Ashes>Embers>Flames

I often find myself propped

up on something -

bobbing along and coasting.

Too afraid, too cautious or too lazy

to let go,

hold myself up

and tie myself on,

to something I’ve built,

and can steer on my own.

Frustration clouds my judgements

I try to move, to progress, to plain-sail,

but I am reliant.

Framed as a reason,

a calling,

a meaning…

an excuse?

Or maybe just something to share the weight,

So I’m not alone when I have to choose.

I await compasses to align,

I pray parallels might meet.

But I feel eroded,

marooned and

adrift.

Tightly, I grasp on to a weathered wreck.

I can’t tell anymore

if it buoys me

or weighs me

down.

Frantic to hold on,

in my fear to let go

and be

adrift.

Without my mainstay

I’m taken by the current,

and I’ve forgotten how to swim.

Whispers of terrors taunt me:

the vast unknown below,

the endless journey to shore.

Salt stings my eyes - I can’t see.

I can’t keep my head above water -

I can’t breathe.

Thrashing trepidation.

Despair.

Desolation.

Until instinct stirs

and I roll onto my back

and float.

And now I’m annoyed

because now I’m rational, steady

- battered -

but floating.

Anger swirls under my skin

unknown to where it belongs - caught

between exhaustion and reason,

between what happened

and what I’ve perceived.

The irrationality kept me credulous.

I stare upwards

and the stars stare back.

Thousands of blinking mirrors

reflecting wisdom-carrying currents

guiding drifts to find their shores.

Gentle light ripples across the surface,

whispering calm into the chaos.

Reminding me to trust -

that even adrift

in the darkest waters,

there is reason,

and rhythm,

and return.

So I surrender to the sea.

And I let the stars show me

what will be,

will be.

You are laughter leaking through the monotony,

a warm tide pulling me back to shore

when the waves of the world grow heavy.

In the shifting weather of my seasons,

you are the stillness between storms,

the quiet bay where I can float.

Together we bathed all shades of emotion,

With you, I’ve learnt to swim in every tide -

the clear pools of joy, the deep wells of love,

the churning waves of anger and currents of frustration

I dont want to silence the storm.

Instead, steady one another as we enter it,

learning how to float in its swell,

how to read the currents rather than fight them.

You’ve revealed rivers within me

I wasn’t sure existed,

Located shimmering streams of self I had left unmapped.

Together we open horizons before we never sailed toward,

perspectives missed like distant shorelines

veiled in mist, waiting for us to arrive together.

If love is a compass,

it’s needle is you.

The truth my heart returns to,

again and again.

The pain of not having you takes my breath away and collapses me from the inside out when I least expect it

Our break up day was so perfect it felt like it defeated the whole purpose of breaking up because it showed us how much love is here

I am so viscerally tied to you that I can’t work out where I end and you begin

There are fundamental differences but we still somehow make fun out of everything, it gives me a sick hope that somehow the differences will align and we will find our way again

If we can’t, I wait in this diseased feeling until it makes sense

But I don’t want life to make sense without you

I don’t want you to just be another ex

I’m not scared of losing

because I know this

can never be lost.

Perhaps we will part-

for a time-

but you will gravitate back to me.

I will mourn your touch

but, I know,

you’re not really away

from me.

Parts of our souls

will always

intertwine.

So,

I could never lose-

Because we already won.

Intent on keeping my head clear,

Finding the centre

Between logic and spirit—

And trying not to act on fear.

The laws of manifestation:

Attraction,

Assumption,

Detachment.

I know the tighter I grip,

The more it’ll run.

And even if it does slide from my hands,

Maybe I’ll be more accepting—

Because I’m encouraging

Acceptance

In movement,

In gains,

In loss,

In change.

We’re at a crossroads—

Not sure if we stay,

Or if we go.

Not sure which version of us

Still fits.

But still, I’m hopeful.

I have to be.

Still choosing softness.

Still showing up.

I’m feeding the thoughts that still feed me.

The anxiety is still there.

I feel it bubbling within.

But I’m trying to use it—

To redirect,

To channel,

To create.

Hecate is with me,

Here at this threshold.

I surrender,

And let her guide me—

Guide us,

Wherever this leads.

What should they do

When they’re in love to the core?

Have something so deep

They’ve never felt it like this before?

They share the same views

And see life the same way

Get each others joy

And feel the same greys.

But they’re at a cross roads -

A point no one can deny.

One of you wants left,

And the other sees right.

Neither of them wrong

And neither of you wrongful,

It’s just a difference in vision -

Of a core fundamental.

Misalignments become apparent,

Cracks start to feel huge.

And yet, all you want is to find a way

To keep hold of them and you.

Round and around in circles,

Dizzy with a fear -

Fear of letting go,

When the love is still here.

Uncertainty and anxiety

have become their muse.

But through it all,

They want to find a way.

I hope that they do.

Not a baby,

A possibility.

So light

Yet so heavy.

A cluster of

Cells

Wonders

Murmurs

Moments…

A clump of

What could be.

Considered,

Inconsiderately.

Feared,

Inconsolably.

A change in the narrative,

A choice in the trajectory.

No meeting half way,

Just right

Or left.

And the possibility was

Left

Right

There.

I’ve always viewed myself as

this tiny shoot of a plant,

just a sprout, just broken

through the soils doubt.

A seedling: beginning

Fragile and unknown

But filled with life

And potential to grow.

Not yet certain of

what I’ll be,

or where I’ll go,

or what ill see

so many unanswered questions

growing inside of me.

And with all these questions,

roots undone,

I face the dark,

and I chase the sun.

But now—

I’m approaching 27 this year.

And I’ve realised…

I’m not a seedling anymore.

I am a whole plant.

And honestly—

it’s not what I imagined.

Not what I thought this

age would be.

I feel lost sometimes.

Like I’m behind

Or not at the place that

I should be.

There’s this weight—

this ache I don’t name.

A feeling of failure

wrapped in shame.

I look at others

and at their pace,

and I wonder why I’m not

in that place.

I measure my life in

its moments.

Points.

Markers.

Chapters.

Moving back to Kent—

That was one them.

A deep score in the trunk.

A season that split the stem.

Coming back home

didn’t feel like blooming.

It felt like snapping.

Like ruthlessly ripping up roots

that had grown in poisoned soil.

A bitter winter

with no promise of spring.

And yet—

beneath it all,

beneath the grief,

a single root

held on.

And so, I turned back

to the place I knew,

to the roots, to the love,

to the rain in which I’d once grew.

To my mother,

to the arms of friends

who’ve seen my breaking

and seen my mends.

It took a while

but I rose once more.

In a soil that knew me,

to my core.

And I can see it now,

I have grown.

I just haven’t been looking.

I’ve been so focused on

what’s not yet done,

I forgot who

I have become.

So busy reaching,

chasing height,

stretching myself through the days and the nights.

Didn’t stop,

didn’t pause,

didn’t see—

how far I’ve come,

how much is me.

Roots in places,

deep and wide, leaves and

branches I’ve grown

Each ring,

a year I’ve survived…

My life is lived,

I am a self that has thrived.

This path I’m on…

It’s mine alone.

It’s winding, slow, and overgrown.

And still—

I grow.

Just not how I thought,

but more

than I consciously know.

Some parts of me had to rot,

the pain,

the shame,

the battles fought.

But death’s not always

the end you fear—

it clears the path

for new growth here.

What the fuck is a credit score?

Whatever it is, I know mines bad.

I seem to be getting more

emails, notifications and texts

that I can’t bring myself

to look at at.

Just the same as I can’t open

the letters posted through my door

taunting me about my uni debt.

Or tax.

Or the NatWest or Santander app.

Or Nationwide…

I thought I closed that…

For my overdrafts (plural),

or Klarna,

or Clear Pay,

or PayPal

or Very…hey,

y’know, who cares.

It’s money, well, spent

and I’ll pay it back some day.

But I’m spending time

here in the now -

I won’t spend my mind

on the ways or the how

my situation will be

in 30 days

when I get a text reminder to say

“Pay funds now to avoid

a late fee…”

Cos now I’m skint, see,

Even if I wanted to pay

I just…can’t, today,

it’ll have to wait.

Until pay day.

So I owe what I owe

And the interest on what I owe.

I can’t even remember what I bought,

just something else I’ve thrown

Money at…

Money I don’t have.

It’s okay.

One day.

One day I’ll have the salary

that reflects the way I spend money

and the time and effort that I spend

to earn that money…

And maybe I won’t get scared

Every time I get a letter.

Unclean systems.

Toxic waste.

Neglected nirvanas.

Humanic haste.

Global emergencies insist

The rising heat of panic,

While buried heads in landfill wasteland

Maintain our mankind mechanic.

Until there is no clean air

For anyone to breathe.

The end of life.

As we know it to be.

Discontinued parasites

A millisecond in time,

Somehow forgetting we were just

A simple sapien paradigm.

The tide will still ebb,

The seasons will rotate

And Earth,

She will breathe again;

I fucking hate hoovering.

Out of all of the household chores,

none of which I enjoy very much,

it’s the fucking worst one.

I fucking hate vacuum cleaners.

They’re all cunts;

they don’t glide with ease,

they don’t blissfully change setting when you want them to,

they rarely even suck anything fucking up because they’re so fucking useless.

They just take the fucking piss out of everyone

by functioning in the most inept way possible.

I fucking hate Henry hoovers

and their smug little smiles,

and their ‘fun’ little rolls,

and their stupid folding idiot nose tubes.

I fucking hate Dyson hoovers

and their infuriating immobile posture,

and their conveniently clogged rotation brush,

and their parts that don’t fucking detach or reattach.

And I fucking HATE those shark hoovers

and their superiority complex,

and their wanky owners who think they’re better than everyone because they have a shark hoover,

Because they’re still fucking wank.

Aren’t they?

You prick.

I fucking hate hoovers.

Bring back brooms.

When they spoke of hearts on fire, I assumed I could relate with

The anxiety of burning unanswered questions;

The steam of secret sex encounters

And the excitement of being engulfed in the unknown.

These same encounters that I’d desperately try to tend to

But the embers inevitably would turn to cold and smeared ash.

Rather than roaring flames and the unequivocal unpredictability of a pure inferno,

I would have deflated and shameful sighs of the same slow burner that I craved it not to be.

But I understand now what they mean.

For devastations of wildfire burn through my chest.

Frenzied flames lick the surface of my skin,

Scolding me to stay awake spreading ideas of us into every corner of my mind.

Then when I finally sleep, dreams of you asphyxiate me to remain within them.

December fire sun and August fire moon,

Kindled itself so carefully, intertwining through

The branches of my mind, making itself at home before I even realise

That I have a love that is glowing steadily before my eyes.

Steadily growing in each and every moment,

I’m too distracted by the warmth and the glow to fear the threat of being ignited in it.

Because every fibre of my being is being melted into molten adoration for

The fire in my heart that is you.

And the person that morphed myself into. Because I loved being chaotic and tragic and full of angst.

But now I am older and I’ve been that person. And I can never be her again.

When they spoke of hearts on fire, I assumed I could relate with

The anxiety of burning unanswered questions;

The steam of secret sex encounters

And the excitement of being engulfed in the unknown.

These same encounters that I’d desperately try to tend to

But the embers inevitably would turn to cold and smeared ash.

Rather than roaring flames and the unequivocal unpredictability of a pure inferno,

I would have deflated and shameful sighs of the same slow burner that I craved it not to be.

But I understand now what they mean.

For devastations of wildfire burn through my chest.

Frenzied flames lick the surface of my skin,

Scolding me to stay awake to spread ideas of us into every corner of my mind.

And then when I finally sleep, dreams of you asphyxiate me to remain within them.

December fire sun and August fire moon,

Kindled itself so carefully, intertwining through

The branches of my mind, making itself at home before I even realise

That I have a love that is glowing steadily before my eyes.

Ours.

Steadily growing in each and every moment,

I’m too distracted by the warmth and the glow to fear the threat of being ignited in it.

Because every fibre of my being is being melted into molten adoration for

The fire in my heart that is you.