Poetry Blog by Kayleigh Denton

A canine, but rather a calm and sensitive healer than a ravenous hunter.
His warm fur comforting, safe, a haven for the broken.
Striking nocturnal eyes see brightness lurking deep within a bent and blackened heart.
Paws patiently claw away at the walls of safety, built upon a mountain of pessimism and lost trust.

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Your soul is a blazing fire, burning so deep that the smoke is almost undetectable.
You are a bird, feathers aflame, awaiting your next incarnation.
You are strong, battling an endless terrain of monsters that only you can hear.
You are beautiful, love and empathy flow through the blood in your veins and cause your skin to glow. 
You are a survivor, like the creature your name derived from, re...

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An outcast, a burden, emotional instability’s emaciated hostage. 

The fading marks on her skin, a mere map of the painful roads of her past. 

She’s frozen, no way out of the solitary confinement that is her own mind. 

Derogatory whispers slowly convince her that she is unwanted, unloved, alone.

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He pins me to the ground, and whispers into my ear. “Why are you still around? Nobody really wants you here.”

I yell no, try to fight him off, beg and plead. There is no point, he’s staying, I can’t help but take heed. 

This dark entity, this monster who lives in my head. This bully who won’t give up until I am dead.

Will I ever take control of this fight, and break free? Or will this for...

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Small, subtle, barely there, and ever so slight. 
Were the precious little flutters I felt first tonight.
Faint waves of hello, I am here, feel my touch.
I knew then, my child, I adored you so much.
Ten fingers, ten toes, would you have daddy's eyes?
Would you sleep through the night? Or wake Mama with your cries?
Such questions left unanswered, our time tainted from the start.
But remember...

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Eyes are the windows to the soul, so they say.
Well yours, my darling, all but take my breath away.
Inviting, captivating, and mesmerising beauty.
Pools of stardust, that twinkle, glitter, sparkle so cutely.

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Three times a mother, factual, though agonising to accept.
You asked me where my children are, I merely wept.
You see dear, my motherhood is not one of physicality.
It is that of the heart, of the soul, spirituality.
It is true that when a child is born, crying, alive.
A mother's will is to protect it, a goal to which she will strive.
But what happens when but a faint heartbeat fails to be?
...

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‪Memories.

Those of pain.

Blotches of red smear my cheek.

On first glance, appearing strong. Though deep within, I am weak.

Tear stained pillow. Soaked with grief. Late at night. My only friend.

Eyes pinged open. Knotted stomach. Sadness. Longing for an end.  

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