Soil in Soil in Soil

Flowers are going

right at the back of my mind

I keep forgetting to water them

but they continue to grow

they grow, with every idea

every ounce of creativity I manage to push out-

out of my mouth, onto the page-

they grow

and I can feel them

I can feel them growing

the sensation doesn’t strike me as strange-


yes, it’s peaceful

to allow myself a moment of peace

to allow myself to feel 

to feel something that’s not within my own control.

Growth, it is a pleasant feeling.





How human

how terribly human

this breath, stale at the back of my throat

how strange, to be alive

I never really think of it

but I’m alive, I am

and I think of it now, surrounded by memories, tucked in around me like blankets

I’m alive

how human

how terribly human of me, to be alive

to breathe

and that rumble in my stomach?

That’s hunger, I’m hungry

how strange, to be hungry

to be empty

how disgustingly human

to have human needs

to watch my chest as it rises and


somewhat peacefully

I need a break

a minute, an hour

maybe a week

just so I can forget- not forget– just so I can ignore this beating, this breathing, this hunger and remind myself that I, I am nothing

nothing, if not human

how awful.

The View From

I fall into your embrace

like a child returning to its mother

your arms clasped around my body

the cage protecting these “loose” emotions of mine

I cry

I’m not too sure why

why am I crying?

I turn to ask you but you’re not listening

your eyes are fixed on an old wooden bench, about a meter away

shall we sit?

I can barely even nod

yes, let’s sit

and we sit

it’s early afternoon and the air sticks to my bare arms

I wanted to look beautiful

I don’t look beautiful

and I half-expected you to say something

the red lipstick hanging off my lips

I wanted you to notice

but I don’t think you have

no bother.

Lovely, isn’t it?

Yes, is it.

(I pause slightly)

The view?

Yes, the view.

I pretend to chew some gum and pray I can wipe half the lipstick off

it’s stupid anyway, dressing up.

It’s stupid, isn’t it?


The lipstick, the lipstick I was just wearing, it was stupid.

I didn’t notice.

Well, it was stupid

and the silence

back to silence

sometimes I like to pretend I’m in your head and think of all the things I would say

but most of the time I’m just as silent as you and the monologues I formulate don’t sound half as good when spoken aloud-

am I beautiful?


Am I beautiful?


Oh, right, good.

The tears spring and begin to wet my cheeks

I’ve always been like this, especially when sitting in silence, my first instinct is to cry

and I cry

oh boy, do I cry

and then your arms are back, clasped around my body, although this time, they don’t feel like they’re protecting me or caging me in, they’re just…


how strange.

Lovely, isn’t it?

Yes, it is.

Grand Old Clock

I miss her

I miss the way she spoke, gently

and I miss the way her laughter seemed to echo through me

I sent her some words, ones better than this

they burnt them along with her body

now there’s nothing

and now, they’re telling me I must make her “proud”

I doubt I will

I miss her, I do

but I’m lazy

her memory isn’t enough to push me to do…anything

maybe, one day, I’ll write her a play and play the lead role, just to show my dedication

curtain up

curtain down.

Shout Counting

Going back to the numbers



what comes next?




I like the way they sound

the numbers

they sound important

they make me sound as though I have my life in order




that comes next!

I knew it



what an awful number


I like the way it sounds

my life’s in order

I’m counting the hours

the minutes

the days

and if I stop

I’ll be silent

and the silence

it silently counts down


at a faster pace

and I don’t have the time to waste.


I Still Can’t Spell

I don’t know how to write

never learnt

never bothered

I knew I had something

because I could write

but I didn’t know how well

or the difference between your and you’re

but there was something else

something that held my hand to the page

pen to paper

it was like lightning

and it is

it is magic

this magic that stirs within me

no bullshit

just art

and the need to breathe

breathe and create.