wherever I will go

I keep having this reoccurring dream...

it plays over and over in my head through the day

like a spinning record, the needle dragging itself along the lines

your heart close to mine 

and I wake up with butterflies in my face and fire in my stomach -

I do not know if it is love or just lust or love

but when I see your face the pandemonium inside swells

scaring me, making me frightened that my heart will burst -

like a pin prick stabbed into a child's balloon

I think about your smile and laughter

and how your eyes are an intensified beauty

and I think about my own boring brown windows

and just do not see how they could ever meet

I want to tell the world

just how much of a good person you are

but; like a harsh wind, I push my feelings into a cage of silence

closing the curtains on them to block out the outside world.

how could anyone simply understand?

I have this desire to pour my heart to you

but this ghost behind me taunts me you will only get hurt, again

like every other person I touch falls apart

taking pieces of me with them because... I am no longer whole

I want to ignore the clouds of dread that hang above me

but that ghost keeps yelling you will never love me

and as I feel this need to repel from the lost spirit

I am simply pulled back to it like a magnet

I am encouraged to speak my mind by my friends

and that should be enough, but that voice whispers you will never be enough

and I curl these feelings for you into a hot fiery ball

and I will take them with me wherever I will go...

wherever I will go

Wednesday, 5 July 2017

This Generation

I am a part of the generation,
where pouting is a second nature.
The numbers on my gram
decide on my self-worth of the day.
I don't feel pretty
until somebody tells me that I am.
But then I respond to compliments
with self-deprecation.

I am a part of the generation
where I hate myself
but I am also madly obsessed with my selfie.
I'll swear to you I am self-conscious
but, show myself off like I am the epitome of confidence.
Call me self-conceited, or a fake
I'm just trying to survive in this world full of hate.

I was raised in the generation
where beauty comes first
but amongst the other contenders
I'm simply a pretender
hand me a book
 rather than cover me in lipstick
show me worlds of imagination
not beauty guru's imitations.
I care more for my thoughts
than I do of my looks.

With this generation
I aim to impress
but surely I can do that with more than how I dress?
My voice and opinions should not be limitations
For I am a person
worth more than numbers or hesitation
why should I conform to the role of my generation?

This Generation

Tuesday, 25 April 2017

Wrong about you

I guess I was wrong about you
Fuck I was wrong with him
And her too
I clearly have bad judgment
Giving away chances like I'm some fool.
I look for the best in people
Even when they give them their worst
What a fool I must fucking be
To let you decide my worth.
My mind is a fucking riddle
You only made it worse
Thank you very much for your input
Now that door slammed is shut.

Wrong about you

Monday, 2 May 2016

Hold Your Tongue

(TUESDAYS POST - Also my first attempt at spoken word.)

I am not your lady
so don't call me baby
you compliment my beauty
but that I already do see
talk about something you don't see;
the real me.

Tell me that I am smart
look at the little things
show me your real heart
I don't want no loose strings
I don't want to play stupid games
you want to be with me?
make me believe

I need a man
someone to grasp my hand
hold me through the tough times
not some childish boy
to throw me away when you're done
I aint no play toy
so you best hold your tongue.

Hold Your Tongue

Wednesday, 30 March 2016