Author: poetryfest

You faded the other day,
like light in Eire’s west,
retiring from beating time,
sun and sweat, closing in shutters
making a mess of bed clothes.

These were the bookshelves we left
unorganized, the tattooed skin I
couldn’t interpret, absent-minded that
I was back then.

I was innocent of it, nursing
grief wounds that came
unhealed, scabrous in time,
that you had helped sew up
lick clean, dress in
silk covering.

And how playful we were, naked,
unashamed, frolicking through
meadows, melodious, without care
for cuts a branch bramble
would give to those not
heeding.

I fell too easily then, coarse
feet against night air and
grass stain; that the trick
mirror had revealed all
was worsened from wear.

As your form turned void,
shapeless then unholy, I wept:

thinking of how we would never
again be so close to our
Garden, always so distant
from Grace, in glass highways

endless stone arches.

One lit before the other—
Ashes spread through the wind
And on concrete
Two lovers
Two cigarettes
Two months—come and gone
Quickly left with the season change
As he finished his
She finished hers
He finished with her
They both washed away
With the gusty winter winds

Forgotten and left on the balcony
Along with their memory—
Only the remains of
The cigarettes

March 4th, 2023
Dearest Recovery,
From the moment I met your eyes, on the fourth of March, I felt mine shine a little brighter. We’ve
known each other for a decade. We’ve been enemies, we’ve had angry love, and you’ve forced me into
impossible corners. In the end, I knew we would fall in love, again. I knew I would come to my senses,
my self.

April 3rd, 2023
Dearest Recovery,

Our first month together was not so foreign, we had fucked around before, you had touched my stomach,
and I had eaten your cooking. It wasn’t about learning with you, for we both knew the rules and
regulations. See you three times a day, and don’t throw up after. Loving you after a month is the hardest
part, especially this month, the holiest one, I can’t fast, I can’t excuse my hatred of you on religion. It’s
the part I kept screwing up way back when.

May 12th, 2023
Dearest Recovery,

We’ve kept it going, you kept me safe and warm, and I’ve stayed alive on your behalf. I remember
fighting with my mom about you. I had to prove I loved you, because she could see how my hand was
weak in your hold. I remember when I kissed you, to show her that we were serious. It was with pasta,
and I love pasta. I love you a little bit more, even.

July 4th, 2023
Dearest Recovery,

Four months, where did that come from? When did you become so routine to me? When has it just been
you and me, wake up, kiss, go to school, kiss again, fall asleep in your arms, filled. My life is easier with
you in it, and that makes me so happy, and yet so afraid, because you come with requirements. I require to
love you to be happy, I am required to behave.

August 10th, 2023
Dearest Recovery,

We fought, and it was a big one. I was studying, fine, I was up late, fine, but you had to be there too.
You’re exhausting to maintain sometimes, even when you are routine. Sometimes, it’s easier to skip our
dates, easier to pick at my skin. But you know better, somehow. You rub my thighs raw when you see
them, “Perfect” you say, “Smooth” you hum, “Loved” you imply. We had sex after that, and then I passed
my finals the next day.

August 30th, 2023
Dearest Recovery,

Living with you is odd, we come up with habits without realizing they are habits. Tea is our safety, every
morning we’ve had it. If we love each other, we drink tea. If we hate each other, we drink tea. We go out
only with friends a lot, because my family asks too many questions. They want us to thrive, yet wait to
see us fall. They couldn’t imagine us getting along so well for so long. Yet every morning, my mom
offers us green tea anyway, out of hope for us, out of love, too.

September 18th, 2023
Dearest Recovery,

I moved away. You follow me, of course. There’s hills here now, and foreign individuals,
and other people’s cooking. You can’t cook anymore, but you offer suggestions, I take them with grace.
You choose not to buy a scale for the bathroom we share, and that’s probably for the better. Things are
good here, I feel like I can truly love you here without eyes. Nobody knows we’re dating, so for now, let’s
just keep them in the dark. Let’s keep this as ours.

November 4th, 2023
Dearest Recovery,

Eight months in, I’m finding it hard to keep in touch, because we are only but a secret. Staying low is
hard, people keep saying “Go fuck some rando, you’re young!” but I am in love with you! How do I tell
them that when they force my hand? It’ll only end with that hand in my mouth, in a toilet, in agony, in
divorce. I can’t keep you hidden forever, I can’t keep this distance. I’m too wound up in your arms to let
go. I told my LA friend about us, she told me she likes you vibe.

January 1st, 2024
Dearest Recovery,

We went back to our hometown, You get praised, I get called different. People here know you, know who
I was before you. I’ve tried to reconcile with that, with before I. I don’t love her like I love you, I can’t
love her, but I think I need to, because I love what you love, and you love her, regardless. When people
ask if I am doing well, I tell them about my work first. When they ask about you, I let you speak for
yourself.

March 4th, 2024
Dearest Recovery,

A year ago today, we found each other again. I was in a hospital gown, you, a suit and tie. I do love you
dearly, even when I yell. I do love the way you hold me, the way you fall on my figure. I do love your
cooking, the pasta is the best. I do want to marry you, I never want to leave your side. I do, I do, I do.
We shall cheers with a cup of tea. Congrats, to one year of Me and Recovery!

Sincerely,
our one year

A spoonful of honey and a glass of water
Follows the single gulp of Cyclopam
To put a gag on the gag
“Another month off the life chart”
Strips of bitterness since two thousand-six
Aunt Flo doesn’t give a damn
Just as my OB/GYNs
“You have to live with it”
“Manage with medications”
You aren’t special
This is every woman’s problem
Kindly suffer in silence. Thank you.
Hatred gives purpose
We start all over again, the new gyno & I
First base with speculum and
TVS for the third
“Having a child might probably help”
Emphasis on “probably” here.
“Double Income No Kids?
You deserve this!”,
Society chimes in now and then
My boss is too empowered
“Only the meek ones
seek paid period leaves”, she blasts.
Hormonal pills just pretend
to smooth my frayed nerves
And to boost the will to carry on
“We need more research into this!”,
the Keyboard Warriors fume.
While the laws of the world
are being rewritten
to control a woman’s body,
Inside the bathroom stalls,
tired of combat in
the eternal war that is womanhood,
My helpless self
sobs in silence wondering
Isn’t the present scary?
More than the past or future?

What is the world but against a women’s freedom,
Is this all a game settled before it began,
Have all the tricks been ready to play,
The cameras ready to catch us as we ran away,
Run from who, was he not just a boy?,
But all the same, he made the choices of a man,
Was I not just a girl, no more than a child,
Taught the ugly truth of humanity,
Surviving a barely viable way,
Yet no one else stood near to cradle my hand,
A systematic readiness to point away from the liable,
Am I so unlike a human too.
Will I tell these sweet stories to another one day,
Fill a head with lies so far and wrong,
Will I lie for a son, lying down to pray,
Watch as a young girls light begins wane,
Will I protect for a man, whilst my own I leave behind,
I only begin to hope escape wont be too late.

We arranged a deal. I was there to fulfill a duty and I was using you to add another experience in my life. Only to fear the act. Too scared. You held me and said that me being so vulnerable was better. (I told a friend about this later, and she called it disturbing). I loved your girl more than you- I probably would’ve been brave for you. You mad and say that the therapist agreed with you. I told you to fuck yourself and I only asked that she say something. She didn’t. She fled. I never been so glad at my overreaction before. (Even if the apathetic Internet typers agree it sucks). The worst part isn’t the pain but the embarrassment. No more men, but I’ll do a lady anytime.

waiting for the last train
black trench coat over black culottes
swinging above bare ankles
tucked into black docs against a smog-greyed night

leaning matrix-style against a post

unmoved

by gusts from passing trains
and homeward-stumbling drunks

she’s a midnight trifle: black on black on black

bob bouncing – a shock of orange
it’s washed out: faded as a watercolour sunset
or summer fruits boba milk tea
it’s the brightest thing at the station

she makes herself brighter by tucking into a satsuma
unravelling
a perfect spiral
of peel
like a black widow spinning a web

the last train pulls in
dragging clouds
she discards her peel on the platform
and disappears through green doors

oh crap that train was also yours

Whether in your eyes or in the night
sky, I need the stars
to guide me.

To show me the way home to your
heart, to your sturdy
arms that hold me in the only solid
peace I have ever
known and I can sleep without waking.

For how can night let us sleep without
the stars to watch
over us?

How can love let us fall without arms
to catch us?

There it goes.
Love goes out the window.
When you’re betrayed, closer than close becomes East is East and West is West and never the
twain shall meet again!!
Physical distance wished is a million miles apart in the head.
A silent hostile divide.
Unspoken.
And so it widens, from Earth to Space.
You fill it with blame, ‘he said’, ‘she said’, ‘I’m right, ‘you’re wrong’.
Each wrong justifies a right.
Each right is testified at the Church of Betrayal,
On the Alter of Smashed up Love.
It’s all gone awry.
And you stand clothed there wronged.
Sprinkle hate generously to keep the good cause justified and alive.
Here there is raison d’etre,
Reasonable reason leaves,
Irresponsible insanity arrives and approves.
Yet a mad Despot needs not reason, crazy love makes Tyrants.
Ah yup…there it goes…Love’s done a runner through the Window!
Forever turns out to be ‘just for now’, or ‘until something better comes along’.
The beauty of sensual lovemaking now unsatisfied boring sex.
The roses now stink of shit,
The Cats have been pissing abundantly raising weeds,
Velvet petals turn dry to dust,
The flowers wither and emotions to mulch,
Thorns prick and Love bleeds,
It grieves for those good old ‘could’ve beens’,
That’ll get you each time.
Oh those loving looks to resent,
That festers in the heart and governs the head. And there it settles and ferments.
Oh me, oh my, Love does a running jump through the Window!
Lovers to strangers, friends to enemies.
Who would’ve thought it would come to this??
Fighting over possessions once unitedly purchased.
Care and Share becomes Keep and Reap.
Love songs to fight songs Anthems.
No more climb high mountains or swim deep oceans,
Or nimbly skip and jump through flowered meadows,
Whilst happily chucking daisies in the air.
Now all you feel is that humiliating sting of love up for sale and no potential buyers.
Looks like Love is sprinting through the Window!
Oh what a fool!
Forever love really is the pits!
Nothing like rubbing your face in Love Sick!
You know they say ignorance is such bliss.
And foresight I hear is such a bitch!
There’s broken hearts and loneliness,
Time heals all wounds,
forgive and forget,
You’ll say you won’t make the same mistake again.
No way!, No how!
Where is true love?
It will happen to you.
it will be for real..next time for sure!
As you longingly ponder when,
Licking love’s past wounds,
Cupid cherubically sniggers….
Has Love swiftly flies out the Window!

my mother’s like a village
a place for ancestral wisdom

my mother’s like a town
a home for growth and learning

my mother’s like a city
welcoming all who enter her domain

my mother’s like a river
adapting to the times and constantly learning

my mother’s like a mountain
a foundation for future growth

my mother’s like an ocean
healing those who seek her wisdom

my mother’s like Africa
vibrant colorful mysterious

my mother’s like America
wealthy abundant resourceful

my mother’s like Asia
venerated ancient mystical

my mother’s like Australia
wild independent fun-loving

my mother’s like Europe
stylish elegant well-mannered

my mother’s like Atlantis
alive in the hearts of many