ethereal (adjective)

ethereal (adjective)
extremely delicate, light, not of this world
my pisces you transcend definition
you're lighter than air itself and by my own admition
i think you're an angel, a long time suspicion
your mind is blooming, you're no mathematician
but you can bring anything you desire into fruition
with unrivalled creativity
a true work of art you belong in an exhibition,
a girl as beautiful as her photographs
you surpassed all my expectations, pisces
you swim against the current
things may seen hard in the moment
but all the obstacles are merely a component
of this magical journey you're on
and you may be delicate but your skin is thick
you feel you're in the firing line,
sometimes
but there is strength behind your eyes
you're more powerful than your mind
when it attempts to bring you down, when it tries
you are not defined
by the bad times,
my pisces you're the strongest person i know
truly out of this world
you belong amongst the stars
or in a wes anderson movie
with pastel pink colour schemes imagining what could be
if you just believe
pisces you belong in the sea
just like your sign you belong with the deep blue waves
immersed in a tranquillity we all crave
free to navigate this maze
we call existence
in your own wonderful way
my love for you is as warm and rosy as your cheeks
and as timeless as your style
nobody can compete,
you win every time
my pisces you are sublime
it hurt to say goodbye
but i promise you this time
we're going nowhere
because nobody's hugs will ever compare
and your radiance is rare,
your smell reminds me of home
and your heart permanently locked with my own
the clouds are heavy now my love
the rain is coming again
but the drops remind me of my favourite water sign
so i don't really mind
my pisces your potential is endless
promise me you'll go on and shine,

Comments

to the daughters of builders who drive white vans

on the 6am train the men smell like my father; red bull, cigarettes, dried cement - they wake up like my father i feel safe in this carriage, these men are my father, any man with a van and one arm out the window, sunburnt from the elbow down - the infamous builder’s tan - seats so dusty i can’t breathe and i have lungs like my father, full of second-hand smoke and concrete, a touch of asbestos, i should weep for my father but my pockets are healthy i am told by my father whose hands shake as he brings another beer to his lips at 10am on a saturday morning, this is coping for my father these men cope - cope like my father - with the asbestos lungs, uneven tans, shaking hands, muscles in constant pain, water on the brain, the ever encroaching grasp of old age; with substances up the nose they unwind like my father this kind of masculinity doesn’t last forever, you know...

i can only write when i am thinking about God

I can only write when I am thinking about God and sometimes God is God and he loves me, most of the time he does not the hand that feeds me overpowered by teeth that bite he visits me at night like a shark smells blood he smells lust, guilt, and greed brought to my knees, voice hushed he picks apart my greed and my lust promising to forgive, to forget he will make me repent and regret, any pain or pleasure at his expense provided in selfless restoration a gift of his affections exchanged for endless loyalty God is not always God, sometimes he is my lover he tells me he loves me, most of the time he does not I can only write when I am thinking about God

crisis of faith

and when i meet god i will ask him why he punished me on earth by denying me the pleasure of being known by anyone other than him intentionally, innately, irrevocably known in a way i could have remained silent forever whilst always being heard i will ask him why the world kept spinning as i screamed and spiralled into the sins he’d laid out for me for me to fumble in my guilt on my knees, raw from repentance and retribution who is to beg for forgiveness now? and i will apologise to my mother for carrying her burdens in my womb it was her first time too, on earth longing for something she’d never known please tell me i did it right, that i made you proud please tell me i lived how you wanted me to give birth to me again and i’ll try harder would it heal you to see me leave, or would it hurt because you never did will i see your face one day in the mirror and touch it to feel your skin and i will ask you if you could not love...

my love

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