Flames

I am queen.
A coalition of many generations before me,
A gust of wind. A rose. A wild goose on a chase.
So baby, don’t speak to me about love.
Don’t speak to me about needing someone so much you cannot live without them,
Don’t speak to me about being incapable of taking care of an entire entity that is me,
You scare me with the way you up and leave like this is a game,
A game you mustn’t play lest you lose it all.

Tell me, are you a sailor?
Are you a boat under water that you cannot breathe?
Forget what you’ve been told.
You are burning with desire, You are combusting beyond the shadows,
Look inside yourself. Look beyond the shallow wall that fear has built.
All things float away in time and soon you will be left reaching for a time that once was.

Don’t speak to me about forever.
Don’t articulate anything you are incapable of fulfilling,
You lie to everyone. Not me. Never yourself,
I can see clearly past the chains that are gripping your wrists,
Preventing you from loving the way you have always wanted to.
They keep shutting you out. Out of a love that is meant for you.
Forgive my ripping tongue. It misses you.
It cannot take another moment of acute insanity because of the lack of you.

So find me a palm tree on an island,
let us lay beneath its shadows,
Look at me with tremble and then peace.
Cover my skin with all the things you are afraid to say.
Stop saying you can’t. Because you can.
You love me. I see it in the way your heart is glowing through your chest right now.

It always has to be about love, doesn’t it?
It always has to be about a feeling that leaves you needing,
a feeling that leaves you looking for hope beneath the rubble.
So find yourself a moment and live in it.
Engrave it in the center of your heart .
Own that purpose when you find it.
Allow yourself the pleasure of absolute freedom.

My love,
You are fire. You are fire.
You are the wildest flame with orange around your edges,
And when the time comes,
You will burn to the ground, everything that stands in your way.

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Missing you comes in waves

Missing you comes in waves,
My feet are just behind the shoreline of moving on,
Some days my feet are dry and parched,
On other days, i am wet with emotions,
All the things i felt, All the things i feel
come reaching for me, beyond the shore.
Some days, i am not strong enough.
Today, i wasn’t strong enough,
I sat in the coffee shop wondering
why the waves were hitting so hard.
Last night, I could feel the waters kissing my toes,
Kissing and reaching, Kissing and reaching for more.
This morning, i woke up dripping, i woke up weak with feelings,
Missing you comes in waves,
Today the waves have hit harder than they ever have,
and i am not strong enough to resist.
I miss you so much; so much.

Your heart is not a dance floor or a waiting room

To my daughters I will say,
Never let anyone use your heart for a waiting room,
Don’t let them come in and sit, and walk around and play,
Not knowing exactly what they want to do with you.
Don’t let him stay, don’t entertain his play,
Don’t let him practice his waltz in and out of your life,
For your heart is not a dance floor; it is a home.
Ask for what you want and if he cannot give it to you,
You walk away.
Don’t spend another minute, hoping he will come around,
Because he won’t.

A reminder to take compliments

When the middle aged woman at the gas station says your hair is beautiful,
Don’t respond with how much time it takes you to put it in place every morning,
Just say “Thank you” and mean it.
When the cashier at the coffee shop says he likes the way your clavicle serves as a frame for your necklace,
Don’t tell him you don’t really like wearing clothes that bare your bones,
Tell him Clavicle sounds like a cup of white chocolate latte when he says it and thank him.
When your best friend tells you, you look like a stunner in that black dress,
Take it. Don’t complain about your arms beings too flabby or your cleavage being non existent.
Buy that back dress and wear it like glove.
When the lousy piece of glass in your bathroom, glows with your reflection,
Wear red lipstick. Spend a few more minutes wing-tipping that eyeliner to perfection,
Don’t walkaway without paying homage to yourself.
I implore you, don’t respond to kindness with insecurity.
Don’t belittle the fact that you own something worth admiring or the fact that someone finds you beautiful,
Before you leave home, leave your insecurities under your bed,
Don’t take the monsters with you. Step into the world like the forces are in your favour.
Say thank you in earnest. Accept Compliments; they aren’t yours to dignify.

If i marry a writer

“I never thought about how magnificent it would be to date and maybe eventually marry someone who writes, until now. It is so strange that in all my years of answering the question “what kind of guy would you like to date?”, I never imagined him being a writer. I never imagined the love of my life being as in love with poetry and art like i am. I feel like i just had an epiphany.

I would very much love to date/marry a man who is in touch with his creative side when it comes to art. A man who appreciates literature and listens to spoken word . A man who spends his evenings beside the fire or out by the waters, nose buried in a book. A man who will join me in my mission to build a beautiful glorious library in our home. A man who keeps a journal and write tirelessly about anything; our life, our future, our kitchen, our now.

I imagine, he would complete some of my poems and i would practice performing them with him. He will find poetry in the lines on my palm, prose in the curve of my hips and mystery in the small of my back. Our love will blossom with every book we consume, every author we fall in love with, every art we create.

We will take care of each others hands, mind and heart because they are our instruments. We will create sons and daughters who will be literary giants with gentle artistic hearts. We will teach them to love and love and love and then create. Because writers are lovers first before creators. We will open their eyes to the multi-faceted beauty of this world. We will teach them to dream in colour.

If i marry a writer, It will be a gift. Our lives will be the most beautiful poem laden with joy, pain, forgiveness, laughter and most of all Love. We will love each other until we are completed works of art. A little tweak here,a little tweak there; and we shall proceed to walk this earth, hand in hand, in all our artful splendour.”