my love

to be consumed by romance to be drowning in proof you'll find my body at the feet of Aphrodite  beaten and bruised by the pursuit of expectation gorging on pomegranates blood red i'll turn into poetry eventually that way you'll remember me as something a little bit more than a woman with a notes app and untreated neurosis  i refuse to die of a broken heart as if a Romantic like Keats  though twenty-five is generous the stars will see more of me yet

wine tinted lips deep burgundy a poor woman’s rouge, she holds my hand hastily cracked knuckles, chapped  we try to read the room, the waitress speaks suddenly a voice dripping with honey she hovers like a bee around a bloom, imposters syndrome one coffee, two stains hair dampened from the rain, small droplets on the floor you would never have thought the world outside was grey tinted windows and glasses kept the reality at bay cold, shrill laughter and evil glances nothing they could say yet the message still received  we were not welcome like the plague entering rome, fresh revolution forming in our bones smudged ink on cheap paper heavier than stone writing of experiences they will never have known they sat, judgement sitting on the end of their nose eyes full of disdain later they shall complain  of how we ruined their afternoon by existing, in the rich man's room because it's ours to exist in too yet when we painted it red they came and painted it blue

warm orange has turned to deep brown this is the hardest month yet i adore it so much endless new books and the smell of old ones leaves covering the ground like shards of golden glass breaking beneath my feet hot coffee soft blankets and darkened hair all my favourite things in theory in reality i spend it  beneath a weighted duvet and weighted thoughts spaced out and cold every year i'm reminded i exist that i must exist despite the fact i don't want to and all the pills in the world won't kill the pain of september october is so much better and more beautiful she's more gentle i adore october it's arrival will comfort me and strengthen me so i can survive the winter for one more year

 you can't see the sunset from my window nor the sunrise it comes as no surprise that all i get in my room is dull light, everything feels artificial  when i switch the bulb on that sits firmly on my ceiling as if i'm in a hospital bed the flickering hurts my head and i wonder if i'm being pedantic  upset over nothing all the time, i watch elderly women walk their dogs from my window slowly making their way across the grass and listen to children screaming late into the evening when i close my eyes and listen to the sirens sometimes i pretend i'm at home my bed empty without warmth next to me i miss it even though i thought i wouldn't, it's sad that i know i can't open my window at night anymore nor walk at one am when my head needs to clear so once i close the door it's just me and these four walls for hours, it would be nice to see the sunrise through the window one day perhaps it'll make the mornings a little easier and i'm less tempted to sle...

august seemed full of promise love and sincerity yet already  the days move too quickly for me to keep up and communicate genuinely i want the heat to consume me and take me with it when it leaves sending me somewhere better for my skin to touch the sea someone to share my bed and hold me gently  all i've done this summer spring and even winter is write endless poetry about moments to go back to without sense or practicality do you ever think of me? you're in my thoughts  consistently you dance through my mind  so beautifully i don't want to give up on august nor give up on you so i'll give it one more morning one more coffee one more moon and hope everything comes together the way it was supposed to 

i’m waiting for warm oranges crisp mornings and deep skies leaves crunching beneath my feet pink cheeks and noses upon everyone i meet autumn speaks softly kissing gently touching warmly and holding tightly, my favourite lover snapping twigs with swift fragility beneath my boots, reassuringly everything is dying most beautifully  beneath an orange backdrop quietly 

my flowers have wilted they’ve been there for days, yet i just can’t bring myself  to throw them away, faded lilacs and leaves long forgotten, i held them so tightly  last week when i got them, they’re still beautiful sat there on my windowsill, a honeycomb vase in this hive that i’ve built, but i’m leaving tomorrow and packing in haste, so my poor flowers i must throw you away, when i return i’ll buy some more, perhaps even more lovely than the ones i had before, because when my tiny room has flowers inside, it makes everything much nicer sitting softly in my mind