Tag Archives: metaphors

Mornin’ soup

The air was frigid

Like soup left on the table

The wind blew in forceful gusts

As if blind the to long dead heat

 The night was a hungry child Continue reading

Leave a comment

Filed under My Poetry, Writing



I sit on the roof. It is a cap roof, if a wind should blow with gusto at a certain angle my house would be decapitated. Get it? I sit here dangling my bare feet whilst the sunrise emerge like a growing splot of spilled tea soaking into my grandmother’s Colgate-white table cloth, but in fact it was black in the beginning of things. In a multitude of pinks, lavenders and sly bright oranges, the colours bleed across the skyway.

I smell morning smells. Felt morning feelings. Saw morning sights. I stay awake to feel the world shake the night like a favourite fuzzy blanket, reluctantly. I think of how recently I was taken by the urge to chop off half of my below-the-waist chestnut hair. I can’t say why for I don’t know yet. I made my mother do just that a few nights ago. She did so, also, reluctantly. Another thing, I have taken to wear my post-braces retainer again. My gran frequently reminds me of what a waste two years of self indulged pain was. I finally decided to put the damned thing on, freaking aesthetic compulsions.

Continue reading



Filed under Writing

Picture it and Write: Awakened

This is my offering for last week’s Picture it and Write! photo prompts brought to you by Ermilia Blog.

via Ermilia Blog, click to see.

via Ermilia Blog, click to see.

Five years. It has been five years since I last woke, and my, how things have changed. Frail. The doctors said I was too frail to stand on my own, much less walk. I’ll hear none of it. After half a decade on my back, not quite living, I open my heavy eyes then to be denied my freedom from the chains that bound me to that bed, but it’s not as if they could restrain me. It disgusts me that I must steal into the night like a thief. I do it anyway. The walls were far too familiar, their embrace was like that over an obsessive mother, suffocating and mad. It was surreal, asleep one moment and awakened to another time. Unbelievable but I cannot deny the reality that pressed down upon me, and the one that stands wearily before me now.

Continue reading


Filed under Picture it and Write!, Writing