Abnormal lives within me in ways others do not understand

I am the plant holding on to oxygen rather than carbon dioxide

The caterpillar that dissolved in the cocoon

Lungs collapsing with each breath as though I am not made to inhale air


How can I stand straight when there’s this irrational weight of panic compressing my head

How do I run when I can no longer feel my legs

How could you see in colour when it takes all I am just to open my eyes

How will you believe in something invisible, wispy and thin


There’s nothing brave or sweet in this timidity

When it’s difficult to hear anything else but the footsteps of a thousand thoughts drumming in the brain

The unexplainable sadness that creeps in whispering that this is all things will ever be

Just as people lose their lives in springtime anyway.


So I sobbed

Please don’t leave me here alone

Don’t forget me in my quiet

Have me wilting when there are no more tears to cry


As gentle whispers receive I then understood, how deep your affection runs, that you hold me close even when you cannot be here, the depth and courage vast in admitting the unsayable. I will not run, here I stay even in the days to come, because you were never far, nearer than inky shadows, you are the wind planting flowers in my hair, turn and I will find, hope and I will be delighted still.


Can I say it

May I believe it

That I am cherished so

To be held like a masterpiece glistening in sunlight?


Spoiler alert: yes, my dear, so you should.


Live in the moment with me, this the prayer quietly whispered in the glade. What is it that you have to keep chasing and leaving, turn at every flicker of light, at the beep glowing on the phone lay sideways, distracted. How do I keep you near willingly.

Rain is falling in this city, grey hues splattered on the pavement, feet that avoid the sum of the sky’s tears. Why is it that I see broken bulbs and upturned roots, muddy prints that evidence a cruel crime? Over here, there’s no green despite loving sunshine and flowing affection.

How can I tell for sure that you still see me, when there is nothing in the mirror to perceive, nor shadow for substance. For how long can you hold on to a ghost? Haunting all you’ve ever known, tremble cold in tired bones.

Oh, what would it be like, I wonder — to recognise the me in your eyes.