Dedicated to the discarded

 

I apologise to those discarded phrases

who in invoking themselves in a furious moment

were only to be crossed out, barred and abandoned

each letter was so important

yet in questioning each word

criticising each thought, I saw too

many imperfections to be fixed

like a boat with too many holes

there were simply too many plugs

and so I had to let it sink

I’m sorry for my harshness and laziness

I couldn’t save you from your creator

who couldn’t live with her imperfections.

Thrive

I have given birth to monstrosities

to atrocities filled with insurmountable deformities,

who died horrible, merited deaths as they never

deserved to be born.

I have birthed many rapturous angels who went straight to heaven

too beautiful for this world,

too innocent to survive.

I have killed hundreds, no thousands of my babies,

not because I’m a murderer, but because

they needed to be stronger

I have been re-incarnated after every disappointment

I pushed myself beyond the sluggishness of grief

and dusted off the ashes after the inquisitions

burnt me at the stake.

I’m a tired old ageless phoenix.

I thrive despite it all,

I reinvent myself

endless times over, revive my fading spirit

because my soul comes from a tough line,

from those who outlived their conquerors

from those who have lived despite the misery

created happiness from empty nothing

I stand upon the stepping stones

my ancestors have left behind for me

I never lose my way and keep moving

along with my self designated path

I thrive on spiting life.

My poetry

 

My poetry is a constant whisper in my ear

a dark, haunting and persistent dream

my inner voice leaking out of my head

a constant weeping emotion

which is eerie, untamed and real

it is always uncomfortable

to share as the words come from an awkward place

yet they feel beautiful just the same

 

They are like little deformities

which express a deep insecurity

unpleasing to the eye

yet satisfying for the soul.

 

I coax them out of me like untamed wild animals

I watch as they slowly show me their savage power

I am always in awe of the epicness of human emotion

And how it can consume itself.


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A beautiful way with words

 

Oozing creativity from every pore

her mind ticks over incessantly

as she welcomes solutions to her problems

and offers a comfortable place for

new ideas to rest themselves

many of her endless thoughts

are consumed by the monster called doubt

one by one she fishes out the shredded fragments

patch them up and try to move on

those who survive her own doubt will survive anything.


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Why do you write?

 I write because I can't help myself

it's an itch I must scratch

a craving I want to satisfy

I'd be lost without words

my companions on this journey.

 

As I read, I need to write,

my mind ticks over at many beats a minute

the brain overflows onto the page

despite the torturous process of giving

my thoughts some logical sense

we are as irrational as hypertext

leaping from one idea to the next

faster than thought, to hand, to page.

 

Still, I insist on putting pen to paper

I tenaciously grip my pen

even if I have a hundred incomplete ideas

who are all screaming for my attention

submerging myself into my thoughts

it is my meditation

a prayer I say to myself every day

to remind me to be true,

to exist despite every heartbreak.

 

Words come out from the ether

as if my grey matter is filled

to the brim

with a vocabulary

which needs to be liberated

the words would suffocate themselves

if I didn't write them on the page.

 

Writing saves my life.


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