I’m walking into a room made up images.
These are all images of myself
I assumed them from my figurative past,
Now they’re gathering dust on the shelf.
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Written Poetry
Bacha Posh
At one her father and mother locked eyes
The birth of a girl brought dread to their lives
A parental love, too strong to watch ache
Emerging through doors, a babe in blue awake. Continue reading
Better an Empty House
This house
Is empty there is no
Tenant here they’ve left you left
First but left the door open
In case you’d come back and you
Did, shield yourself from the Continue reading
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Where These Words Came From
I remember how it had once tasted;
The sweet air
The stale fumes
The incomprehensible fly to the flame,
Wondering how he, too, fell for the light. Continue reading
Ode to the Durian
our fruit king smells like rotting onions, majesty
of prickling green whose skin is the shell
of spikes. his treasures are the orientalists’
fantasy, whose rich gold beyond all
the wildest imaginings Continue reading
March Mind Control
Greyscale
She inhabits an empty barren world,
filled with vibrant greens which ripple into
rust and violet and corn and maroon,
and bright sunshine that reflects starlight on Continue reading
Growing Up
You shed your skin with sinful ease as time runs to keep up.
Ten weeks worth of smashed cots burn bonfire-bright in your belly
despite the December rain. You throw his letters to the wind now,
you wash your own hair now.
Communion
I promise
to relish in the terror of my death
as I plunge into the concrete
ocean of broken dreams.
