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Dear Mr Cameron, please help me do
You see I’m really struggling at the hands of you
You’ve taken all my money, my pride, and dignity
Leave me to wallow in a pit of poverty
I’m trying to swim through quicksand
With sand bags on my back
But the punishments relentless
What should I be sorry for?
The moon doesn’t apologize for causing the
rise and fall of the tides.
Why should I?
Just because you don’t water your own flowers,
doesn’t mean you get to stomp on mine.
I won’t let you crush what it took me years to grow.
Instead of hurting mine, tend to your own.
Maybe your garden can grow too.
That my head is too far up in the
clouds to watch where I’m walking.
is the first day of the rest of your life
Tomorrow is an adventure in the making
Yesterday is a memory of
a moment we cannot return to
Even if we wanted
What’s done is done
All we can do is learn to accept it and
move forward graciously
Time waits for no man
And no man achieves by waiting
but not the same lungs
hold the same blood
but speak different tongues
we cry the same tears
and wash the same pains
but we are not one
and yet here we remain.
in a boiling sea.
Moments
of a coiling me.
Roots finding no soil
A mind lingers in turmoil
An endless journey
Unable to flee
They come out as whispers and rolled eyes
I blink, and a rose blooms but no one notices
I hum, and life is found on a new planet
A melody is created but they only see me walk
They see my curves but not my angles
and I want to live.
I want a break
and I want a fix.
I want to feel
and I want to numb.
I want to hide
and I want to run.
It’s moving day
All my possessions in boxes
Memories due for collection, when that big lorry finally comes
I’ve left behind the carpet and the wallpaper and stuff like that
And I’ll be sure to leave next doors cat
She used to love to wander in at breakfast, at the smell of bacon
I’ve taken down the posters of 1 Direction
1 Bloody Dimension if you ask me
But little Jessica swears by ’em, and as long as she’s happy
Oh and I’ve left you a little something in the fridge
Another year’s at end,
The passing of the leaves all mark
The absence of a friend.
The sky is crisp and clear and blue,
His breath is on the air,
He silently walks through the street
With sunlight in his hair.
His eyes are cast down at his feet,
He hurries to get home,
Afraid to stop beside the park
With the blackened dome.
His name is Bisan but they call him Dan
All alone in this world
His house for freedom he sold
But the key in his hand he still holds
