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I have just published 2 complete books of my poetry and am currently selling them on Lulu. If you’d like a physical copy of my books the link is below.

Picking Thoughts for Flower:

https://www.lulu.com/en/us/shop/elayne-r-carter/picking-thoughts-for-flowers/paperback/product-pj8gzv.html?page=1&pageSize=4

Making a House of Fragile Things:

https://www.lulu.com/en/us/shop/elayne-r-carter/making-a-house-of-fragile-things/paperback/product-46v29p.html?page=1&pageSize=4

The only way I know how to live

Is waiting up until 4 am

To wrap my arms around you

and finally enjoy myself.

To wonder if I’m wrong

Or strange

Or fucked

For craving the touch of her

To feel my mind caving in at the thought

Of me with another girl

But soar with happiness when

I hear stories of a queer thriving

Queer

I know this as reclaimed.

It is us, and we embrace it.

But too many mouths have snarled this word at me

And too many have judged me

Told me to choose

Make up my damn mind.

And I have “made my mind” when I “settle”

For a man that I love

Based on him and him alone.

But I shudder at the word.

The sneers and hatred

Uttered around the word

“Bisexual”

I feel like a sin

To those I trusted

Unforgiven by God.

But that’s the thing with being Wiccan.

I never thought I’d hear the parting words:

“Alright, let’s go smoke”

In the way we used to.

That way - all resigned

When you want to speak with them

-be with them

But they require nicotine

And I’ve never tasted it on my lips

It’s such a fragile balance

That i will not experience again.

Because the dead can’t smoke

Pretty little girl, stay where you’re at

For the monsters and men prey at late

Sweet little girl, remain in your place

As the nightmares and shadows lurk

Tiny little girl, do not stray far

You are not nearly enough being to fight

Small little girl, hold close to me

There are things unknown that can hurt

Petite little girl, do not think for yourself

We have smarter men to do so

Pretty little girl, do not break free

As life is determined at birth

Sometimes

Two is better than one

For comfort and for trust

But sometimes

Two is better than one

For stability

And in these times, standing

Between the kitchen door

And staring

At the room you dread

You decide two is better

We are static eyes

And quiet mouths.

We are the flowers

Blooming amongst

Thorns

Blooming amongst

Leaves

Blooming amongst

Fields.

We are tender words

And fleeting glances

Fighting against

Currents

Fighting against

Fears

Fighting against

Words.

We are our juxtapositions

In a world of the plain.

Hiding amongst

Flowers

Searching amongst

Thorns

I look now at this half-grown girl

And remember the toddler she used to be.

An infant not old enough to stand,

This girl is not the one I knew all those years ago.

She is half-grown, and vastly changing.

And yet, this half-grown girl is still everything I loved about the past one.

She may have grown taller, wiser, smarter, and braver

But this girl is still my fighter, my starry-eyed wonder.

She is still all my love,

All my courage and empathy.

My you-can’t-leave-until-I-sleep, counting stars overhead, and calling my name when she’s sick.

And here I’ll be,

Telling her stories of past times,

Brushing her hair and soothing her worries

Until my worried girl is snoring once more.

Crossing the currents

With boots weighed with water,

A slippery slope to the end.

But the journey may not feel too far

When you take my hand and ask if it’s time.

A somber expression,

Fleeting glances,

And it’s time for me to admit.

May it be your time to cross this river,

Alone.

Had I not already crossed into the woods,

And up the mountains,

I’d have ventured with you.

We’d have seen the sights over the peak, explored the unexpected

And journey the worlds end together.

But alas, we had not.

As I’ve journeyed these paths alone,

This head;

So full of thoughts,

So full of ink that seeps from our words.

Blood that bathes our ideas,

Breathes like wisps of oil and smoke.

Clues of a previous life

Or just ideals of a lovers mind.

Connecting dots in place of freckles.

Aligning stars in patterns of irises.

What do these hands shake for?

What does this heart beat for?

As we breathe cigarette smoke;

Second-handed love

Of a non-loving friend.

The sheer fact that I bought tea bags

In your flavours

Just to remind me of you

And while I mourn you as a lover,

You stand by my side; a lover still.

While I miss your touch as your fingers graze my face.

That I barely notice your fingers turning to claws.

This lover that shares my stead shall heed no words I relinquish.

This lover by my side embraces me, to cling like darkness,

A shadow used to push me from my hell to the watered depths

Do I suffer in the silence?

Or make peace with the pain?

Do I softly burn forever?

Or ignite my heart to gain?

Is it easier to turn to dust,

Or make use of corrosion?

Lying here forever,

Watching my own life in slow-motion.

Palm to palm, feel my fingers bleed.

Hand to heart, hear my muffled pleas.

I’m winded and working,

Cogs spinning and turning,

Collecting hearts

Yet falling apart

Do I close my eyes

Or remain awake for eternity?

Do I toss and turn in nightmares,

Or face the sudden uncertainty?

Can I withhold this burden,

Or shall I fall to my knees, at a loss?

Or take a step to the line, and attempt to cross?

Such uncertainties make our boy, Hamlet, look

Well-mannered and decisive

His inquisitions pale in comparison

But what’s wrong with a little indecision?

After all, repression is just as is

A depression gone unnoticed,

Slowly killing all it touches and it spreads

Oh it spreads, quickly it does.

But how we yearn to the things that kill us,

We leap to them, and pray for the best

But when do we give up?

Wash the blood from my veins,

Rid these lies of my fingers

Shift my mind to places of brighter intuition

Feel my hips as they bleed words unspoken

Lips softer than any feeling I could have for the likes of you

Cut-throat and cut-paced,

Dead to the eyes of your admirers taste

Depressed in divots and corners we hide:

Divert your eyes from any feeling you may find

Because my blood has been emptied from my veins,

The emotions dead from my tone,

The feelings carved from my heart

In fear of those who came before you

After all this time hiding, I hoped you’d ignore them

The marks of palms pressed to my skull

A pressure unyielding and unbending to my mind’s eye

The feeling of a cloud of darkness shrouding my consciousness,

To those who live simply,

Or just simply live

I raise you this:

What is it to just be enough?

To just exist and not right the wrongs of the world.

Starting with your own head,

Working through your own fingers,

Changing the world one corner of the sky at a time.

And when the sky looks too big?

When the clouds are too vast and dark to fix?

We start with puddles and leaves.

We begin with gentle breezes and pale moonlight that needs little fixing.

Because how could one ever be so wicked as to just exist

Sometimes love is not what it seems,

Not that every one you’ll ever meet is a wolf in sheep’s wool,

But very many find it within themselves, with a little help

From said sheep.

Although this discovery,

Self-acclaimed, if you please,

Tends to be one that leads to journey

Not necessarily alone,

But often you venture by yourself.

To find the person you thought you were,

And to leave the person you became behind.

Some love is a mutual friendship,

And never amasses to more than that.

But those are alright too,

Twirling in the twists and turns of the house,

Oh what a large house it is.

Tumbling and bounding under the darkness and secrets

Holding the doors open for another, hands in hands

Tagging along like kids, growing in laughter and light.

This house may be rustic, old, creaky

But it houses the unfortunate

And it holds us close

It offers familiarity and comfort

In the places others are too afraid to go,

Because they echo despair.

But some rooms whistle with emptiness

And beckon the children of the night to play

And while you shift through shadows and dance in light

I run against the winds of the abandoned rooms

And the light I cling to seems to fade briefly.

The only thing the house offers me now is muffled silence

I miss it.

The gentle breeze lifting hair in a whirlwind,

The warmth of sun kissed skin,

Gentle boughs of cherry blossom trees grazing skin

I miss it alright.

But this house holds us close, remember?

It draws us from ourselves and offers what was once golden

And warms the roots we make here.

This house draws us from the thorns we create

And offers flowers for thoughts,

Sunshine for laughter,

Happiness in place for our demises.

This house carries us from our own haunted homes

And just like you’ve known for ages,

The world begins to tumble

But the jarring lights beckon me back

“You’re falling in love my sweet.”, soft words make to me

They flit around my head and for the time I sway in their warmth

I embrace their heat, but it easily becomes too much.

“How does it make you feel?” sharp words bring me back to my knees

“Honestly, I’m terrified.”

The fires stoke at my heart and prod my mind,

It takes everything to ignore the seething pain in the recess of my waking conscious.

Gentle hands caress my heart and I am drawn from the darkness

Soft words bring me to the daisies in my mind.

But the petals taste bittersweet

The stems and leaves choke my lungs

Petals rain from vessels unknown to it