Eventualities – A Poem

If ever I walk down memory lane There is always a place I stop and stay. Standing at the side, pondering, A ghost of the future, wondering, Watching while Fresh footprints form Just how different my life would be Had I not been too scared to turn the knob on that door. I watch her…

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Wasted Time

“I will do something today”, she thought. “I will be productive today”, she said. Sitting on a park bench to escape her stumbling mind, confused and distracted by ticking and whirring and rumbling. Usually wandering into the trap of the colours and sounds of pictures and words. “Here there is no way to be distracted”,…

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The Ship – A Poem

My heart is like a vessel And with every break it leaks. As the water gushes in, Under the heaviness, it creaks. And with every fracture The ship sinks deep below the sea. The waters that are your words Rippling waves inside me. The drowning won’t last forever though, There is always a breath of…

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The edge of a cliff

Poetry is the world beyond the edge of a cliff. There is a little man standing on the edge of this cliff. He isn’t really a little man, only in comparison to the cliff. But he is standing on the edge of the cliff where everything stops. All the everyday rules that we subconsciously follow,…

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Habitual Writing

In the past, I have challenged myself to try and write everyday. I would set myself a time and a number of pages and I would say “right, this is what I will write today”. I found that never lasted long because it felt like a chore. I would keep going with it for a…

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The future

I feel as though sometimes, I live too much in the future. I worry far too much about my plans for what will be, and the things that I want to be able to do, but can’t due to certain circumstances. I’m too caught up on the fact that once I have what I plan…

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Dream Catcher – A poem

I wish to be a dream catcher And float among The glittering stars, When our homes are draped In a veil of darkness, While tired eyes close But minds are still alive With hopes And dreams And wishes. I yearn to watch The magic of dancing minds In the dark, And collect it like stardust,…

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What poetry is to me

Poetry is Sifting through a haystack To find the tiny glint of A shiny needle (hidden to all except those who look hard enough) And sewing words together With a burning desire To make sense of the world, And my heart And the adventures we have upon it. It is a way to say What…

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