Red. Scarlet Red.
Like the colour of their blood.
A horror, lies in Flanders Fields,
between the rows of us.
We ask not for mercy,
just to remember what befell,
and through the sea of ruby red,
a story we must tell.
We are a mark,
a reminder,
a memory,
telling tales of courage
and men who paid their debt.
And beneath the days of golden rays,
we vow: “lest we forget.”
Category Archives: Poetry
Full Circle
There’s an ache in my chest,
familiar,
yet different to the last time
the pull of a goodbye
that may not be the last,
but mirrors that
of a 180 on tarmac,
though more hopeful
at least, I hope it is.
Every now and then
things come full circle
where endings and beginnings
intertwine
connected
indistinguishable.
Learning
I am learning,
slowly
to be okay with the things
that I am not okay with,
loose endings
broken friendships
with no reparation in sight.
I am learning to let go
and not hold on so tight,
to let memories be
instead of thinking of them
tainted.
What’s done is done.
What’s past is past.
There is no use in looking back
for it will do nothing to help you move on,
when yesterday us gone.
The only direction is forward.
Perspective is all we gain from hindsight,
watching the road in the rearview mirror,
seeing how far we’ve come
and of how things might
look different
be different
if we had made different choices
and taken different roads,
said ‘no’ instead of ‘yes’,
and ‘yes’ instead of no,
knowing when to keeps our mouths
closed.
Loose lips sink ships
and I have sunk a few,
accidentally with excitement
and wanting people to talk to.
I did not think of the consequences,
and was blind to the unforseen circumstances,
until the rose-coloured glasses
shattered upon my eyes,
and I saw things for how they are,
not how I wished them to be.
I am learning
to be okay with refusal of apologies,
for my actions
though I have tried to apologise
but perhaps I am already
the villain in some people’s eyes,
more than I realise.
I am learning to be kay
with the silence.
Silence is serenity,
sometimes necessary,
and often tells you everything you need to know.
Perhaps the things that bother me now
will not matter in a year, or so
and they will be just memories of their own.
I am learning every day,
how to be better and kinder,
to know what not to say
and to say to whom,
to sit with these feelings that feel overwhelming
and feel them,
in the hope that someday soon
they will shrink and dissolve
and disappear into the ether.
Who am I to know?
I am learning
that things change
and so do people,
and sometimes the greatest thing you can do for people
is change yourself
when you have become someone that is not authentic
and you are not the person you know you are,
when you hate the human being you’ve become.
I am learning that learning is constant
a constant, ongoing, evolutionary process.
To learn is to progress.
Mistakes are a part of learning too,
and to learn from them and start anew
is to bloom,
from bud to flower,
phoenix from the ashes,
all over again.
Untitled: 4
I am old enough to have known better,
so why didn’t I?
Am I too trusting?
Am I just naive?
Am I an idiot?
Am I all three?
Sometimes it feels like it,
at least,
recently.
Long Roads
The road is long
and sometimes
hard to follow
and disappears among the fog
or lost beneath a blanket of snow.
The winding bends
and dead ends
seem unnecessary
and pointless
and more hassle than the journey is worth.
But every turn
leads to the straight and narrow,
the wisps of fog clear,
and sunbeams melt the snow,
leaving behind
a brighter and clearer tomorrow.
The Devil (Drives A Red Corvette)
I should have listened when they said,
“he will only get in your head,
and make you think that you’re the problem,
while he takes another girl to bed”
but I just wanted to believe,
all the things he said to me.
He doesn’t talk much,
though his talk is sweet.
No,
it’s not sadness –
just regret
from ignoring all the flags,
though they were waving in the wind,
bright and burning red.
I look back
at my naivety,
feeling stupid for letting him in,
but they say the devil drives a hard bargain.
How were I to know
it came in the shape
of a red corvette?
We are the stars
Trust in the power of the universe,
for we are all made of the cosmos.
We are made of matter.
Though we feel inextricably small
in the scale of things,
we matter.
Wildfire
Dangerous
deadly
hazardous to the environment
a simple carless spark, spreading
a perfect solitary paradise
engulfed in flames
thick clouds of charcoal smoke against the azure sky
as it burns for days, weeks, months on end
merely a shadow of what it was
of everything it used to be
blackened
broken
barren
burned beyond recognition
the debris of ash and dust
a mark of devastation
destoryed by wildfire,
lost forever.
Eclipse
Two halves
dark and light
finally equal
for the first time.
Bloom Again
It is never too late
to start over,
for even the most dehydrated flowers
bloom again in spring.
Do Not Tell Me
Do not tell me how to be a woman
to stop biting my lip because it turns you on
to stop playing with my hair
because it’s one of the things you like
to stop being articulate
because you find intelligent women sexy
or to stop wearing my favourite dress
because it reveals my legs
just enough to keep you interested.
Do not tell me how to think
how to act
how to dress
or what to do
while you have a faithful girlfriend
waiting for you
at home.
Do not tell me how to be,
just because you never really got over me.
Abyss
You’re surrounded
covered by darkness
like a blanket
but it is not warm
or comforting.
It is cold,
like shards of rice ripping through your skin
deeper and deeper into your soul
drawing you in
until the light fades
and is replaced
with the nothingness,
the abyss.
Untitled: 3
I saw you drive by my house this morning
and I felt that familiar feeling
that knot in my stomach
that elevated heartbeat
that I used to get
when I knew you were coming to see me.
I think about you all the time,
in the most uninteresting moments,
because my mind wanders and I wonder
are you thinking of me too?
Do you tell stories about me
of the things we used to do together?
No, of course not…
but, do you?
I thought about dialling your number
but I decided against it.
Sometimes, the past is meant to be left behind.
Untitled: 2
He was lightning
and she was the thing
he was about to strike
leaving irreversible damage
on her body forever.
Keyboard Warrior
You hide behind
a computer screen
because it’s easier to be mean
when you cannot look your victim in the eye
when you cannot see
the damage you are causing
to their body
to their mind
and you don’t even think twice.
You type and type and type and type
out of jealousy or strife
your fingertips slamming every key
like a perfectly
rehearsed performance
because it’s not just one
or two shows you have played
the whole world is your stage
but you are
a disgrace to your name
or hang your head in shame
as you exclaim
that the battle has barely begun
but you do not care
about the already irreversible damage
your words have done.
I’ll Meet You In Paris
I’ll meet you in Paris
behind the Eiffel Tower,
I’ll meet you in Paris, my love,
at the midnight hour.
Let word not spread from your lips
let your eyes not tell a story.
Just meet me in Paris, my love.
I’ll meet you in Paris, dear
somewhere between the crisp white sheets,
I’ll meet you in Paris, my love,
upon those cobbled, lamp-lit streets.
We’ll dance among the moonshine
and take polaroids of love,
and kiss amongst a thousand stars,
until the sun comes up.
I’ll meet you in Paris, my dear,
just say you’ll meet me too,
for Paris is our sacred place,
where I fell in love with you.
Inspired by “In Paris With You” by James Fenton.
Free Spirit
She was the kind of friend
that would have you
dancing on tables
and taking shots of Tequila
at 3am
reminding you how it feels
to be a free spirit again.
Enchanted
I am enchanted by his magic smile
that turned me weak at the knees
his slicked back hair
and his gravelly morning voice
and the way he walked
with his hands
in the front pockets of his jeans.
I am enchanted by his corny jokes
and his childish banter,
his love of black and white movies,
and his captivating charm
that reminded me of James Dean.
I am enchanted by the look in his eyes
every time he looks at me
and the way my name
rolls off his tongue.
In a world of unfaithful, adulterous men,
he is
a gentleman.
Halls
These halls have changed so much
since I have been away,
that I barely recognise the place.
It doesn’t feel the same.
These walls do not understand me
in the same way,
they do not understand
who I am
or where I have been
or share the memories
that we built in them.
The tiles on the floors
do not remember my footsteps,
and these are not the same corridors
that I have walked a thousand times.
They do not remember the way I would laugh
with my friends
over an inside joke
or the hard work I put in,
or the the small moments in between
that I worry I have forgotten.
They do not remember the times I cried,
or the stories that have been told
behind a beaten old locker
before it was time to go home.
They do not remember the kisses and breakups
the making up
between friends
the queues in silence before exams
or two not quite lovers holding hands.
There used to be a photo of me
upon the wall,
but now there is a blank space
no memory of me at all.
Everything has been replaced
with new people and new things
and I find myself there,
staring.
I thought that it would feel
like returning to sacred ground
overwhelmed with emotion
the band playing out
like the end of a movie,
reminiscing.
But it doesn’t.
I am a stranger
that these halls let in.
And it will never be the same again.
Poison Apple
He is sweet
like American Pie
drawing you in
with the promise
of being everything you’ve ever wanted
the man of your dreams
saying he will give you
everything you need
and love you like you’re his only Queen.
But make no mistake,
he is not a knight in shining armour
and he does not ride around on a white horse.
He will not come and save you.
He breaks his promises
and he’s good at his disguise,
because behind his charming smile
and innocent eyes
are perfectly rehearsed lies.
So don’t believe everything he tells you,
for he is his father’s son,
and after all, as you may know
even the sweetest apple
can be laced with poison.
Sunshine and Gunpowder
Her.
Her perfect smile.
Her laugh.
Her everything.
Wonder woman encased in a fragile shell
that has seen hell
and more tragedy than a soul should ever bear.
She is beautifully broken
but not broken at all,
a masterpiece of the best and worst
that life has thrown at her,
a diamond in diguise.
She has walked through fire and she knows it burns.
She is courageous.
She is fierce.
She is brave.
She is the light in the dark,
the place in my head that numbs the pain,
the only thing that gets me through,
the person on this planet
whom I care most about.
She is my frozen lake.
My tonight.
My tomorrow.
My everything.
She is sunshine and gunpowder.
Two of my favourite things.
Past, Present, Future
3 months.
You disappeared
without warning,
no note,
no explanation.
But I found you
in the middle of the Middle East
in the house where you were born,
rediscovering your roots?
“Something like that,” you tell me.
Then I realised,
you were not looking ahead,
you were looking back.
You tell me that things would have been different
if you had just walked away from your father’s world.
“This is what I made of myself!”
But it is not who you wanted to be,
a ballerina was your childhood dream,
written on a list buried deep in an orchard.
“This little girl was strong,”
yet so is the woman standing before me,
having witnessed more things than a soul should ever see.
You thought going back to your roots
would assuage your guilt
of all the things you have done,
but the universe was begging you
to wipe the slate clean,
begin again.
You tell me I should not have come,
but I tell you that you are not alone,
the only way I know how.
“I just want you to come home with me.”
I know it’s hard
and I know you want to change,
but I can change with you,
and as I place a kiss upon your fingertips
I wonder
is there anything more I can do to stop you
from wanting to stay?
Is there anything more I can say?
No,
of course not.
Your mind is made up.
Something which
is difficult to change.
My heart is aching
because I want you with me
need you with me,
as you have been for the last eight years,
as I become the person I want to be.
My whole world revolves around you.
I don’t know how it works any other way.
I sit on the plane and journey home,
alone
wondering if I’ve made a mistake.
It is then I find your necklace
buried deep in my pocket,
it is not a heart-shaped locket
but it might as well have been,
because I know what this means.
We did not say those three famous words,
though we felt them with our souls:
“I’m fighting for you.”
“I know.”
Overgrown
She cared for him
like a precious garden
with flowers bursting from the ground
a majestic masterpiece of exotic colour,
lavender, bluebells, marigolds, roses,
poppies, daisies, sunflowers, and petunias
carefully planted and pruned
the kind of garden that wins a prize
but then he broke her heart, and now
the garden is so overgrown
with weeds and insects
running wild
trying to break free.
Untitled: 1
She was unpredictable
like a thunderstorm
cutting through
a clear summer’s day.
16 Unrequited
I looked at him,
the first boy who ever loved me,
the first boy I never loved back,
and realised that not loving him
was the wisest decision I ever made,
as he could never be everything I need
for I am a grown woman
yet he is a grown man,
stuck at sixteen.
Dragons
She didn’t need a white knight
to save her.
She was a warrior
and ready to fight the dragons
as an army of strong and able women
stood behind her
vowing to fight them too.
All In
We’re scared,
terrified,
terrified that this may not work,
terrified that it’s the biggest mistake of our lives
that this will end in heartbreak
leaving us a lost cause
and broken beyond repair.
We have never had anything like this.
From the moment I met you,
I knew you were the one,
between flirtatious banter
and stolen glances
my heart fell in love with yours.
It might be wrong,
and dangerous,
like comets colliding
but I want to be bold.
I want to be bold with you.
No more cat and mouse games.
No more pining away.
I want to go all in.
Tonight.
Tomorrow.
Forever.
Carousel
There’s a carousel,
like the ones you see at a fairground,
in vibrant red and vibrant yellow,
with intricate designs carved into every curve,
with bright lights constantly beaming,
where the horses jump from floor to ceiling,
bound by the metal ropes,
that hold them to the floor.
They can only go so far.
You ride the carousel,
spinning faster and faster and faster and faster,
your knuckles white as you hold on desperately,
gripping for dear life,
but you never slow down.
You never stop.
Because the carousel never stops turning.
The Trouble With Love
The trouble with love is
we give it away too freely,
to people who do not deserve it
because there is an expectation
for us to love the ones we came from,
even though they have done us wrong
in more ways than one.
We give it to hearts where it is unrequited,
who do not treat it like the gift that it is,
for to love someone completely
is to give all of yourself to them
your light and darkness
with an understanding that it is delicate,
like the petal of a freshly bloomed flower.
The trouble with love is that it is not rational –
we fall into it too deeply
and fall out of it too quickly
or sometimes never fall into it at all,
merely teetering on the edge of ‘like’
for adoration does not come easily to us.
It crushes and destroys the essence of our being
as we crumple beneath its weight
until we slowly regain our strength
with lessons learned
and hard hearts earned.
We worry that we do it wrong,
for what is love to us
may not be love to someone else
our forever after all,
our in sickness and in health,
is not a tether shared
nor is a heart spared
the pain of this realisation.
The trouble with love
is the pressure
society puts on us to find it
romantically
as if we as human beings are not complete
without another soul
to accompany us on this journey.
We buy into this pressure
entering into relationships
situationships
cohabitation
with people who are not meant for us
at times when we are not ready
as a way to be ready
to answer all of the questions they will ask
about our futures
of rocks on our fingers
and the cries of an infant
as if both of these will give us purpose,
meaning.
We know they don’t meant it
at least,
not in a way that offends us.
They are simply a product of their generation
where gender roles were at the forefront of a partnership
and though most are open minded
to the way that things have changed
there is still a sense of
them being stuck with the same
ideas and ideals
that they always have been.
Love has progressed. To love is progress.
And yet we cling to the idea that we are failing,
sinking,
if we have not found the one person
whom we call the love of our life,
our everything.
We are conditioned to believe that this is the love that matters
when all that really matters
is that we are loved
by the people who have raised us
nurtured us,
empowered us,
held us while we have cried
witnessed our becoming
and our unbecoming,
those who have been there by our side
for our entire lives
whose love does not come with conditions
and we do not have to prove ourselves
or be anything we’re not,
because it is not judgmental
and cannot be forgotten.
Can it?
We become so focused on finding love
that sometimes we forget
love has already found us
in more ways than one,
and though it cannot kiss us passionately
or propose marriage
perhaps it is the only love we can truly depend on,
the kind of love that
no matter how much we take it for granted
will never leave.
But still, the problem with love is that we are too blind to see,
that sometimes the love we have with us already
is all the love we might ever need.
Ten Years of Grief (The Price We Pay)
Nobody tells you what grief is like ten years later,
how it feels so far away, and almost like it was yesterday.
It is true what they say, that time is a healer, but do you ever really deal with grief?
Do you ever really heal?
Is there such a thing
when the part of you that made you whole,
is now missing?
Grief is not tangible, and yet it never disappears.
It is learning to live with absence and the loss
year after year
in the hope that it won’t feel as raw
as it did when it was birthed.
Ten years of grief does not look the same
for it is in its nature
to change
with the seasons, and with you as a human being
but the only thing it cannot change
is its reason.
Ten years later and it hurts less
more a dull ache than a piercing pain
that you feel deep in your bones and your soul.
But it still lives somewhere inside you,
when you see a photograph or hear a song,
the kind that makes you pull over because the tears are strong
and though you haven’t cried over it in a long, long time
it cuts you deep just like it did the first.
Ten years of grief and you barely notice it these days,
you forget it’s there until birthdays and holidays,
when the absence is clear.
Ten years of grief and it’s hard to believe,
that you have been living with it for a decade;
that somehow you made it through
when you were convinced,
that it would be the death of you, too.
Wise words once said:
‘grief is the price we pay for love’
that it is the consequence we put upon ourselves,
for opening our hearts up.
If that’s true
what a beautiful thing,
grief is.
81 Days
It’s been 81 days since you left
and I still wait
with bated breath
for someone to exclaim
that it is all a dream
and what I know
isn’t really happening.
It’s been 81 days
since you last smiled
a cheshire cat grin –
the kind that makes you feel something,
everything.
It’s been 81 days
since you last spoke
some words
any words
but being five thousand miles away
I will never know what they were.
It’s been 81 days since
I last saw your face
on my screen
as a human being
alive
pulse
beating.
81 days later
and it has yet to sink in
that you’re not coming back
that you will not laugh
sing
cry
joke
breathe
or be
again.
Double Standards
They tell you to be yourself
but what good is it
when they mock your health
and your wealth?
‘Stand out from the crowd!’ they scream
‘Do your own thing!’
But how do you do your own thing
when the thing you want to do
is be like everyone else?
‘Stand up,’ they say, ‘even if you’re standing alone’
but how can you,
when they are quick to break your bones
and shatter your spirit,
your dreams?
‘We must do what is right,’ they’ll say;
that it is our responsibility to speak for those who are marginalised
underrepresented
undervalued
unnoticed.
But those saying such words are the first to criticise us for not being authentic,
for being too white for black,
too straight for gay,
too rich for poor,
too young for old,
too uneducated to question what we’re told,
to not take things at face value,
because faces can mask the truth.
We are imposed with double standards
but what if double did not exist
and standards were simply
to stand
and fight for what is right
and what is true
without anybody
humiliating,
mocking,
condescending
or scolding you.
Friendship
Ask me to capture friendship in a photograph,
and I would tell you that I cannot,
for it is not static,
filtered through a lens,
obscured by the eyes of others,
fixed in a single moment in time.
It is deeper, more complex, more profound,
a multitude of a million little moments,
each completely separate,
seemingly fragmented, performing solo,
but so perfectly synchronized,
and orchestra of memories,
collectively assembled,
to form a masterpiece.
It is understanding of silence,
deafening bells to friendships’ ears,
echoing the songs in your heart when you cease to remember the words,
looking upon you without judgment,
embracing all that you are,
and all that you are not.
It is in the silly faces, the fool yourself moments,
the ache in your stomach from bursts of uncontrollable laughter.
It is in the impromptu late night car drives,
singing at the top of your lungs over your favourite soundtrack,
conversations over coffee and catch-ups over dinner,
meeting your favourite author and standing outside doors,
walking aimlessly around London just because,
or drinking a pitcher of Sangria on the beach in Barcelona.
It is there where you find meaning.
You cannot capture the ineffable in-between.
But sometimes…
You can capture a perfect picture,
of a perfect moment,
untouched by the hands of time,
in which you’re reminded of your friendship,
that has touched you so deeply,
that you’re certain
no matter what the odds,
will stay with you forever.
Barcelona
There is a feeling.
An inexplicable feeling
as you stand at the edge of the terrace
of your inner city apartment
looking out at the extraordinary world around you,
at the people,
at the streets.
The air feels different here. Cleaner. Fresher,
as if there is more oxygen; unpolluted from the motor vehicles of London.
The air is warmer,
the sun burns brighter,
the streets are busier,
but the roads, less.
The sunset city is more picturesque than any I have ever seen.
There is so much that reminds me of London.
The crowds waiting at tourist attractions. The hustle and bustle of the day to day travelers,
through the stations on the metro.
I had never understood why people were fascinated with things that were just ‘my city,’
but I understand it now.
It’s not about the buildings.
It’s not about the attractions.
It’s the adventure,
The freedom.
The burst of excitement
of being somewhere other than where you have always been.
There’s a magic in Barcelona.
You feel it as you look upon the sandy beaches and the Mediterranean sea,
with the holiday makers swimming in clear water,
or building sandcastles up to their eyes,
or burying each other in the sand,
as they used to when they were kids.
Something about the city transforms you.
You are not the same person when you leave.
There’s a desperation.
Not in the city, but in your soul.
The moment you leave,
the desperation takes control,
and so you’re drawn back to the city
time and time again.
I Am Evidence
So, I’ve been a long time watcher of Law and Order: SVU, and after seeing Mariska Hargitay’s documentary I am Evidence I was inspired to write something… so I thought I would share that here with you.
I want to strongly stress that I am not a victim, and this is simply a poem I was inspired to write after hearing others experiences in the eye-opening documentary. However, if you or someone you know has been affected by sexual assault, I have included links at the bottom of this post for resources and helplines for both the UK and the USA.
I Am Evidence
To them, I am not a woman.
I am a temple, trashed by the careless actions of another.
Burnt. Bruised. Battered. Beaten. Branded.
I am a rite of passage, stolen in the blink of an eye,
another t-shirt torn,
another skirt ripped,
another “she was asking for it”,
as if the way I’m dressed offers an excuse for the violation of my body.
To them, I was a dreamer;
bursting at the seams at the possibility of life,
a garden full of flowers, blooming.
But now, I am a wasteland. A graveyard.
They don’t say it out loud, but they think it’s my fault,
that I’m a “whore” and other names they care to give me.
But I’m not.
This was not my fault.
This was nobody’s fault, except the man who raped me.
And they do not care. They’ll never care.
Until it happens to them.
To their mother, their aunt, their sister, their daughter…
To them, I am just a number.
A statistic.
I am another name on a list of names,
each one of them just like me.
I am a code on a box.
a witness for the prosecution,
another file on a stack of files,
another soul seeking justice that may never come,
another case discarded,
another kit untested.
To them,
I am evidence.
Some important links & information:
The Joyful Heart Foundation
United Kingdom:
Rape Crisis England and Wales
0800 801 9999
www.rapecrisis.org.uk
The National Association for People Abused in Childhood (NAPAC)
0800 801 0331
www.napac.org.uk
SurvivorsUK Helpline Web Chat
Text: 020 3322 1860
Whatsapp: 07491 816 064
www.survivorsuk.org
Mothers of Sexually Abused Children (MOSAC)
0800 980 1958
www.mosac.org.uk
SupportLine
01708 765200
www.supportline.org.uk
Safeline
Male Helpline: 0808 800 5005
General Helpline: 0808 800 5008
Young People’s Helpline: 0808 800 5007
Text Helpline & Online Advisors: 07860 027573
www.safeline.org.uk
United States of America:
National Child Abuse Hotline:
1-800-422-4453
http://www.childhelp.org
National Domestic Violence Hotline
1-800-799-SAFE (7233) or 1-800-787-3224
www.thehotline.org
Rape, Abuse and Incest National Hotline
Rainn.org
1-800-656-HOPE
National Teen Dating Abuse Helpline:
1-866-331-9474
www.loveisrespect.org
National Suicide Prevention Line:
1-800-273-8255
www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org
Safe Horizon Rape and Sexual Assault Hotline (New York):
212-227-3000 or 1-866-689-HELP (4357)
www.safehorizon.org
Peace Over Violence (California)
310-392-8381
www.peaceoverviolence.org
Statistics and Facts:
Sexual Assault:
- 1 in 3 women and 1 in 6 men are survivors of sexual violence.
- 60% of survivors are sexually assaulted by someone they know.
- An American is sexually assaulted every 92 seconds.
- 2 out of 3 sexual assaults are not reported to the police.
- For every 1,000 reported rapes, only 6 perpetrators will be incarcerated.
Domestic Violence:
- 1 in 4 women and 1 in 7 men have suffered severe violence from an intimate partner.
- 3 women are killed by an intimate partner every day.
- 55% of female homicides were related to domestic violence.
- 93% of those 55% of female homicides, the killer was a current or former intimate partner.
- 57% of women and 17% of men who are domestic violence survivors have post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD)
Child Abuse and Neglect:
- Every year, U.S Child protective services referrals involve 7.2 million children.
- A report of child abuse is made every 10 seconds.
- 4 to 5 U.S children die every day from abuse and neglect.
- 77% of child fatalities involve one parent.
- 75% of children who die of abuse and neglect are under the age of 3.
Source: Joyful Heart Foundation Infographic
Photo: IMDB
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