november child

the curse of a sentimental heart & a skeptical mind


ex factor

Missed Opportunities

You were the inventor of the art of
rebelling against your privileges
while driving a Beemer.
You wore your contradictions
unapologetically, and in style,
leaving me incredulous, and
more than a bit breathless.

California sun in your eyes,
a grin to die for, easygoing
to the point of carelessness.
How I wish our insurgencies
had been better timed.
I kept the necklace you gave me,
and this nagging uncertainty
in my heart.


© November child
photo credit: via


I wish I did not crave
tracing the tattoo on your arm.
I wish the grey at your temples
did not make me want to
run my fingers through your hair.
I wish I could unfeel the trails
your fingertips burnt onto my skin.
I wish your smile
did not reach your eyes.

I wish the willingness
to throw my life away
for this insane infatuation
was not plainly written on my face.

You were my poison,
you still are my folly.


© november child
photo credit: source unknown



I have outgrown my need for you,
left it behind,
somewhere along the road,
buried next to the skeletons
of my insecurities.

You may cling to your denial,
keep insisting we are not done yet,
but I assure you
it won’t change a thing –
this woman has moved on.


© november child
photo credit: Iain Merchant via Flickr



Stop redefining my boundaries
just to convince yourself
that you did not breach them.

Stop diminishing my pain
just to reassure yourself
that you did not hurt me.

Stop deconstructing my defenses
just to demonstrate
that they have been useless all along.


© november child

photo credit:



You have cordoned off her heart,
declaring it a crime scene,
while you meticulously search
for verification
that she once loved you.

Without substantial proof
you are unable to elicit a confession,
so you assume that
either the evidence has been
severely tampered with,
or else she has committed
the perfect crime.


© november child
photo credit: Brandon Anderson via flickr



The Things We Keep

I store this chest
in the depths of
the attic of my mind.

It is filled with
hundreds of  pretty notes
in all sizes and colours.

As colourful and pretty
as big or as small
as the lies you told.

Kept as a reminder
right next to the
dark cloud of my anger.

Inadvertently I wonder
about the things we keep
and those we share.

© november child
in response to: Random_Michelle Photo-Fiction #49


I will leave my imprint
on those vitreous walls,
forcing violent cracks
in bursts of outrage
until my bones fracture.

I will immortalize myself
on those crystal windows
scratching them deeply
in silent fury
until my fingers bleed.

I will cease this destruction
on the very day
those cracks and scratches
have finally collapsed
this glasshouse that is us.

© november child

photo taken with Canon EOS 7D

Developing Your Eye II – Day Seven – Glass


Had those withheld words
propelled into the air
in a cloud of furious ash,
their downpour might‘ve altered
these parched fields of anger,
spurting acceptance by now.

Had they risen from the depths
of their complex hide-out
in a scorching lava flow,
their escape might’ve collapsed
this cavern of rage,
granting forgiveness in time.

But those unspoken words
keep simmering inside,
a bubble of magma trapped,
increasing in volume
in a brimming chamber,
the inevitable eruption in sight.



© november child
 photo credit: Photo via VisualHunt


muscles strained
from reaching out
across the void

fingers pricked
from sewing up
the edges
that have frayed

grown so tired
of grazing my skin
on another wall

© november child
photo credit: Eugene Peretz via flickr


creeping in again
with sly miniscule steps,
a cold draft
under the door

draining the sun
I fought hard for,
a dense blanket
of clouds


manipulating the  lights
that make up my world,
impenetrable fog
on a ruthless advance


icicles on my heart
winter in my soul

© november child

photo credit: Grant Chatterstone via flickr

Colour Me Blue

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green eyes
black leather jacket
tousled hair
colour me blue

november child
photos taken with Samsung Galaxy A7

in response to: Developing Your Eye -Day 9 – Pop of Colour

Big Dreams

That one
glorious moment
on the lakefront
of Loch Lomond,
remnants of warmth
settled on our skin,
a little breathless still.

We dreamt big
and then fell far.


©november child
photos taken with Canon EOS 7D

in response to: Developing Your Eye – Day 7 – Big


One Ring

One Ring to rule them all,
One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all,
and in the darkness bind them’
Ring-verse, J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings

To be so mistaken,
so thoroughly err.
There is yet one left
I don’t mean to scare.

We are still forsaken
by the one that I wear;
I have it right here
on my left hand, I swear.

The inscription is different,
of that I’m aware,
the effect is the same though
painful to bear.

So bid me farewell,
under the black shadows’ loom,
I am off, on my way now
to the fires of  Mount Doom…

© november child
photo taken with Samsung Galaxy A7

Talk Is Cheap

In an endless maze of winding monologues
your words make their way
through inexplicable passages of your mind
confusing me to no end.

In a flashing thunderstorm of screaming rage
your words angrily tear
through my meager defenses
deeply scarring me.

With a sky full of airy promises
your words float
through the empty space of your honesty
containing no substance.

–  © november child-

Never Happened

 In the white snow
my footprints disappear,
as if they never existed.

In the colourful autumn leaves
my little path vanishes,
already forgotten.

On the soft pillow
my tears seep away,

In your cold eyes
my love dissolves
as if it never happened.

– © november child-

photocredit: author/source unknown


In a ray of sunlight
that burns through my window
tiny dust motes dance,
never leaving the blazing beam.

And I feel like them,
helplessly trapped in your prison,
dancing to your rhythm,
visible only in your light.

– © november child-

photo credit: ray of sunlight – collideous via flickr


 I so counted on you
to create art of my feelings.
But strangely
I could not feel myself
in your painting.

I so counted on you
to make music of my words.
But unfortunately
I could not hear myself
in your song.

So I stopped feeling
and I stopped speaking.
In the ensuing silence
I perfectly understood
who your song and your painting
were really about.

– © november child-

Conspiracy of Two

In our conspiracy of two
I am silent to your faults
and you do not mention mine.

In our plot of ignorance
arguments are kept at a minimum,
adjusted to our preferences.

In our bubble of pain
the threshold is set ever higher
to keep out the truth.

In our ballet of unrequited love
we dance around controversy,
gliding over our irritations.

In our universe of two
we created a black hole of avoidance,
waiting for it to swallow us.

november child

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