filled me with one breath and took me to a life I knew, long ago maybe months I left took me back – to where it began, to the long nights the warm days the love, the lust and the confusion as to which was what and drifted further into the memory til the skin stood on end, waiting wishing and wanting. then I looked at a photograph of an unhappy girl, standing fat, under a tree compared, I caught a reflection of a passing moment in time, and realized the girl in the photograph – that girl was no longer me.

Dear Innocence, You’re an old friend of mine, Yet lately I’ve abandoned you – For years, you vested yourself in my eyes And changed the spectacles to see A rose-coloured world of my own Can still remember the night, When you laid by me, in bed, Silently, your arms wrapped around me - the final time. Then it all changed, And for every last must come a first, As the metaphorical door opens. (Still not sure what happened, Or where you went, And why you couldn’t stick around.) Oh Innocence! How I miss you being around, your presence. The way the world seemed to work when you were here! Lately all I see is g

Dumbstruck, she stands. Stupid boy, big smile. He’s trying to hold her hand, But he’s been gone for a while. Tales told in his absence, Just reasons to excuse. One tries to convince the other, Finds it’s of no use. Memories flicker back, The good old days return, Do you remember our history? But paper will only burn. The day was non-eventful, A coincidence of fate, Where two old friends met, A fraction of a second too late. And fractions then multiplied, Distances on trial, Until what came between them, Was no longer measured in miles. It’s a thing we all realize, Come to accept it in life. Separati

Colour me Italian; The taste of pasta, And creamy sauce. Colour me English; We'll sit in a cafe, With notihng to say. Colour me Spanish; Spinning with red, But no dances to bed. Colour me Californian; With big palms trees, And endless streets. Colour me Turkish; Vineyards on the dirt, Praying it didn't hurt. Colour me French; We'll listen to the lover's language, And hope it helps to disengage. Colour me Kiwi; Paint me over in green, But it's not as it seems. Colour me Australian; A bright, happy smile, Turn up the smile. Colour me pink; Fuschia if you can, A contrast to the land. And if you wanted to, You could ta

Fifteen seems so long ago now, and before that seems even longer. Before fifteen, I knew innocence, truth and happiness. I knew myself, I knew my life, I knew my friends. Then fifteen came and I thought I didn't know those things anymore. September was a long time ago too, although only half a year or so I guess. Strange how half a year changes so much. Half a year ago I thought I knew innocence, truth and happiness when I was fifteen. I thought that I had lost myself, my life and my friends. I was sixteen, and I didn't think I knew all of those things back then, but I was wrong, for certainly I know nothing about them now. Changes happen w

The way These shapes Fill the air Like balloons, expanding out And then pop! Not there. A sudden change- A movement. Rearranges what is there. Like play-dough, punch it in, Pull it out. Unfair.

The ugly girls. With nothing, nothing pretty Who don't wear lace or satin or ribbons in their hair! They're outspoken Unpretty skin covers them And I'm so turned off by them And so is everyone else We just hate them The ugly girls. But today one of those unpretty girls came to me Dressed in lace Dressed in silk And with a pretty black ribbon through her hair With her disguise, she fooled me into believing she was a pretty girl I watched her-I was entranced, I had never seen such a pretty girl I began to envy her Her sparkling blue eyes lighting with laughter Her curves pushing out beneath her shirt Her beauty capturing me

Every day I follow the same path of pretty pink flowers, Mixed gently with a dark green, And everyday, amazement hits me harder than before, For what it is that can be seen. Everyday I see the same picture painted so perfectly, Understated elegance on the shore, And everyday I'm compelled by an array of colours, Begging me to walk a little more.