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50th blog 🙂

Talk to me
And you will find
What you seek,

Lay your pride down
Like you would lay with me
Watch the stars go by
Before eternity,

You live like a ghost
All you want is a home.

Little Brown Puppy

There’s a little brown puppy
Down on my street
He has scars on his ears
And dust on his feet.

When I walk past him
He scurries away
I catch a glimpse of his eyes
They beg me to stay.

So I come around often,
And he meets me there
I decide to adopt him
He deserves that much care.

But when I take him home
Be bites me and scurries far away
He doesn’t know what love is
He is afraid.

Pretend

Why do people pretend
The world is in black and white?
There is yin in the yang
And kindness in the spite.

Why do people pretend
To be someone they’re not?
Colouring themselves in a better light
Dissolving their own colours and free thought.

Why do people pretend
That they cannot love deeply?
Emotions are meant to be felt
Not buried away for eternity.

Why do people pretend
They can’t admit when they’re wrong?
Realising your flaws isn’t weakness
It makes you strong.

Why do people pretend
That they can face the world alone?
When you are hurting from your wounds
I’ll be here, with smiles and tinctures
In that home you left long ago.

Let Them Eat Cake

There was a girl who loved the world
Until she learnt it was a cake,
Full of hot air and nothing but sickly sweetness
She lived in a mistake.

The people around her were sugary toppings
Filled with cream and icing dust,
They had no depth or imagination
So artificial, they would never rust.

And that girl then wondered how she had lived
Her childhood in a cocoon filled with hot air
Steaming and suffocating her, day in and day out
All these worries, and no one to talk to or share.

And so she resided in dignified defeat
That she will always be alone.
She left the world of hot air
To discover the world of thinly veiled holes.

She is lonely now, all consuming despair
Horrible terrors and nightmares surround.
But she needs to get out of the cake
Even if she has no company other than sounds.

She left her sugar addictions
And now has withdrawal symptoms.

It just gets so lonely sometimes.

Baggage

I dropped off my bags at the station today
I’ll never collect them again.

I wonder if someone else will find them
And look at all those memories
Wonder who these two strangers are
See all our first times, so vividly
Thru an unknown set of eyes
Will they see that love disguised
The one I never spoke of to you
The one you always knew.

Or will those bags be unclaimed
Left in the dust and stained
With the liquor of time
Tossed aside with hate and crime
Do these bags, really deserve that?

They are my bags, blue and bright
And yours are grey and white.
Same instances, different perspectives
One with colour and the other deprived.

I love them, I wish I didn’t have to.

But I drop my bags off,
And though they are precious to me,
I shall not collect them again.

What have you done with your bags?

Smiling on the train

Sometimes I catch myself
Smiling on the train.
Without any reason or rhyme,
Without your name.

My hands over my face
Embarrassed, but happy.
As I think to myself
How much you have impacted me.

And how I retain
Only the best of those
Lessons that you’ve taught me
It just goes to show.

That memories aren’t files
That you can delete or decode.
So I’ll remember you again,
One for the road.

Molotov Cocktail

The problem with loving someone like her is that
she’s going to get herself killed one day.

She’s got that fire in her eye
Warning signal, red and smoke.
She is armed and dangerous
Dare not be foolish to provoke.

She’s clever and quick
On her feet and in wit.
And she doesn’t believe that
You can’t have your cake and eat it.

She’s that curious cat
Purring everyone into submission,
But we all know how the
Cat turned out in that rendition.

People are either wary of her
Or in awe, mouth open wide.
Some are even scared
Some have no where to hide.

Because she can infiltrate your mind
And a civil war will play out,
Can you love a molotov cocktail
Beyond a shadow of a doubt?

Blind

The tragedy of being blind
Is that we are blind to our blindness.
We seek what is not there
Misread apathy for kindness.

But when we shove those
Tendrils of hair out of our eyes
Our vision clears up so sharp
That we see blue and skies.

But what to do of those
We leave behind in darkness
Do we show them the pigments
That hide behind prideful heartlessness?

The clouds that threaten above them
Do I fly back down?
Will he fly up with me
Or pull me beneath the ground?

He who we talk about in past tense
In the present, is another self.

The Bells

Pretty things blowing in the wind.
Lend your hand and hear church bells sing.
White, blue and lilac dance in the wind
And get caught on my crystal wedding ring.

I wonder if the flowers in my hair
Shower my brow in childish glee, so fair.
Oh, how you love it when I smile
Albeit transiently, everything seems fine.

Promise me that we’ll grow old
And never settle in our own world
We are nomads of time.
Honey, do you hear bells chime?

I promise to be your gypsy princess,
You’ll have all my forgiveness.
And when our time is up.
Hope we’ve had enough.

But let me touch your face again
All the creases, all the freckles.
That little crinkle when you strain
And marvel at how it feels different.