If there was one word I could use to describe my experience of last night it would be humanising.
Seeing Phil Kaye and Sarah Kay perform at EartH was quite possibly the best night of my life. I felt present, I felt grateful, I felt at peace, but I still cried so many tears.
humans are so smart,
look – we have built above us,
forgetting to look down.
Hello everyone! Before we get into the poem I’d like to say thank you very much to everyone who has read my poems recently. I’ve seen a spike in my numbers and I am very grateful knowing that people like what I write :). Feel free to say hi in the comments and we can chat! Now, on with the poem…
I feel like an adult when a new washing machine excites me
I feel like an adult when I butter my own toast
I feel like an adult when I somehow manage to get rid of a cold on my own
I feel like an adult when the question ‘what do you want to be when you grow up’ scares me instead of excites me
Sometimes I think of what life would be without you. basically it would be terrible. my world upside down, the tears would fall from the ceiling and choke me. A wet, empty bed. The sheets on the floor, only because I couldn’t be bothered to put them on. No one will be coming here. The uncaged bird flies into the fan and splatters everywhere. Blood falls from the ceiling and chokes me.
Last week feels like a century ago. I wonder why? I’m not 100 years old and I’m certainly nowhere near it. OK well technically I’m a fifth of the way there, but that doesn’t mean I’m a fifth of the way to death, it means I’m a fifth of the way to something. But the something isn’t death. Something is a lot of things – not just one.
I've often found myself contorting,
squeezing into other peoples' boxes.
Maybe it's because I'm small.
I can fit into places easily.
But my stomach hangs over my legs,
petruding over the line.
Stuffing never helps.
Hiding can often reveal more than
So I stopped contorting.
I only ever write about magic in poetry,
on the page is where it can find a home.
Because the magical, mysterious happenings of the
They are filled with endless realities, not infinite, possibilities are cut
like the end of a black cat's tail.
But my tale, did begin with some magic --
a miracle child, born when no one quite expected it,
living on a tank of hopes and beliefs which my father
went round the hospital, collecting in a jar.
The teddy bear next to me sang me a lullably of two withes:
Jaadu and Junoon*
together, they soared through the night sky,
sprinkling madness into the dreams of adults and children everywhere.
And last night, I had a dream that I was Harry Potter.
I was dueling Draco Malfoy; we had to beat the record of 172
hits made at a target by Lucius Malfoy.
Draco ended up falling off the stage.
I made 870 hits.
But then the teddy bear woke me up,
Jaadu is a Hindi word meaning magic.
Junoon is an Urdu wor meaning madness.
Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem about something mysterious and spooky! Your poem could be about something that is mysterious and spooky in a bad way (like a witch), or mysterious and spooky in a good way (possibly also like a witch? It depends on the witch, I guess!) Or just the everyday, mysterious, spooky quality of being alive.
Hello all! Apologies for having been gone for so long, the last two weeks of university were crazy busy! But also, I’ve been feeling quite anxious about writing recently. Not sure why exactly, but I think I can boil it down to more attention being given to my writing. I’m flattered that there’s been an increase recently in people who enjoy my art and are willing to even publish me or follow my blog, and I thank you deeply for that! But as a naturally anxious person, I equate more attention to more scrutiny which means I end up slipping into avoidance behaviour. Writers block on top of this also hasn’t been helping me at all, lol. Let me know if you guys feel this way too in the comments below – let’s chat! 🙂
So today, I’ve decided to return and challenge myself with NaPoWriMo! For those of you who don’t know NaPoWriMo is National Poetry Writing Month, so every month in April you write a poem, which is what I’m going to be doing for the rest of the month.