Perfection.

Perfection was a myth before your presence became my resting place. Like flying pigs and purple rain, Like policemen and black lives matter, Like true love and soulmates, Perfection was created to instil hope. It didn’t exist. How could it? Why should it? But perfection was what I felt. It was you on a gloomy …

Would You?

Would you come lie next to me? Just one last time? I miss how it used to be Before this war crime. Would you ring my number? Just for today? Peace was hearing your voice fade away As I fell into a deep slumber Would you shorten my name? Just because I’d do the same? …

What Do I Do Now?

What do I do now? With this repertoire of unfinished poetry All of these plans for the future What the hell should I do With the messages I typed up but never sent And the ‘I love you’s” I said internally The me too’s and the please stay’s I can’t finish them because I can’t …

Solitude.

Solitude doesn’t ask what’s wrong, She lets me be. She doesn’t reach out, Or hold me when I’m down. When emotions get the better of me, And I’m left in a puddle of my never ending tears, I don’t feel solitude looking at me through pitiful eyes. She doesn’t pat my back like they do …