Blue

Wait, waiting, waited
The flame glows
Blue
Bright, brighter, dark
You cast a heartful shadow

Blue, blue, blue
The fakest shade
The truest love
The rarest dye
The common sky
A sadness, a calm unknown

You’re still blue,
The ocean on a summer’s day
A cooling warmth that can’t be explained
One could drown in the shadow you cast

You still wait, blue,
For a chance to find yourself.

-69 words. May 2017.

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You

I loved you once a billion years ago
But now what I love is gone and with it me
So goodbye goodbye and I’ll see you again
When the stars align and the moon meets the sun
Alas, no more.

-40 words, February 2017

Butterflies

Butterflies, for me, are like curses. Seeing a butterfly was like seeing death itself – they were a bad omen for me, indicating that a moment of twisted fate was about to occur. It had always been that way. I always call it the “butterfly effect”, simply because it is one. At least, for me. Butterflies are the only things I fear.

When I was younger, I loved butterflies like they were the only thing that mattered to me. I would be so happy if I saw one pollinating the flowers, and I’d excitedly call my mother over to see it too. If I had the camera she let me use, I would attempt to take a picture of the butterfly and the flower. It was rare that I succeeded – but when I did I’d celebrate.

And that all changed when the curse came for me. It was an ordinary day, no different from any other. But every bit different from the days that followed it. The butterfly began its reign over me on that oh-so-fateful day, as I succumbed to the power that it held on me.

It was simple, really – a butterfly flitted by as I struggled to stay alive in the cold darkness of the sea. I was but a mere child at a simple summer party, and as per traditions at summer parties in the household, it was held at the beach. So we went like every other year, and all was the same like every other day. But a single push ended all of that, as I fell into the water and struggled just to get out. Yet the tendrils of water held their grip on me as I struggled simply to get up, and flee doom. And yet no one, but a butterfly, noticed any of my struggles. Only a butterfly noticed my pain and misfortune. It was but a butterfly, who could never help me with my problem.

Sometimes, I wonder if I really was supposed to drown that day. Six years later, look at me now. Nothing has changed for the better, not even a little bit. Life is just the same for me as it was for my younger self. Call me a pessimist for all I care, but my version of the world still is the same as it was before, if not worse.

By this point, I almost want the butterflies to come and take my breath away. But the thing about the butterfly curse? It would do everything. Everything but the thing I wanted it to do. So here I am, for the rest of my life. The butterfly girl who fears them more than she fears herself – because really, it was just her fault that everything occurred. It was always much easier to frame something else.

I was always the butterfly who ignored myself.

– June 2016. 478 words.

Nine Lives

My first was spent with a kind old man,
My second with abusive children.
My third was killed by a passing van,
My fourth by old age.
My fifth saw a baby’s birth,
My sixth caused another’s death.
My seventh was a stray mess,
My eighth the President’s pet.
My final life – what’s it like?

– 55 words. February 2017.

Limericks

#1 :

Once there lived a mooing cow,
when the farmer asks “how?”
the cow would moo,
and go to the loo,
so he is locked in a barn now.

#2 :

Once there was a mouse at a dock.
All his life, he lived under a rock.
But a cat that could float,
chased him onto a boat,
and right into the boat captain’s sock.

– 28 words // 33 words. April 2014.

Yellow

I’m watching you in the golden rain.
The summer’s come with its yellow sun.
Sunflowers bloom in a honeyed train.
Were they always this sickly sweet?

You’re gone now, and with you, its charm.
The colours remain but without the spark.
The summer stays, it does me more harm.
I’d rather go with you than stay here alone.

Yellow, yellow, dirty fellow
You’re the colour of an ancient glory.
Yellow.

– April 2017. 70 words.

Sparrow

I saw her at a crossing mid-spring.
She’s waiting for the light to change.
A sparrow fell from the sky above.
She cupped the bird with ginger hands,
And gently bound its wing in white,
Letting it fly in sky once more.
All before the light has changed.
I doubt I’ll ever see her again.

– May 2017. 55 Words.