thoughts on a recurring occasion 

alcohol slips into the mouth, down the throat, destroying the organs,

tearing him apart.

she finds herself when he’s away,

so free and so fulfilled –

it’s all an act in his presence.

the life that they have built on infertile soil, a foundation of imbalance –

they don’t really want this life…

and how easy it would be 

to simply stop.

apologize.

and remain sincere. 

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Hey friends! My creative writing class has come to an end, but my writing has not. I plan to continue blogging, as I have had nothing but a positive experience from doing so. Thank you for all the feedback and encouragement so far, let’s keep it going 🙂

two opened hands

although I am privileged,

my mouth contains greed.

yet without a single word, 

the cravings take over.

how dare I ever say 

I want you.


days become purple and grey 

my heart aches in sync with my head

if you ever forget me, my love,

I pray that I may fade into the nothingness.

how dare I ever say

I need you. 

The Clock

Limitless, intangible…

raging yet patient…

time is infinite.

 

The continuation of;

never failing to exist.

 

Yet time becomes limited,

forcing us to rush ourselves –

impatient.

 

Never ending, boundless time,

yet no time to be wasted.

 

Time stands still

but remains continuous,

hour by hour…

Continue reading The Clock

Poetry Is…

Poetry is alive and well,

what helps you experience the seasons,

helps you realize you fell

for that boy – all the wrong reasons.

 

Poetry is an escape route –

when you are lost, it is a trustworthy guide.

For all the times you drown in doubt,

it is a quiet friend in which you confide.

 

Poetry is in the streets,

it can be seen in every face…

an artist’s greatest defeats,

her mind immersed in deep space.

 

Set over the atmosphere, a subtle gloom

where we produce in the way we consume.

 

(Inspired by quotes from Matty Healy, The 1975)

Some Inferences

My energy is being wasted;

your time and efforts are somewhere else.

I feel emptied of emotion

when you are somewhere else.

 

What happens when your mind isn’t on me?

Is it on someone else?

Who could possibly fill my absence?

Does your heart feel for someone else?