Poetry

Why complete with Spring?

Spring
Beautiful, bright, bewitching green
Complemented with an out-and-out pink.
Fluffy, cute, sweet, honey bees bumbling.
Why compete?
Spring is flawless
Spring is fair
Spring is fresh
Where as I’m the black cold dead that blankets the earth.
Despair follows my wake.
My heart only kills all that I love.
Spring is stunning
Spring is sweet
Spring is sparkling
So why compete with Spring?

If

If
I hate that word

“What 𝑖𝑓 I fail?”
Alway have

What 𝑖𝑓 I can’t?”
What 𝑖𝑓 nothing changes and I’m stuck

In this hell we call ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒.

Here

If
I hate the word
Yet I use it in everything I do.
It hunts me.
The devil on my shoulder always reminding me that
I’m not good enough.
No matter what I do.
If
I hate the word
But it’s a drug
And I’m the addicted
And this addiction
Is one I can’t come back from.

Quiet imagination

Quiet
The perfect bubble to let
my imagination run free.
The beauty of the world
in the palm of my hand to be shaped and formed.
Silence
The doorway into my world
My free, endless mind.
All my fears crushed by the confidence
I could never have IRL.
A noiseless room-
My blank canvas
Waiting to be flooded with
Words
Colour
Sounds
The fire of my mind
Burning through the forest of ideas
That grow in my soil
Of my soul
Quiet

You are broken

You are as talentless as a snail,
Slow.
That’s all your good for.
You not a star.
Most certainly could not be.
You are duller tree bark.
You are as shy as a butterfly
But uglier then a toad.
You are a shattered mirror,
Useless.
“You can reach the moon”
Please not with your height.
Your as short as a 30inch ruler
It’s time you face the facts kid
Your as fake as your nails
And eventually they’re going to break.

Show you you

They say that the mirror lies to you.

They say that the mirror isn’t good for you.
They say that the mirror will
trap you.
Consume you.
Tear you apart and let you bleed out.
And stare,
as you cough on your own blood
Dark as rose
Yet they do the same.
They will tell you your beautiful
Only to turn around and say that your a toad
They will smell like fresh breed just to become poison
They will tell you that it’s your chose
Just so they can snap a collar around your neck and shorten the leash till
You feel like you have to ask to just breath.
So
At the end of the day
On those cool, breathless, bleeding nights
As you stare at the mirror that was supposed to be farrell
keeps the secrets you tell
stays with you
And listens to you
when no one else will
Don’t tell let them tell you that this mirror is the devil
Because
Unlike them
This mirror will not laugh at you
This mirror will not judge you
This mirror will not poison you
No
This mirror will show you you

Do you ever…

Do you ever think about how you want to live?

Like a lonely eagle sorrowing free,
high in the air.
Sopping down only for a second
Only to come back up to look down at the view?
Or
Like a loved wolf howling at the moon with its pack. Starved but never alone.

Do you ever think of how you want to die?

Slowly.
Like an artist painting.
One stroke at a time.
Or
Fast.
Like a race car on its final lap.

Do you ever think of how fast a child grows?

Like birthday candle being blown out.
Or
as sudden a laugh

Bloom-Porshia’s short story<33

Once upon a time, there lived a girl who dreamed of growing out her hair, adorning
her braid with flowers and dancing in the rain and feeling free and so full of love
she thought she might overflow with it. What she hadn’t realised was that taking
care of her hair was difficult, that dancing in the rain would make her sick and
feeling free would only get her so far, even when her love overflowed.
But she learnt.
She learnt to pick her battles, to choose conversation, to choose laughter.
Sometimes the load go a little too heavy to bear, but she never had to do it alone,
if only she remembered burdening herself for others was not her responsibility. If
only she understood that hopefulness could make her naive but it was still precious
to her.
She learnt that she loved dancing in the rain and it made her feel free even if she
sniffled for the rest of the week. She learnt that she could grow her hair out and
adorn it with flowers, plastic flowers because she was so very allergic, but
flowers nonetheless. She learnt that her love though in no shortage could be taken
advantage of and that people could take and take from her and give nothing in
return but also that she could really be loved by people who really cared about
her.
She discovered relationships needed to be a two-way street despite its bumps along
the way and that there was a difference between talking to someone and talking at
someone.
She learnt that life could be painful but that it could also be beautiful.
If she never stopped to appreciate that, the darker days would become a little
darker.
She learnt that each breath was precious even when she wished it to be her last
because one more day, maybe one more day would make a difference.
She just had to take it one day at a time. One depressing day. One day of ecstasy.
One day could shift her perception of everything. One moment, one word, one life.
And she was doing her best to live it.
And though her best may not be enough for others she hope that it would be enough
for her.
Enough for her and her happily ever after.
Because her dreams were not things of the past, they were hope for the future, for
her future.
She asked her mother what she saw when she looked at her and her mother replied ‘my
little girl’. And in that moment she felt like a little girl again and realised
that little girl was still there. That little girl was there every time she dared
to hope and was just as important as that future she dreamt of.
Some say that time heals all.
But she learnt, some wounds would simply fester over time if they were not taken
care of.
If pain was ignored, it would only worsen.
But with time, hope and care, it would fade.
And even when the world seemed to lose all its colour, she had incredible people
around her who would help her find markers and paints to bring the colour back to
her. When she felt broken, she would have glue to put herself back together after
she picked up the pieces.
When she withered, there would be water- the seasons would change, and with them,
she could bloom.

“And remember life goes in steps not staircases”-Porshia

“You don’t need to gaslight yourself into thinking you have a life when you have
chocolate”-Porshia