Do you ever wish,
you could redo it
all
over
again?

Go back to when
there were no problems,
or at least
no real problems.

A time I can’t even remember anymore
let alone imagine,
No pressure or worries?
back to a flowing, carefree entity…

All the what ifs?
they will always gnaw at me,
would I like to satiate them,
or are they better off starved?

Although, I know
the future doesn’t wait,
so some time or another
it will arrive.

And there will always be
more bad things to happen,
more good things to happen,
more losses than wins

So would I try to escape or
accept what I cannot change
and keep going
anyway?

I never know
the right thing to say, or do
but you don’t either
so it’s okay.

Maybe I talk too much sometimes,
and I freeze
when you look at me,
like that.

We’re not like a movie couple,
our love is raw and messy,
but it’s true
and that’s what counts.

And maybe one day
we’ll go our separate ways—
but what we have now
is something.
And I’ll always,
love you.

I feel like those old abandoned factories-

My heart, a shattered window
My legs, crumbling bricks
My thoughts, muddled graffiti
My whole body, rusted and broken down

But I still stand.
Like that dilapidated factory,
through suffering, it also stands
even in its ruined state.

But then, suddenly,
shards of light
cast a spectral play
through fractured panes,
an almost ethereal experience
it is so rare.

Still, hope glimmers,
and after a while,
wildflowers bloom,
stretching across the span,
reclaiming the ruins,
growing over the brokenness,
not in spite of it
but because of it.

A musician strums a sorrowful song
chords ringing loud enough
for his little girl,
who sleeps in the earths embrace,
six feet deep.

A woman files paperwork,
answers relentless emails,
and even stacks her grief in neat piles,
but it’s only her distraction
from nine to five…

A girl avoids mirrors
because it hurts to see
how she traced pain
along forearms and thighs
‘damaged’ ‘ugly’ ‘ruined’, she thinks,

A mother screams
about clothes on the floor
and unwashed dishes
because the silence of her broken home
scares her more than feigned anger.

A writer spends endless nights
scrawling lovesick thoughts,
and morose notes
on scrappy, tear stained paper
no one will ever see.

A teenage boy, never at home
swallows pills like promises
whilst he loses himself
in the haze
of a swirling smoke room

An old man looks out the window
of his care home
and names clouds after the ones he loved
while he waits for someone
who will never come.

If you look close enough-
Everyone is in pain.
And that’s the truth,
the real, visceral truth,
but we carry on.

Why? you ask,
Why do you hide?
For protection-
because it’s safer,
than being seen.

If all I must do is lie,
wear a snarling mask,
bare sharp teeth
so they don’t hurt me,
I will.

I’ve learned to walk
like I belong with the pack,
echo their growls,
So they
keep their distance.

I pretend to be the ones I’ve feared,
I hunt and harm,
not because I want to,
but to hide
among the wolves of the world.

But still-
to lie for protection
does not make me good,
So, really,
I am no better than a wolf
in sheep’s clothing.

To My First Love,

I was like wildfire,
and you were rain.
You steadied me,
and without even meaning to,
I fell for you.

You brought out the best in me-
lit me up with a different flame,
less angry, more passionate-
in a good way.
But maybe, that stifled your flame.

We were young and scared,
I wanted to run off,
follow the wind
and our too-big dreams,
but you couldn't.

Couldn’t just leave everything
for an uncertain dream.
Roots held you down
and I wasn’t strong enough,
to pull you free.

But maybe in another life,
Where we’d have more
than empty gum wrappers
and a crumpled dollar in our pocket,
We could be.

But you did good for yourself,
found something true,
someone who made you anew,
something I could never
have given
to you.