Dog day.

I fell back in to dreaming,
In to wishing for something more.
I let myself imagine.
I opened up that door.
I need to shut it quickly.
It’s harder to live that way.
There is a time for everything,
And this is my dog day.

Quite reeling.

The day has flashed on by,
Leaving me quite reeling,
But although I’m a little flustered,
Something positive I’m feeling.
It’s good to keep on moving,
It’s good to not dwell.
If I keep on moving forward,
This might not feel like hell.

A personal sin.

In thinking of the future,
I forgot about today.
That was the old me,
And it has not been my way,
In these more recent times,
Of stress and blessing counting.
I can now feel things piling on.
I can feel the pressure mounting.
So now, right now, is for today,
For this moment I am in.
To lose it fretting, over-planning,
Feels like a personal sin.

Not my game.

There is an impact.
There’s an impact every time.
I am tired, shredded, drained.
Craving time that’s mine.
After every encounter,
I feel a physical shift.
One that’s needs recalibrating,
So I do not let it drift.
I’ve come to accept that it just is.
I do not need to blame.
Regardless of the reasons,
This is not my game.

For that.

Small steps in the every day,
And one day at a time,
That’s how my life is lived right now,
With lemon and with lime.
In the hope of moving forward,
I put down foot, I stand.
Then I move the next one,
And I reach out my hand.
In these times, there will be back steps.
Myself I need to steady.
I can only trust what’s inside,
And for that we’re never ready.  

Reinstates the line.

The countdown has begun.  

I will feel it well this time.  

When each little break of trust, 

Reinstates the line.  

Tomorrow will go too quickly, 

The day beyond too slow.  

I have an omnipresent fear, 

But no reason to say no.  

Sclera.

“What’s the white bit in an eye called?”,
She asks me half asleep.
“It’s called the sclera, darling.
It’s job is to keep,
The rest of the eye protected,
With its tougher outer layer.
It helps the eye keep structure.
It’s job is to care.” 
“What's the blue bit called? She ponders”
“The iris.  The iris controls the light.”
“I’m the iris mum. You’re the white bit.”
“Oh my love, you might be right.”

Ten years ago.

I am reading me, ten years ago.
We are the same but not.
I have lost so many things,
But other things I’ve got.
She was on her journey.
I am stuck on mine.
We both enjoy a sunset,
And a bright moon all a-shine.
We both need deep long breaths,
We both need time to think.
She had more freedom,
And the time to drink,
In the moments that matter,
In the time spent on reflection,
But I have something worth fighting for,
Even if there’s no direction.  

Always sure.

Riding the rollercoaster,
Of emotions in this life.
It’s no longer exciting,
Just tiring.  It feels like strife.
There’s little time to enjoy the monents,
Gifted and truly pure,
But I am scared of the change that’s coming,
Of that I am always sure.

But shiver.

I feel an energy in the air,
Or is it just in me?
Where I feel that something is dawning,
But what, I cannot see.
I can feel the energies,
I can feel the quiver.
I sense arrows being loaded,
And I cannot help but shiver.

How I’m made.

A mood altered.
The peace gone.
A deep breath,
To go on.
It will take time,
For the acid to fade.
I need time,
That’s how I’m made.

Altered soil.

I am hungry for a time,
When I do not have to wonder.
I want to be free to soar,
Without something dragging us under.
When I talk of times long past,
Of myself and what I’ve done,
I remember who she was,
The soul that feels long gone.
The same plant, in altered soil,
Can flower in a new shade.
My core may not have changed,
But there’s different in how I’m displayed.

That certain knack.

The foot in front has faltered,
The one behind has stumbled back.
Life spits out little triggers.
It has that certain knack,
Of giving your head reminders,
Of the things that soon could be.  
Your fears for the future,
Played out for you to see.
The foot in front has faltered,
The one behind did stumble,
But I must keep on pushing forward,
This is not the time to crumble.

Wings.

How the smallest things,
Can shift the mood.
When you’re given hope,
Not a response that’s rude.
A chance to work,
For better things.
Not rivers of cash,
Or Icarus’ wings,
Just moments where,
You can catch your breath,
And enjoy pure smiles,
Before the death.

My burning bow.

This is too many souls to carry,
Too many minds to keep afloat.
The baggage is getting heavier.
I’m afraid it will sink my boat.
I can feel it rocking with the waves,
Tipping with the shock.
My defences are depleted.
I have nothing left with which to block,
Each additional fire,
Across my burning bow.
I need some time to pause.
I cannot do this now.

The conscious one.

I am counting down the hours,
Til the point my eyes can close.
I am counting down the minutes,
Until I can shed these clothes.
I am ready for sleep to take me,
When I get to head that way.
My unconscious mind can take control.
The conscious one has had it’s day.

My name.

Today was not my day.
It did not go my way.
A reminder, scratch by scratch,
Of how this is a match,
A competition, a game,
And they do not know my name.

Only one.

I said too much, revealed too much.
As is my my tendency to do.
I fear I have laid a path,
For the ever dropping shoe.
I am myself, I know myself,
And knows the risks of all that’s to come.
I cannot be on point al days,
I am only one.

A hook.

In these minutes that are mine,
I am looking for a hook.
I am looking for the thing,
That will be my chance, my luck.
I am not afraid of grafting,
I am not afraid of toil and sweat.
I just want a little chance,
At a little bit safer bet.

For me to outlive.

I am not in a place to be comforted.
I do not need support or sad sigh.  
You are not the right people to fix this.
I could not bare somebody to try.
This is for me to progress through.
This is for me to outlive.
You can’t turn up now like a saviour,
When you normally have nothing to give.

My only wealth.

Hope for me,
Wish for me,
As I do for myself.
Living on hope,
As my only wealth.
Hoping it materialises,
Hoping it lasts on.
Hoping things do not fall,
I need help to remain strong.

The math.

They are just signposts,
Markers of your way.
They don’t have the power to dictate,
They don’t have to have a say.
They are but pointers to reflect on,
Your journey and your path.
Even if you see the numbers,
You don’t have to do the math.

This slate.

I cannot fix this, though I may want.
This slate will not wipe clean.
I can not wipe away peoples memories,
What they have heard or what they’ve seen.
I will always want to fix things,
But some things are not mine to mend.
I cannot be your saviour,
But I’m trying to be a friend.

Nothing more to dance.

Ideas are passing through.  
Ones I wish to catch.
I need something to work.
I need a chance to latch.
Slowly chipping away,
At a fighting chance.
It costs a deal to live,
But nothing more to dance.

Fallen lime.

I am learning to honour a moment again,
Because how I know they do not last.
I remember how I’d drink in a moment,
In the easier, carefree, past.
That was before the future,
Became a place that can destroy.
That was before a promise,
Became just an effective ploy.
I have lost the dream,
But I can still enjoy a time.
I do not have lemons for making lemonade,
But I’ll drink in my fallen lime.

Just hope.

Nothing must happen to me now.
My value has climbed a rung.  
My role has gained more prominence,
This parliament’s not hung.
There is no space for question.
There is no time away.
There is now just hope,
I sometimes even pray.

Hold ground.

I am holding my ground,
Though it’s unsteady.
Re-shifting my balance,
Trying to be ready.
Holding back shoulders,
To carry the weight.
All I can do, is hold ground,
And wait.

Pushed the bar.

Trust it to be you,
To put shade over light,
To take something already difficult,
And make it a harder fight.
Any opportunity, you pass along some shame.
As if this is my doing,
As if I own some blame.
You take advantage of my goodness.
You push it way too far.
You started as if trite,
But should not have pushed the bar.

Respect due.

I read your words,
And you are here.
A soul I loved,
So calm and dear.
Never shy to voice your word,
But quietly spoken,
So not always heard.
I always loved you,
Strong and true,
But in hindsight, did you get,
The respect you were due?

Simultaneously stronger.

It was strange to read old feelings.
To be drawn back in to who I was,
And how I felt,
Before my world changed.
Just visiting her, briefly,
Before returning home to me.
This me I am learning to love,
Slowly and not surely.
She is somehow weaker,
And yet simultaneously stronger.
Sees less perhaps, but knows more.

Haven’t wept.

My problem,
Will not be solved in a night.
I must not make it worse,
But must not take flight.
Stand still, and be honest.
Stand still, and accept,
That we all process differently,
And I still haven’t wept.