Nineteen. Second year Law student. Argumentative and loving. I’ve been writing since I was little (only just over 5 foot so still little now) and hoping to learn something everyday.
Blackberry Bushes at a Funeral - I am back in places I should not be, Within arms I once begged to release me. These are not memories I pride myself on. I have ventured into this part many times before, Only to run as far as I could. There is only so much running that can be done, before I remember the world is round. You have to breakdown to breakthrough is what I tell myself. But how many times can a glass shatter before it is irreparable? We are united by this hurt that engulfs us, Surrounded by the grief we endure. With this sorrow, with this loss, we are reduced to children; craving our parents and the softness of their voice on rainy mornings. The unspoken words have always been the easiest to swallow and the sweetest to taste. (I picked the blackberries by your grave, the crumble will be delicious) Incurable- It just wasn't love Even though you'd whisper, "I love you" In between gasped breaths As if each movement was a reinstatement, a confirmation But plasters and bandages would not remove and heal the scars of thoughts of you left imprinted in my skin (regardless of however much I wished they would) Love was weary then, held his head low and was nervous Had rough hands from hard work and lilac shadows from sleepless nights Like a vacancy sign that would flash on and off Love would hold me on my own sleepless nights Nights when tears fell like tsunamis rather than summer rain Nights when anger flared like forest fires but left me empty But slowly My endeavours on those nights occurred without you You had given all a person could give; I knew I could always give more I slept through the nights after you letting the tsunamis flood letting the fires burn out leaving something warm and musky in the air I breathed It just wasn't love, although I hoped it was
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
An Ode to Trouvaille (29/08/2018)
Blackberry Bushes at a Funeral (11/09/2017)
Noughts and Crosses (27/06/2017)
What We Leave Behind (and what we take) (16/05/2017)
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