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november child

the curse of a sentimental heart & a skeptical mind

Category

past

Residue

Voices have seeped into crumbling walls,
repeating forgotten conversations.

Laughter is memorised in bits of flaky wallpaper,
and is occasionally heard drifting on mouldy air.

Old arguments have settled into parquet,
and are reenacted in the creaking of ancient floorboards.

Emotional residue clings to rooms
abandoned a long time ago.

 

© november child

Heard

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Doors

Indecisiveness leads nowhere,
he says using the motivational
intonation, the one that is
usually reserved for team meetings.
He shows a lack of understanding
for the complexity of doorways.

It’s easy to be confident when you
never opened a portal to hell,
it sounds a bit snappish, his
leadership voice does that to her
sometimes. She lacks the words
to explain that behind the prettiest
doors may lurk unseen horrors,
and a lot of locks do not
necessarily safeguard something precious.

At some point you have to make
a decision, but this time you won’t be alone,
he promises. Not much of an
assurance really, when she is still not
certain, if the door that lead her
to him, might be one she should
have left unopened.

© november child
picture taken with iphone 4s

Unseen

The Ego

In the gloomy space
you share with no one,
this sinister exhibition
of self-inflicted pain
you try very hard to hide
even from yourself;
in the introvert’s
chamber of torture
you meet it again,
the unwanted guest.

Its talk is convincing,
in a repetitive chant
of cunning words
as cutting as daggers,
it tilts straight for your core.
It probes your resilience
with stinging tendrils
of whispered gossip,
deviously planting
the seeds of doubt.

It leans heavily on flaws
blown out of proportion
and though you realise
there is no authenticity
to its random rambling
and the wild accusations,
your feeble mind is
so apt to listen,
so ready to forfeit love,
so willing to let it break you.

© november child

in response to: The Sunday Whirl Wordle #265

listen/meet/pain/wild/doubt/lean/talk/tilt/authenticity/break/love/gossip

photo credit: KingOfWallpapers

 

 

I Am Not Her

I am not her

so let me not walk
in the shadows of your  past,
do not force me to enter
the labyrinth of wrong  turns

make me not feed
off an empty plate,
do not let me starve from
your fear of getting close

let me not hear
the whispers of bygone days,
do not chain me
to the post of revived clashes

make me not dig
in the ruins of the departed,
do not force me to brush off
the dusty bones of past deceit

make me not part of
what you left behind,
do not crucify me on
the cross of your flashbacks

count not my mistakes
on old balance sheets,
free me from
lapsed mindsets and regrets

bring only yourself
when you come to me,
bless my innocence
by remembering

I am not her

 

© november child
photo credit: Carol Mitchell via VisualHunt
in response to: The Sunday Whirl Wordle #263
Mistake

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