#adolecence

- an extract from my poem 'Lilac'

A strand or two may fall But no more than three. What was a dull drag of plain-jane Brown is now a burst of ecstasy. Burning with violet rebellion and Messy undertones of green jealousy. Now three or four strands fight the fight With frivolous repentance. And there she goes again, one inch Two inches, gone for another year. Now chin length, and sharp – Will they ever see her coming? Undercut the excess of leafy green, The unstoppable purple shield.

It’s not long now, dear minor. All of the unexplained suffering And doubtful comforting will fall away. Like leaves on a stem that can no longer feed Itself. Like the generation of leaves, the lives of mortal men. Like tears on the new soil spread in spring. Like an old friend, with their hands bound with Deprivation. Tame your mind now, sleepless child. All will be forgiven soon For a new beginning is approaching, Gentle and kind, Unlike the harsh winters we’ve just Survived.  

- '18', A Haiku I wrote for my friends 18th! (18 never tasted so sweet).

I keep you hidden Buried between each of my ribs In an eternal sleep. I am scared to spill you, Like ink on parchment, Or paper, Or a clean surface that has never been Corrupted with the rawness of your being. I keep you buried there, And I’ve tried for so long to cover you up, And lull you into a slumber with my Steady heartbeat and rhythmic breathing. But, you’re stirring now. I know you want to see the sun, but it hurts To let you out into the world. It burns to allow you into the sunlight. To let you out would be to break my bones, And to break open my rib cage with Restless speed. I feel you longing for the golden rays And for the freedom that comes with Being alive. But to let you live is to say goodbye to Another part of me that I’m Not ready to let go of yet.

His words are like smudged kisses on an antique mirror. The faint trace of shimmering peach, And the smell of 'Aux étoiles' dancing dimly between these Pink hotel room Walls that scream 'Teenage Love Affair'. He's lost somewhere in my eyes, Ignoring all of my suffering, my pain, my curiosity and the Depth they contain seem to distract his dauntingly Dark mind from loving me, again. He says my dream-like touch is too much For a boy of his age. These peach pink lips seem to hold a memory of a distant past that I no longer remember. The memory of my bones cracking To make space for him to rest between my lungs on these Lonely Saturday nights. The smell of 'Retour à la terre' wrapping its hands around My neck And filling my chests With the toxic reality that once tasted So sweet. He asked me what I was thinking With all my aloofness and my doe-like eyes But I never told him the answer. For the air we shared was now poisoned with the Thought of these continuous Saturday nights Between these pink hotel room walls.

Forever.