My legs shouldn't stop shaking
going haywire on their own,
a person shouldn't be alone.
I lay on a single bed,
trying to be as quiet as a mouse.
It's been thousands of years
and still nobody hears me.

It's not that there's anything wrong,
when autumnal turns to white
there's something to be felt.
You lean back in your bath
to establish a bond between
familiar waves and your wet skin
uncurling itself in them.

When the snowstorm arrives,
listen to it's hymnal,
it's cry to see you as you are.
I had to learn the hard way,
see the shame in it's bleakest day,
faced it with bared teeth,
then gave it patience.

They think I’m not like cellophane,
as much as I try to point it out.
I want them to find me,
when I’m coiled up on the floor,
something having seeped
from the paleness
wishing it was the unwrapping,
absolved of the hurt
but it’s just spit from my mouth
gifted to the watchful air.
See, why are your eyes elsewhere?
I put myself on show for you
and you walk away
as if nothing happened.

You are not the martyr here
waited to get well,
what is your situation now?
I hope it’s not as bad as it seems.
Anything for happiness
don’t forget what you’re worth.
It is all dependant on
how you see yourself
and if it’s in the way I see you.

I’m pulling away
like a ripple in the sea
slowly disperses.
I’m missing so much,
there’s not much of a future here
except for with her.
The deadlines are heavy
but so is my heart
and I need to sail away.

Sometimes I feel like Esma.
How she hugs the air,
It’s caftan arms somehow
hugging her back.
There’s a safe sentiment to it.
You rely on the sun
the way that she relies on Novalie,
she isn’t there yet Esma
isn’t as alone as they all think.
And sometimes she leaks
into my window with the streaks
of light that remind me
I’m still alive.

How am I how I am
when she is so angry?
I wake up, hear the tension.
Can you feel the tension?
I am speaking it,
she can’t help but to
weave it through my own
mouth, it’s invasive.

I am not her.
I am the cry when she shouts
though little by little
I stand up taller and walk out.
If you are like me,
if your mum is like mine,
you are not her.
I am not her and you are not her.

I need something to believe
that aren’t my own odes
and ideas that are like snails
not reaching the end.
The alignment of your thoughts
make me feel wiser,
pick me your clementines
and primrose, pink stargazers.
You call it lunacy,
there’s a luminosity to you;
I want you to give it to me
and I think you do
when I’m talking with you.