Not Quite Soulmates

Here’s to how it should have been.
To that kiss we had once in a dream.
To that lily, white, tall and green.
To that waterfall, that set the scene.

Here’s to how it should have gone.
To my family’s hearts, you would have won.
To your sisters and I, getting along.
To the morning texts, sent at dawn.

Here’s to all the things we prayed.
To the fairytale our story made,
To the happy ending, years delayed,
To the wedding vows, we’d one day trade.

Here’s to everything we lost.
To our unknown fate, in the air tossed,
To what began when our paths crossed,
To friendship, perhaps the greatest cost

Here’s to giving up the fight.
To all those feelings that weren’t quite right,
To expectations too great a height,
To trying too hard to change our plight.

In the end, it had to be,
The way we’ve left it,

So, here’s to you.

And here’s to me.

Here’s to letting go of we.

He Was Here

He came, and I unraveled,

My dreams no longer mine.

My mind is where he travelled,

As we lost our sense of time.

He came and learned my secrets,

My hopes, my loves, my fears,

Flowed without resistance,

From my lips into his ears.

He came, and showed me magic,

Truer than my flesh.

And in his gaze, my knees grew weak,

And my life began afresh.

He came and I was gone,

No part of me remained.

Our souls revolved as one,

And no more was left to gain.

The faintest sign of darkness,

I denied that I could see,

Holding tight to the harness,

Of all that we could be.

But fairytales aren’t factual,

And neither was this hope,

Falling apart, habitual,

Til no room was left to cope.

The earth began to tremble,

And our truth began to shake,

My sanity, turned rubble,

And I watched my own heart break.

I’d say he’s like the others,

The ones who walked away,

But in all my life of lovers,

He’s the one I said to,


He came and I knew love,

For the first time, what it meant,

He came, sent from above,

He came,

And then he went.


How do I begin to put it into words? If I write it on paper, that makes it real.

But I have to admit that I’ve dug myself into a hole. Far away from any feeling. A pitch black, lonely existence, where all I know is more… More. So I scratch the itch but there is no satisfaction. Only nothing. Even the guilt that once upon a time would creep into my mind, slow, deep, consuming. Even that, is an old friend, long lost and forgotten. Now all I have is need. There is no longer want. The power of choice was left behind, lost in a gambling game, between me and my vice.

But I don’t care. I don’t feel. In the beginning as I walked the green mile, and my destination became evident, the fight in me was strong. I delayed the process. I deluded myself, convinced that I was in charge, that I had control. That I could just hang around, not leave entirely, yet still remain free.

But I got lazy.

I got sad.

I got bored, hurt, lonely.

And so I found escape in my old friend. The crippling feeling of shame, defeat, worthlessness, would be dealt with later. After. But not then. Not in that moment when I was more okay than I knew how to feel on my own. And so I soared and I fell, and soared and fell, and soared and fell again. Until now all that remains of me are remnants, unrecognisable pieces of my former whole. But falling doesn’t hurt anymore. It’s like I broke the part of me that felt pain. The part that wanted to fix myself, and was aware of consequences. That human part of me, that cared. It’s gone, dented and non-functioning.

So I drown. Silently. Sinking to the bottom of an ocean that I dove into.

And I just don’t feel.

Between Us

“It’s between us,”
she said.

Her smile, reassuring.
As her hand caressed my face, and her eyes began searching.
She felt everything she could, as if taking me in,
Confirming I was real, by the feel of my skin.
Her fingers were warm, as they slipped beneath my blouse,
That’s when the faintest of whimpers escaped from my mouth,

she said.
“Everything’s okay. It’s only a game, honey. Don’t you wanna play?”

She made it clear that I was wrong for feeling like I did,
That’s not the way the game was to go, I was ruining it.
Kindly though, she showed me the ropes, and I did as I was told,
And when the game was over, her dead smile, returned gold.

“You were perfect,”
she said.
A tinge of fear in her eyes.
“But Mummy and Daddy won’t like it, if you go around telling lies.
So keep this to yourself, because no one will believe you.”

“It will be our little secret, honey, just between us two.”

Dear A,

Thanks for freaking out when I get mad,
And for wanting to punch any boy that makes me sad,
Thanks for listening, and showing that you care,
And for making it clear that you’ll always be there,
Thanks for acting like I can’t cross the street,
Your over-protectiveness, though ridiculous, is sweet,
Thanks for laughing with me and at me,
And thanks for being so damn funny,
Thanks for dragging me around on your missions,
Using me as lookout, despite my poor vision,
Thanks for being my partner in crime,
In wandering the streets and wasting time,
Thanks for forgiving the times I am absent,
For being the same as soon as I’m present,
Thanks for offering a shoulder to cry,
And thanks for promising never to lie,
Thanks for the conversations that flow with ease,
Thanks for that time when I ate those cookies,
Thanks for the birthday present that you stole,
Thanks for that t-shirt, printed gold,
Thanks for the sweatshirt you never bought,
Just, thanks for meaning a whole damn lot.


They blew in the wind,
Majestic and tall,
Vibrant in hue,
Unaware of it all.
Oh, how I so longed to become one of them,
An untouched creation,
Of no interest to men.
I’d know not of the evils,
That plagued this same land,
My stem would sway calmly,
My roots in the sand.

The site of the jets,
As they cut through the sky,
Would cease to exist,
If I did not have eyes.
The roar of their engines,
I just would not hear,
Pure silence would reign,
Screaming and clear.
The smell of the smoke,
As the bombs hit the ground,
Would not make me choke,
I’d not make a sound.
The taste of my blood,
I would never know,
Just as that of my tears,
That would never flow.
To touch a dead being,
Would be simply unlikely,
And to have known them before,
Beyond my ability.

Oh, what I’d trade for the serenity abound in that field,
To simply just be,
And not have to feel.

Low Tide

The warm ocean water caught up to where my feet were in the sand as the tide came in.
She loved the moon. She always imagined it as some beautiful mystical creature that the sea was hopelessly in love with. Desperately, every day trying it’s best to call out to the sky, bulging, growing, making waves in hopes of just a moment of the moon’s attention. The moon would notice, yes, it would, but too large a distance separated them, and that was that. Two star-crossed lovers, one tirelessly striving, one silently observing, both eternally divided. A melancholy tale, really.
Looking back on that night as she retold that story, her head on my chest, and our fingers intertwined, I can’t help but think what a twisted thing life is. There we were so engulfed in our love, oblivious to our fate, as she spoke of a tragedy that would one day be our own.