Category: Poetry & Prose

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Oct 8th, 2025

I will haunt the edges of forever,
just to chase the echoes
you leave behind.

I’ll swallow both our silences,
a ritual upon my tongue.
I cannot bear to tell you
the Gods cannot undo
what’s already begun.

Tell me—
are you more afraid of
me, or your memories?

You whispered, “I picked you dandelions,
and you just threw them away.”
I told you, “I’m a realist—
who needs wishes anyway?”
But you knew I did,
I do.
I do.

You probably wouldn’t get it
but I could walk for miles in your shoes,
the soles split long ago
and the pain became my muse.

I hung your clothes out to dry
in exchange, you wrung out
my tears and prayers under moonlight
I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised.
The fabric smelled of salt and soil
and I knew the ocean had
borrowed your body for a while.

Autumn’s kiss wasn’t enough to wake you
I don’t know why I thought I could be any different.
You were Spring’s wind,
and I was afraid of my own reflection.
We never had a chance.
No, we never had a chance.

Who needs Damocles
when you have Aristotle’s lantern?
Dreams are “just dreams,”
and your presence is a phantom.

I don’t need to touch galaxies
to believe in divinity.
Brushing against your fingers
was enough to unravel me,
and I can’t get the taste of you
out of my eyes.
You are everywhere—
and everywhere you haunt me

“Do you ever get that feeling?”
I tell her she’s too sensitive.
The evening lark laughs,
spinning silver through my bones
I push away the irony,
I am not afraid to lie
in the bed you made for me.

You used to love the sun,
and now you cannot bear the moon.
You said the shadows followed you home one night,
but I never asked if they stayed.

I think I took something irreversible from you—
something soft

I find the outlines of you
in the quiet I cannot escape,
I carry you like a wound;
stabbing me with every breath I take.
Camping Rituals: A Haiku Collection

May 2nd, 2025

My dear, spry Robin
perched between natures door-way
plucky little thing

Gather ‘round tree-stumps
we perform the rite of dreams
beneath falling stars

Moonbeams kiss where Sun-
beams fade. we pass through Twilights
hour, hands tightly entwined

I reach for your warmth
your dreamless mumbles tickle
the back of my neck

We cannot help but
giggle at the company
of strangers’ kindness

Off the beaten track
we find paths that lead nowhere
yet everywhere, both

Beckoned, by sacred
denizens of the woodlands
leave no trace behind
(Untitled)

Apr 30th, 2025

the waning moon
discharges jasmine-rays over

cosmic amniotic dice

~~perhaps~~ we will find
her one day, gazing toward

an endless sea
endless stars

endless questions
for eternal unshaven answers

i think i see you now perhaps, ~~it is too late~~
Fearing Her Absence, Dreading Her Voice

Apr 23rd, 2025

I spit the last of my teeth into my palms
and pry them from crimson gums,
trembling hands cup them in d e s p e r a t i o n
offering payment to the muse.
my mind trudges as slowly as a frozen screen— but i
tap and tap and tap
and tap and tap
and tap and tap
and scream through clenched teeth.
i hear about meteorite showers and howling winds,
aurora australis and
fairy wrens in the garden,
dolphins in the bay and
my father brings me home shells
but i never see
or see
or see
my muse. She wounds me, flirts with me.
the paranoia of not writing quick enough
grows beneath my finger nails and nail-prints
embed themselves into my palms
I can feel something inside me changing
and I’m terrified it will disappear.
she dangles fleeting thoughts but I would
sooner swallow the sun than beg
for a star. This fire inside me burns like hell
and to hell with waiting, what if she never takes over?
what if she does?
Untitled & Unanswered

Dec 6th, 2024

I sit              here

in the space between words and the world and

i think—well, daydream really. I wander, about the wonders.

and my mind it              PoUnDs                       incessantly

you should listen to your bodies call for water

                    (more on this later: the Return to the Water)

but back to the dreams. The day ones. Perhaps the scariest of all.

To dream in daylight where one cannot hide from what it is they are dreaming. There is no cover of shadow. If my thoughts manifested like the light of a star then they would race past the night sky and illuminate it in its entirety. It would be daylight regardless. Gods, they fucking burn bright. The pounding. in the head. again.

I—

                    i cannot get it all out. the longer i stare the more distorted my perception becomes. I assume I can just reach out and grasp the thought but its like a cat who lays in front of me. You can look, but you cannot touch. Maybe it wants me to slow down, I ponder. I stare at the thoughts. I ask if any of them want to sit with me.

Some do.

Others giggle and flitter away. I wish to see them soon. I offer my farewells and know I will meet them again in the sea. In the sky. I’m not scared to let these ones go.

But the ones who sit in front of me. I don’t want to spook them. these are the dreams I fear.

The ones I will not do justice because I have to be ever so quick and ever so careful.

I feign indifference. They see right through me.

Pick a pace, pick up a pace, any pace and space and look at you going! You’re doing it, really.

It’s like riding a bike, keep pedalling and it will tumble out. sometimes the words win and you don’t. sometimes the thoughts disguise themselves and all of a sudden you are writing and reading and singing and confessing things you never thought you would and—little bastards.

Quit! With the surprises already. Really. I hate them.

They blink at me. Just blink. And then I remember I am here. I am sitting. At my laptop and

dammit, they’ve got me spiralling

down the rabbit hole again—and yes,

I would take the blue pill thank-you-very-much and no

i do not want to talk about it
Nostalgia curses me with Golden Days

Nov 13th, 2024

There is something about the afternoon hour which drowns
me in feeling–it is cadmium yellow and saccharine, it clings to my teeth
nectar-thick and
this shit will rot me to my core, i think
right.down.to.the.root.
nostalgia hits me like a blow–dandelion tuffs trail bubbles
like will-o-wisps–but i welcome the memory with
masochistic palms, split open and bleeding
it grieves me and
weeps out of me and i burn with the high of golden hour
my hair is strawberry blonde because i absorb
all of the light. it consumes my very being and gods do i relish
the tenderness of a sunburn
i offer myself to this inferno. spike my innocence to a stake. just
as long as i can feel the sun
let me re-create scenarios and I’ll live in them forever
this shit will rot me to my core, i think
nothing tastes as sweet as sentimentality.
There’s nothing worse than [Insert Word]

Oct 5th, 2024

~[Dreaming & Wanting & Wishing & Yearning & Longing & Imagining & Hoping]

I dream of a little hobbit life sprinkled with big grand adventures– I dream of the finest foods- artisan crackers, vintage aged cheddar and crimson Pepperjack. I dream of my belly being sore from uncontrollable joy. I dream of reading my silly little books, spines cracked & margins scribbled, in my own silly little library. I dream of drinking coffee every-morning with the love of my life. I dream of leaving letters in strangers mailboxes, unsigned. I dream of slowing down and not allowing a shred of guilt to nip me. But those grand adventures watch me with curiosity. They demand…

exploring and diving and breath-TAKING as well as breathtaking. Pause on the breath-taking. That’s what I want. The hitch in breath. The little flips in my chest. That fluttering, dancing shiver of pure undulated excitement. I want a warm little smile plastered on my face because I know the secret origins of a stupid grin. I want scars to tattoo my body; stories of close-calls. I want stacks of photographs to be my poetry, when I eventually run out of words. When my weathered and withered hands can no longer pick up a pen. I will remember. And I…

hope that it will be enough. I hope that it will be enough for me to say that I did live a life. I hope that my soul will no longer flinch at the start of something new. I can do nothing but dream of this glued-together ceramic world. I fear the cost of yearning for something so grand. The pieces of me it must take in exchange. I am a coward. I do not need to have a story of my own- but I fear not having one all the same. So I am learning how to explore, and dive and hold my breath. And gods do I hope that I feel the fall. I will master straddling the realm between the living and living. It is all I can…

wish for.
My heart is full of little blessings

Aug 18th, 2024

One of my favourite things
is leaving my phone
unattended
and coming back to find the
very many photos my friends
have taken, and bombarded me with
and perhaps they dont realise
or maybe they do, that i always do it
on purpose
Chasing that Sunshine High

May 29th, 2024

There is something so familiar about the smell of pollen in summer. The gentle tickling of the wind on my skin. The way the golden afternoon hour makes time slow down. My heart longing for more. The grass and the trees and the vibrancy of the world stirs something inside me. Coaxes it gently. Softly sets it free. Unshackled. Unbound. I move through the world, and the world moves through me. My lungs are full of air. Fresh, aching breath. And I don’t know how to describe this feeling but

I Am Alive.
Broken Butterfly Wings

Apr 11th, 2024

I smile with the grace of butterfly wings

a gentle flutter

and though the wind offers me a soft caress,

I cannot help but shiver in its cool embrace

baby hairs tickle my nose and forehead

but I do not move them away.

I watch the world spin through the clouds

and so I swing higher and higher

I am awake, yet also asleep.

And even though I normally enjoy the sun’s

sweet buttery kiss

I almost wish it would go away

so the gnawing sickness in my stomach

would feel at home amongst the

overcast sky and

the world would be slow and still

and I would be able to die.