poetry was an escape for me but now I no longer feel like running
by candice
II
my necklace is pinned by a nail in the wall my head threads the needle
i’m still a down to earth girl, don’t worry
III
let me dream let me wonder let me dream let me wonder let me dream let me wonder let me dream let me wonder let me dream let me wonder let me dream let me wonder let me dream let me wonder let me dream let me wonder let me dream let me wonder let me dream let me wonder let me dream let me wonder let me dream let me wonder let me dream let me wonder let me dream let me wonder IV let me dream
let me dream let me wonder
let me dream let me wonder let me dream let me wonder let me dream let me wonder let me dream let me wonder let me dream let me wonder let me dream let me wonder let me dream let me wonder let me dream let me wonder let me dream let me wonder let me dream let me wonder let me dream let me wonder let me dream let me wonder let me dream let me wonder let me dream
V
like a crack in the wall a tear in the wallpaper there’s a tear in the film strip there is repetition on the carpet water never comes to a boil but warms the ceiling steams the windows then calms again no crescendo, maybe a bridge that only leads back into the water i must learn how to swim though my weight can be carried along with the tide along with the moon who saw me cry at night she fades like apathy in the sunlight
i want to float on my back VI
ribs in the ocean and fingers tangled in coral i now know how to breathe in the places i am not needed
VII
i’ve relegated my lips some thoughts remain behind the eyes
things perhaps you wish i could say to you but just like saying goodbye to a friend instead of making sure you will meet again (hope is the catalyst for happiness) “see you later!” not such a final feeling “i’ll see you soon!” is a lie wrapped in utter uncertainty (and false hope is the streetlamp lit road to disappointment and existentialism) instead i have said nothing and waited i still wait two seasons later as well as my lips i have relegated the amygdala to an undiscovered part of the brain
VIII
you're dead and gone why does this feeling sit with me
like an extra limb it's just numb i'm just sad every choice i make is laced with grief every outcome salted with affliction even my fingers are apathetic right now i'm just pulling suitcases of dead flowers because i wanted to seal the smell
IX
your music may come to an end, b
X
but it seems like this feeling never will
XI
my skin has become patchy and as well as forcing blood into my own heart i have to live with this rejection also
are death and resurrection of stem and leaf something we should soak our feet? i speak of the natural process of dying although it is afterward in which we seek
XII
contamination bleeds under the skin reflections never alter they’re stuck like a pin
hearts envelope a rhythm to start
violently shivering with apathy
i sit with a cats face blank expressionless in the waves of floods XIII
the sky and water are too difficult to separate
a blue sphere
yet looking up there is no dark spot the dark spot where your body should reflect sticking out no spot no ripples no recognition stillness
an urge to complete the sphere rushes over me XIV
the scented collection of petrichor is sitting on our kitchen table
i feel detached a duality appears when the petals shrivel up petals that were once so delicate, an atom of moisture could rip it from its stigma now hard, coarse, hidden away from the sunlight or sickened from lack thereof now they are tossed into the garbage fused with unwanted food bits stale forgotten tissues sealed in a container
XV
stale fruit behind the eyes dead fruit lies heath conscious trees only sway beneath the heat but twigs waltz on the ground in the light of she with
conditional love dead fruit beneath leaves morph into each other the scent rubs off on another their names become twisted strokes of a paint brush and in the spaces where the brush doesn't quite hold enough paint is where uncertainty hides in the plain sight
XVI
i’ve never liked the smell of flowers but i’ll let them dance along my sternum for may and for the rest of the calendar where the sun favours this side of the planet
i only want leaves doused in energy to stick to the bottom of my shoes chlorophyll remains, perhaps green could be my new favourite colour i don’t know how to pair colours but i know the brown in my skin longs for the brown of the earth again go outside capture movement, immortalise it
XVII
i cannot be jealous of the moon for i have never been as pretty as her
XVIII
tapping twigs on wet window panes, eyes heavy arms light of a duvet in warmer months, in months where fire and water politely collide, the rhythm of rain water lightly knocking the ground is sporadic and
soothing and soon the claps of thunder will be an echo in the subconscious, a sound wave in the muted cave where dreams sleep and wishes wait
XIX
back arched forward in an old wooden chair hand against your head wondering where it all went wrong
for the camera
resistance and your addiction to feign is sending you down a river into the sea i was dropped in by the sore hand of grief
your throat is gripped from the inside by fierce rushing pulses of water mixed with tears heart racing, eyes blurring these waters know no reason or sympathy you will drown with the rest of us
for no reason at all other than your urge to stand at the centre of the universe and scream “my heart is bigger than yours!” whilst other hearts aren’t beating at all
XX
some of our bodies are stiff but our heads are still above surface others have acquainted themselves with the sea bed and some of us are getting very sleepy
resistance and addiction are the key to disorder and there is no need to open that door so please digest the words of warning souls and stay away from waters that do not calm as best as you can
XXI
here it is a muted panic
a sense of falling without violent winds
running between the hairs o your cheeks
this is a new place of stunted anxiety
the middle
that I simultaneously knew was coming but
wasn’t coming
XXII
was it the night owl that dug its claws so deep in my shoulders
I’d walk with a constant curve or was I returning t a place underneath the smell of grief
when the night owl left and I felt a touch not war but molasses I knew euphoria could be natural too
XXIII
head resting on glass separating us from fabricated chemistry
XXIV
clouds dance above your / head like a halo, move my / heart (again) i like that
XXV
peripherals slings over my shoulders
you are my one dream painting
XXVI
wherever paths lead
arms will guide me
whether real flesh of yours
or moonlight
XXVII
XXVIII