March 26, 2018

You may not see me, but I see you. You may see a grey tint, a long scar, a dirty hand. But still not me. I see crisp leaves dancing in the wind. I see you waltzing your way through life. 

I sat watching as the birds lay eggs and as they hatch into glamorous tuis, I still sat watching. I’ve seen seeds so tiny and grey sprout into trees with leaves of every colour. I have watched the plainest caterpillars grow into the most dazzl...

March 26, 2018

Nothing but a small croak escaped parched lips, as a young girl crawled into a dimly lit gas station. A man stepped out from behind the counter, his face stamped with creases like a paper bag, covered by his long black hair that fell over his eyes. He reeked of beer and had stubble across chin all the way up to his ears. “What’re ya doin’ here?” he slurred, raising a green bottle up as if he had just said a toast, and clumsily...

March 26, 2018

I bet a felt tip pen feels different in a pencil case of black biros 

I bet a peacock seems strange in a flock of pigeons

I bet a monarch butterfly won’t fit in with a swarm of locusts

I bet a noble stallion can’t get along with a herd of sheep

I bet you feel out of place in the assembly hall

Surely a glittering diamond ring feels trapped in its smooth satin box

Surely a valiant lion is hemmed in by its cold steel cage

Surely a “happ...

March 26, 2018

One can gather an image of a person

Become acquainted with their way of life

With naught but a fleeting look

Into the silence, into the still

Into the serenity of their unconsciousness

The room awash with a lilac glow

The air thick and musty,

like the dawn of a foggy day

The hush of the room constricted the life

As though one was captured in a frame

Unbeknownst to the sleeping girl

Captured in her own self-inflicted prison

Her lace trimme...

March 26, 2018

Where Does Water Begin?

Water begins in the -

But where does water begin?

Is it in the clouds

Which, looking down

Seem to frown

Upon the Earth

As they prepare to bring the storm

Or is it in the rain

Which beats against your windowpane

It’s final destination

After hurtling itself

From the heavens

Or is it in the rivers and creeks

The currents and streams

Which spring up after the storm

But soon disappear

With only mud to mark

Where they once sto...

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