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november child

the curse of a sentimental heart & a skeptical mind

Month

April 2017

Holier-Than-Thou

How you savour this chip
on your shoulder,
not even the sincerest
apology will prompt you
to give it up.

And how could you,
when you run being
offended on repeat,
and those meticulously
maintained lists
of perceived wrongs
sum up your life so well?

You have comfortably
settled into your role
of a righteous saint,
conveniently forgetting
a little feature
called forgiveness.

Instead you sing the
praise of judgement
and your prayers
are laced with acid.

© november child
photo credit: Justin via Flickr
in response to The Sunday Whirl – Wordle #297

Cold Rain

Soaked-through clothes,
a clammy chill on my skin,
the same cold
my cells have memorised
on the night
I watched you
walk away.

With the cold the pain unfolds
its multiple layers of defeat,
the same ache
your heart memorises,
once you resign yourself
to the fact
that it was almost love.

 

© november child
photo credit: Susanne Nilsson via Flickr

 

Handwriting

His handwriting is recognisable
in the count of her shallow breath,
her measured,
minimalistic movements,
and the smouldering pit
that used to be her stomach.

The weight of insignificance
instiled into her,
is reflected in her
hunched shoulders,
and suits his delusions of grandeur,
and sense of entitlement.

 

© november child
photo credit: maqaron.jp

Measure

Fearful

I get fearful
of the havoc you create

when the impatient
wind of your adronitis
rattles the hinges
of my barricaded doors,

when your insatiable
hunger for closeness
drives you to illicitly
override my security protocols,

when your husky voice
demands revelation
of every shred of misery
Pandora’s box has to offer.

I get frantic

when you’re on the hunt
for the black-winged goddess,
safely tucked away within.

 

© november child
photo credit: artist unknown via Pinterest
in response to Mindlovermisery’s Menagerie Wordle #106 “18th April 2016”
(I know it’s an old one, but I saw someone using the words and I liked them, it’s a variation
on my “Intrusion”)

Sometimes

Sometimes you forget
your pretence of being human.
I hear the hum of
the Universe interlaced
with your voice,
and I can almost touch
golden rivers running
underneath your skin.

Sometimes your human body
is unable to fully contain you.
I see the most pleasing
white moonlight
leaking from your eyes,
and catch the scent of
cold starlight during
winter solstice.

And sometimes
I shed silken tears,
and submit to my fear
that this world is not enough
to hold you.

© november child
photo credit: Francisco Sánchez-Aedo Gálvez via Flickr

Pleased

Just a Little Bit

A little bit of me
unravels every time
I hear your name.

A little bit of me
has never learned
to walk away from you.

A little bit of you
is all it takes
to bridge the gap.

 

© november child
photo credit: Dave Schumaker via Flickr

Unravel

Second Thoughts

Doubt sets in frequently,
demanding a review of
decisions made.

Hindsight reveals the truth
it so loves to conceal during
those moments when it is
actually needed.

Reminding with a mocking smirk
that one might have been
more open-minded about
things second-guessed, and
more wary of concepts
blindly taken for granted.

© november child
photo credit: wallpapercave.com  (Auguste Rodin – Le Penseur)

Blindly

Vital

I wish you did not grin
at the straps of my bag
digging into my skin.
Cut me some slack,
I can handle the weight.
And I swear, every single item
stored in the cavernous depths
of this bag, is of utmost importance.

I can trim anything from
nails to trees, I carry tools that
could repair anything if I knew how,
and you never know
when a fishing line might come
in handy. I admit I am a bit
unsure about the seashell,
but I promise, something somewhere
in there can undo the end of the world.

I can not begin to comprehend
how you can survive
with just a wallet.

 

© november child
photo credit: Roxanne Ready via Flickr
in response to The Sunday Whirl Wordle # 294

You

You, the imperturbable,
you, the advocate of
rectilinearity and clarity,
have embraced my
multifaceted brokenness.

And
I, of the lost faith,
I, the unbeliever,
born from contradictions
and scepticism,
pray for catharsis.

 

© november child
photo credit:  Polpolux via Flickr

Heal

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