Poetry | Stories | Photography
Walk with me,
walk by my side without judgement,
walk on the outside like Dad used to do.
Walk without the anger you always feel,
walk without scolding me in public;
I’m not perfect, and neither are you.
Walk-in tandem with me,
yet you never do.
We exist alongside each other,
unable to forget all the water
flowing under the bridge.
When we touched,
you were the one.
Longing for fingers,
dancing southward.
Together too long,
fighting over nothing.
When we fought,
I was in lonely exile.
Longing for you,
wishing it better.
Together too long,
too long together
to let this love go.
Spinning tales in the darkness
as you sleep and dream loudly.
I blamed you for taking my dreams,
as you look at me hurting so much.
You said I took your dreams from you,
for meeting me changed you so much.
In paper dreams, you and I are one;
looking for the light, we cannot see.
sitting together,
yet further apart than strangers
sorrow fills the air,
for they have lost so many things
some sit together
some sit apart
some stare into nothing
some sip on bitter words
some cry silent tears
still and sad;
all the lonely people in
so many relationships
You said there was enough left when there was none.
I started on this journey, and now I can’t turn back.
Why did you do it? You know I am not the one to blame.
You push my buttons and make me so angry.
I’ll never understand why you said there’s
sugar when the bowl is empty.
Listless and upset.
You sit clutching the remote control as if pressing the buttons will make things better.
He sits over there, horny and haggard from listening to your grumpy taunts.
You’re upset with yourself more than anyone else, but you take it out on him.
He wonders when you’ll come to realise those pork sausages are the culprit.
You’re plagued by atrabilious feelings, which only heightens your cloudy thinking.
He does something out of character and gives you a Stomach Ezzy with water.
You’re so shocked you drink it, even though you’d like to cry into the glass.
He sits by you and waits with his eyes closed, for he feels the shit inside of you.
You feel rotten and put the glass and the remote down, then paw his legs and feet.
He smiles and opens his eyes to say, “I see your mood’s improving little cat“.
You want to take the piss, but think better of it. All you can say is, “I’m sorry“.
He says, “Pretty one, that is enough…“
The kitchen was once a refuge where she could create anything; the kitchen was a creative place of her own in their tiny house.
Then her significant other developed a taste for cooking, and this place ceased to be her creative space.
One day, he starts mocking her for the creations; he proudly declares that his creations are better in every way.
They stand in the kitchen together one evening as he scolds her creations for being so different. Having had enough, she fills the dishwasher, turns it on, and water begins to gush all over the floor.
He lames her for the dishwasher malfunctioning. Without thought, she says, “When the water exits the dishwasher, I am reminded of all the bullshit that gushes from your lips”.
He stands at the kitchen bench, unable to think of something witty to say, as she walks from the kitchen, towards the garage, and out the door.
C & K 