The end of the world – A poem

When exactly does the world end?
When it shatters into fragments of glassy particles
sharp at the edges, asteroids now feeling like pebbles,
with the explosion of shrapnel piercing space? It still exists,
just in a different shape, so does the world only end
when it has become the lunch spiralling down the digestive tract
of a black hole?

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not every silence is silent – a poem

an utterance is the heart’s way of shouting
but it does not rupture the enigma of a liminal space,
I am not waiting on the brink of a question, I am only
listening to a smooth swell of musical crescendo

As murmurs become a gentle nudge to fall out of almost-asleep
and into a dream that fills the night silence, not
with noise, but an explosion of colours
and stories we would never think to tell,
infused with (only-imagined) sounds.

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Happy Place – A poem

I can find sanctuary with as many people as I please
But it’s with myself that I need to find ease, where tears
Can flow as freely as laughter.
A happy place is more than pleasure and adventure,
It’s comfort, it’s safety, it’s home.
I can’t expect to fill a void with a hand, when I need to decipher
What to do with mine before ever expecting to hold another.
No home will ever be more lasting and stable than the skeleton
That keeps me together even when my mind tries to fall apart.
My bones may break or fracture, my heart may shatter
But my skin forever contains it all, and still,
They will be eternally mine.

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Celestial Bodies – A poem

I wonder if the stars connect us as we connect them,
Piecing us together with strings of light
Like puzzles in a pocket book,
I’m only a dot, barely visible between blinks,
But maybe we were both visible between the same blink.
Maybe we both sparkled at the same time,
And you led to me or I led to you.
Maybe I was one or maybe I was two,
Or maybe we blundered our own way into each others view.

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The making of a mess – A poem

We often forget to watch when dust and grime accumulates,
Collects under our nails, forms a film over our skin,
Nests in the fibres of our carpet, settles on outsides and within.
It’s a slow assembly of a compilation of the messes
We abandoned instead of disentangling.
We listen to music through knotted headphones
And instead of taking time to unravel the wires,
We learn to live with the discomfort.

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