I don't often like to explain where my poems, thoughts, ramblings come from. Usually the writing speaks for itself.
However this comes from a place I very rarely write from, anger and hurt and fear, fear of being let down when I invest myself, complete with heart and honesty. I guess my lesson has been with risk there is always the chance of let down
Wrapped up
Between sheets
Of paper
Are half told stories
And lies scrunched
Around denial
The stories
They tell themselves
Are passed from
One to another
Around in circles
But no-one unwraps
To the center
Where in the middle
Is the truth
I bit on my quivering lip
Holding the ripple
In my mouth
Her wandering spirit
Engulfed by the flow
Fell in my hand
Like the failure
That slept under your skin
I hid with you
Under your covers
Wanting to live your dream
How sleepy dreams speak out your stories....how my dream kept me company
I swam in the backyard
Amongst her broken pots
As eucalyptus branches brush
The tin roof
You cup my wet face in
Your sadness
Promises soaked in love
Are pinned against the mud brick
Wall