brightly coloured
mismatched clothes and
lop-sided ponytails.
small hands clutching the
chain of a long forgotten
swing in a park falling
into disrepair.
loose strands of hair
whip and whirl in a
wild halo haze as we
laugh and slurp on
iced-lollies and
Mr. Whippy,
telling stories and
singing songs,
never knowing a single
care or misfortune.
i was sad to see them
wrapped in plastic
after picking them
so freely in the fields
all those years ago.
a girl and her basket,
nose blushed by the sun,
ribbons snapping
in the wind,
mosquito bites and
the hum of bees
as golden light
cast shadows
across tall grass.
in the distance, laughter.
innocence, yet to be taken
they left two large holes
deep and dark
like a well in the forest
and i started to drown
at first
and lost myself and
who i was
the parts of me that were them
until i saw the flowers
and filled the holes
with shells from the ocean
that sparkled
i am not an artist,
i am a conduit.
a demonic infestation,
is wanting
to be let inside.
it whispers to me,
softly, “let me in.”
banging.
banging.
banging.
oppression, followed
by the possession,
begging for an exorcism.
the most diabolical haunting,
the voices, they echo,
the walls, pounding –
willing me to listen.
the yellow wallpaper,
moving, telling stories.
and the illustrated man
sleeps.
dark corners, become alive.
everything looks so different
in the darkness.
pick up the instrument,
command it to move.
one stroke, and then
another.
is it fate,
or fluke?
magic
or genius?
i am being played with.
a voodoo doll,
violently shaken
like a rag.
the mortal pawn,
for the universe’s
divine hand.
i know we all
fall into it,
believing our things
will somehow change
how we feel about
ourselves.
that we’ll magically
be happier,
better put together,
complete.
but it’s never
the answer.
that vast expanse
inside,
that dark void
will linger.
the emptiness
shall never be filled.
not until you look
at it, i mean
really look at it.
stare into it.
face it like a foe
or a friend.
a demon that
can only be
vanquished
or conquered
by being fully
accepted and
acknowledged
and risen
above.
they told us to just
“go back”
like it was nothing
and everything was going
to be fine.
and it would all be
“normal.”
“let’s just get back,
y’know,
to the way things were.”
and what way is that,
exactly?
run into the ground.
weak.
exhausted.
completely burnt out.
although,
i did try
at first,
to simulate
a life vaguely resembling
the one I remembered.
gathering those
old threads
to weave
into something
new.
but the result was patchy
and threadbare.
what was once deemed
beautiful, now ugly.
something else was
mixed and woven
into my skin.
and the more i
resisted, the more it
pulled and tugged and
bled, as i refused to
accept the foreigner
that was squatting inside
me like a toad.
dark days realised.
but i needed
leverage to reach
the blue dome above.
and to land on jagged
rocks at the bottom is often
the only escape.
you can always look up
when you’re down
and witness the vast
expanse of
studded stars.
i walk towards broken palaces
like ivory towers
in the distance, castles covering the falling stars
that cascade onto crumbling sand dunes.
my heart it shatters like glass
but that doesn’t stop me from
running so fast towards you –
away from you
and into the dark forest where it is always
night but no moonlight
shines, only the illumination of
my soul that throws a glow
of enchanted curiosity.
what was it that led me here?
what was the spark that ignited
the fires? as the clouds gathered
overhead and turned silver
like swans.
what electricity travels through me
and who is even writing now?
if i stop the magic stops;
like water not flowing, rivers not running
and i know i’ll never stand still,
like a shark constantly swimming
to avoid dying,
and all the king’s horses,
and all the kings men,
could never put me back
together again.
and when it rains i cry
and it cries when i reign.
but i am no queen, like a pauper
i am
begging outside these stone walls that we built
pleading for your time
and your mercy.
what bird is this
that comes to me
so late at night
and speaks sweetly
bringing word
of places unknown
with tales of forests
overgrown
of running rivers
never dry
of star filled nights
that shine and thrive
it whispers to me
where i reside
a dank, dark well
amidst the tides
for i know no sunrise
or blue moon that shines
my world is darkness
and endless night
a billion to one
we travel through billions of molecules everyday
that gather on either side of us,
and sometimes it is hard
to see the beauty through the endlessly mundane.
flowers floating in sewage water.
it’s about looking at the road
from a different perspective.
there is a reason that the path you chose
is less traveled.
it’s dirty and difficult and confusing.
anyone can be content,
even happy,
if you choose to seek adventure.
in every person there is a hero;
in every task there is a quest.
it’s a billion to one
that you’re even here.
what are the chances of your mother
meeting you father?
what were the odds
that they would fall in love?
we are all artists
waiting to paint.
he was like the moon, cold and distant - but always within reach. she would watch him from the bottom of her well. she often heard laughter echoing through her chamber. the stone walls that encircled glistened with blue light; small comfort. she would sometimes sing; that unsettled him, shattering his illusions of a perfect world. the rope had been cut - long ago. she knew it had been him. the neglected forest, wild and overgrown, kept her a secret - never to be found.
THE LONELY WHITE WOLF 