Crimson tide

Crimson stained tide, sailing the sheets you laid. Entangled bodies, glistening in empty desire. Breath quickens and hearts pound, flooding the satin as she blossoms. Lies uttered to keep the embrace & now the aftermath; mind circling wondering what the point to any of it was as she lay quivering. Why awaken something in a woman with lies? Lies of love, future and promise. Such a juvenile game to play. Games meh, for children. Wasting months on the clock, evaporating precious time in double time. Become a man & speak your truth or you will forever feel as inadequate as you obviously have become. Why attempt such things? Such a low brow way of clutching at a self. Your character a fraud even to yourself. What a sad little way to waste a life & a moment. Gone forever. Never existed & never was.

Ocean tides

You are the moon. I’m at the whim of your too and fro. My heart strings dance as you tug them this way then that. I rise and fall gently at first, but the oceans in me have become more turbulent now with each ambivalent step you take.

I can no longer see the shoreline. I am at sea lost and riding the waves. The darkness has fallen around me so I can no longer see it coming, as the waves crash down on top of me. I’m drowning in this ocean tide. A rip taking me so far away from myself that I’m not sure I even have the strength to return. My arms and heart heavy now, trembling with exhaustion.

I’m looking for a life buoy to keep me afloat. But I know it’s only me who can save me now. I pluck up the courage to keep pulling my way through, each laboured stroke one moment closer to shore, but then each wave crashes and takes me miles more out to sea. Maybe now I just have to give in and let go, ride the rip tide to another shore, find myself on islands untouched so I can put my feet firmly back on solid ground. I need the sun to guide my way as the moons pull is still too strong.

My days

I am a Trojan horse, a bruised petal. Lucky, unlucky. Helpless, empowered. I feel the poison tingle in my veins.

I’m as light as a feather, but as heavy as the mountain I tread upon. My days so long, as my life seems so short. Too tired to have shame, yet when I have the strength I blush.

Surprised by my own see-saw of emotion. I keep on keeping on. My spirit almost seems brighter from this dark place I reside. In the shadows a light can grow, from a seed, a spirit rendered clean and pure of intention and revolt.

A closed book

And then I realised, it was me who was unwilling to open up. I hadn’t been myself. No wonder my sense of self was being questioned by him. My sense of purpose. I hadn’t let anyone know who I am. But little did he know, I was everything and more. Not less. I was just waiting for him to meet me there with some gentleness. I held space

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