Burnt

Move on, my mother told me.

If you wait for him,

you will be an old woman.

But how long does someone wait

when they would walk through fire

to reach you?

WOMEN

My Acrostic poem for International Women’s Day 2019.

W ild Women, hear us roar. We have been rising from the ashes for years. Did you see us coming?

O ur ability to be what we want to be in Society today. The votes, the choices we have. The sacrifices our predecessors made. But how many women all over the world are still fighting to get their voices heard?

M en we call you to arms to support us as we promise to support you. We know the world is tough on you too.

E pitome of strength and courage. Do you hear how fierce our hearts beat? Does it scare you or does it make you proud? Of your daughters, your sisters?

N ow it is our time to remind the world of our journey. Do you see how far we have come? Do you see how far we have still to go?

The Flower

I was that little girl who would water dead flowers to try to bring them back to life

Who grew into a woman who would love and give too much.

Even now, I am sad when fresh flowers, vibrant and beautiful, die.

I think that was how you left me in the end. Unwatered and clinging to life. 

Favourite Things

We were each other’s favourite thing

It was more than a lover’s fling

You held me close and stroked my hair

We were such a perfect pair

Although no labels

We were true

There could never be another you

I loved I loved 

You tried and tried

The day came for us to say goodbye

You wiped my tears away and sighed

I’ll see you soon

Just please don’t cry

I dare not say it

I just closed my eyes

I’ll love you till’ the day I die

The Blooms

 I bought myself flowers through sadness

Or sadness through flowers, I could not tell

but with the hope that their blooms would lift lift lift me up away from the dirt the rot the human disappointment.

I often dream of those spring walks with you when I would pluck flowers from the ground, sprinkling earth from its roots, velvet petals against my nose, my cheeks,

but my nails would dig into their stems, your flesh, as I clung to you both,

And you,

Always there with a smile and a no.

The Magic Women

I often see folklore tales in my dreams

Of sorceress women and waning witches

With ropes around their necks or flailing in black waters

They are always beautiful 

with night sky skin and milky white eyes

but the men who hunt them say 

Their beauty is threatening just like

The runes and healing stones that they clutch to their breasts

What do they know? Is always the question, 

a crystal ball, a palm reading, a fortune-tellers kiss,

Look what I see, they say in unison, a smile playing on their lips,

each with a single tarot card between their teeth.