"I don't think that being a strong person is about ignoring your emotions and fighting your feelings. Putting on a brave face doesn't mean you're a brave person. That's why everybody in my life knows everything that I'm going through. I can't hide anything from them. People need to realise that being open isn't the same as being weak."

- Taylor Swift

Saturday, April 16, 2016


Forgive me, for I live in hope
You are master of the overwhelm

I am strong, but why test me?
I have my buoyant youth, but one day I will sink
Weary old stone

Although I am Odysseus
I will wait as Penelope for you, but

I was born on a magnolia tree
Too high for your mortal reach

A tree with a cherry picked
Can still bear fruit;
Even over a tomb

I am not a trumpet creeper 
Doomed to bloom on forgotten walls
I would rather starve than beg

I am a tigress,
And no hunger will tempt me
To eat grass

*          *          *


The jasmine hangs heavy in the air
As we kiss, consume,
And are consumed by the sprawl

We are in the city of light,
And filth; 
The rain drenched streets whisper smoke and sin

We are young and beautiful;
Ambling the streets addled with gin

It has been many long nights since my long nights with you 
There is a particular violence to silence;
I can feel it like a knife on my cheek 
Three thousand miles away

I do not know if love or hate moves you;
You do not tell me,
This deafening silence says nothing

It just is;
Like the scent of jasmine, it just hangs, indifferent 
And soon, even in its presence, I will not acknowledge it.

I will be jaded;
To love, to pleasure, to pain.

In my darkest hours I am happy 
Because to feel pain is to feel;
It feels real.

No matter;
I will survive. 
Even in this city of sin 
The innocent jasmine thrives;
And so will I.

I can walk on broken bones.
I can run on shattered glass.

*          *          *


We come from a line of strong women, daughter. 
We were the lovers of kings;
The days belonged to men
But the plum blossom nights belonged to us 

We fought for our place, daughter 
We are war widows and battlefield babies 
They cannot beat the colour out of us;
They cannot bleed out our pride 

Think of all the hearts we had in thrall
When our hair fell to our waists
And we fell to our knees 
Empires fall but blood always rises 

The world is not a kind place for us, daughter
We ladies of the night 
But from the mud the lotus soars triumphant; 
Pure, and whole, and white. 

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