Ballerina

Overcast, the raindrops pattered on the casket like the discordant notes of an untuned piano.
What now?
The only thing she knew: dance.
She would move for hours, alone, in a darkened studio, forming poetry with elongated limbs and careful gestures, the only sound in the room the tap of ballet shoes on wood-panelled floor.
She span and span until she could forget, emulating the tempest in her head, the whirling winds of rage and grief inside of her-
Breathe.
She grasped the bar, head spinning, silent tears streaming down her face and hitting the floor, like the distant sound of raindrops on a casket.

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Poems and drabbles based off prompts

Of all the people to dedicate poetry to,
Surely, surely it should be you.
You lit that spark
You kindled this flame
That now burns and brands you
I perceive you a cage
I push you away
And yet I know-
This is just the mother’s way.
I long to be close to you
But as soon as we touch, sparks fly
I’m sorry I’m not a good daughter
I’m sorry I somehow made myself this way.

Yes, sometimes your love suffocates me.
But I forget-
You just want to hold me as tight as you did
When I was born.

My first love,
How could I believe you don’t want me to fly
When you taught me to walk?

*

Perhaps it’s not the most romantic thing to say
I thought of when walking past the dementia ward.
But it brought to mind the closeness of it all
This flicking wax-paper flash that is life
I remembered that in the end we all end up somewhere a little like here
Wasted skin folding in on itself like the black hole of a life loved and lost or never lived at all.
I cried right there in the middle of the street
I wept for you
Because if this life is made of numbered days
I would choose to spend every second of them with you
You might be a complex equation to most
But your symmetry and synergy is the only beautiful maths I’ve ever seen
Why do you hesitate?
When I have spent my numbers days
With you.

*

I know you with for
Euthanasia; but please don’t
Give up fighting yet.

*

Please don’t let me go
For all your nihilism,
Our time means something.

*

My dear please have faith
For together we are the
Sweetest symphony.

*

Music is the force
That drives everything we do
You are my one song.

*

Shark eyes do not flinch
At bodies strewn on tables
Or a mother’s love.

*

Misanthropic Drunken Loner
Bitter Old Man;
The Sea is a Good Place to Think of the Future. Don’t Let Me Go.
Missing You,
Poet.

Life Updates to Follow

Hi everyone,

So uni has been a little mental and completely whirlwind. In a further post at a later date (when I’m in a more creative mood perhaps) I will let you in on all the exciting escapades of my life, including:

  • friends (or lack thereof)
  • the micro-aggressions of my flat
  • the rigours of a long distance relationship
  • budgeting around rich kids
  • and ‘how often do I really need to do my laundry anyway?’

Before that, I am going to post all of the creative writing shenanigans I have written in my time here, mostly thanks to the poetry and creative writing societies I have joined.

Enjoy, and catch y’all later! X