Moving On

And slowly your name slipped

Out of the pages of memories

From being scribbled over and over

On the cover and spine

As the rightful owner

Your mention relegated

To a mere footnote

Stricken off with a lumpy, white toner

The roses you once gave me

Pressed into dried debris

Ceased being a reminder

Of your ever looming hubris

As they crumbled and turned to dust

Into an untidy heap on the floor

The date on which our eyes first met

Obliterated by an errant blob of ink

I behold a book

With dirty, yellowed pages

So old that they don’t tear now

But creak and crack

Breaking off

Just like your voice

On our very last call

Merging into nothingness

Sucking out all emptiness

As I finally

Feel

Liberated

As your ghosts no longer reside

As a thorn in my side.

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Titular

If I were to give

A title to my life

I wonder what it would be

A phrase,

Like a story?

A word,

Dipped in poetry?

A rhyme,

To conjure a symphony ?

Or simply a sound,

Ringing in harmony?

If I were to give

A title to my life

I wonder what it would be

Poetry, prose, melody or noise?

Or all together

Like a smorgasbord?

If I were to give

A title to my life

Whatever it would be

I hope somewhere

It proudly mentions

That I passed on

Fulfilled.

Mum’s the Word

I was just a girl

With a whole lot to say

But lips sewn tightly shut.


You gave me a pen

And a scrape of waste paper

And the stitches fell away.


Words flew

Bled

And oozed

Across the dirty, stained page.


By the time I was done

I was undone.


As I watched every surface

Slowly overrun with scribbles

I allowed myself to smile.


For I was just a girl

With a whole lot to say

But lips sewn tightly shut


Yet, till the time I have words

At my mercy

I’ll always find a way.