Platform Two To London Waterloo

Platform Two To London Waterloo

I thought that our tale would be like that of

A Regent Queen's and A Charming Prince'

So I spreaded myself on slippery steel chairs,
hung around platform edges, anxiously looking through the
nooks and crannies of gliding train doors.

I kept on waiting for a train that never left it's station.

I waited and waited, like children do for the ice cream van

except it was winter and my heart was
still stuck in summer.

I was on Platform two to London Waterloo
when I finally saw you.

You were sat with her at the coffee shop,
watching while she tenderly ate her bagel.

Your face was beaming like a light tower at night.
I saw it for a split moment...your silver smile.
It was the one you wore when you
listened to your favourite
song.
She was the quietness in your noise.
The type of quietness that
I never could be.

Lemon

His love was as sweet as lemon,

the fights we had were ripe with grief,

the kisses we shared always left some bitter taste in my mouth.

But even lemons taste okay with a pinch of salt.
And if his love was like lemon I was ready to be his salt.

A lemon ft my hand.

My mother's daughter

 I am my mother's daughter,

Always eager to carry people on my back

when they'd never dare to hold my hands 

I give and I give until I have nothing left to give.

My mouth runs faster than a leopard

Like a wood frog my feet refuses to 
touch the ground on gloomy days 

I am my mother's daughter, 

I could try to fix a broken glass

With a pinch of prayer and a tub of glue 

I am my mother's daughter,

I pick myself up before I fall.

You are so strong. 
I am told

If only they knew how heavy

the waters fall from my eyelids at night.

Like rainfall in the Amazon forest.

But even after the heaviest rainfall

comes sunshine.

Chokers, crop tops and skin tight skirts..

How comfortable do the chokers feel?

Do they cut your words every time you try to speak?

And the white crop tops?

How many times do they remind you 

to tuck in your stomach 

-just like your other insecurities?

Do you sometimes feel like

unpacking parts of yourself then stop

because other men may get threatened?

And the skin tight skirts..?

Do you hear their silent whispers

when they tell you to

keep your legs closed?

I was born for the loose shirts

and flared pants.

They help me run far,

far away from ideologies

and break out of boxes

created to constrict me. 

Pretty Picture

We are picture perfect

until the picture becomes prickly,

poking at even our smallest insecurity.

Filtering our flaws away, because

pretty pictures turns people's pupils.

So we put on masks to match expectations,

forgetting the long term implications.

They say imitation is the best form of flattery -

Our feeds are flooded with flat belly,

fat back, five foot something IG sculptured models.

Forget the pretty pictures, the models and the expectations.

Why not go on an adventure?

have some cuddle nature -

time is a priceless expenditure,

don't just spend it for the picture

How much are you willing to splash out

for a pretty picture?