november child

the curse of a sentimental heart & a skeptical mind


September 2018


Sometimes, from a safe distance,
I stare at my frozen lake
of situations
I refuse to address.

If I squint, I can still
make out their distorted shapes
beneath layers of
vain endeavours and
wasted opportunities.

I wonder, how long
will I be able to maintain
the harsh environment
that traps them
in their taciturn suspense?


© Novemberchild
photo credit: Photo by Jonathan Goerke from Pexels


At times I catch myself
committing the crime of
feigning interest.

I nod frequently at
slivers of chatter, and smile
to hide my disdain at
repetitive exploitations of
topics that easily resemble
the nine circles of hell.

My mind is not designed
for ready-made conversations
that chain words to be
crowd-pleasers, but
roots fervently for anyone
whose train of thought is
original, and fulfils my
craving for meaning.

I shine at soul-level
communication, or alternatively
at sarcastic banter. Pick one, and
you will have my undivided attention.


© Novemberchild
in response to The Sunday Whirl Wordle 370
photo credit: via



I have become more translucent
the moment I got together with you,
fading out of substance,
and into an undefined background.

I have to look harder now
to see myself when I look
into the mirror to search
for the woman
I find more difficult
to remember on a daily basis.

How surreal she seems,
the bold one
who danced without restraint,
questioned nothing and everything,
and was dangerously free.


© Novemberchild
photo credit: via Student Art guide



So many of your
carefully cultivated talents
seem to unfailingly aim
directly at my soft spots.

It is a rare gift,
this thoroughness
at uncovering all
the places where I amount
to too little.

Would that you take your
artistry somewhere else.


© Novemberchild
photo credit:  Leavebreeze7 via Pinterest

Blog at

Up ↑