Soliloquies to the Self

“All he’ll do is break you” As if I was born pristine I gifted the gavel in his hand If found to be brittle and fragile and clean I’d readily beg to be shattered complete Yes, I’ll revel in the freedom of the wind’s embrace To endless cliffs and seas and valleys my broken parts give chase Perhaps my pieces will find repurpose...

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I live life in cycles I'm up then I'm down I am a spoke on a wheel At the bottom of a hill Creeping too slowly On a rocky terrain too steep For me to push myself off of the ground. ...

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You tend to run. That's the first thing I learnt about you. The real you. The person not personified by the persona. You hide. In silence, in smoke, in sex. When the world hurts, you make sure you don't. Even if it means everyone else will. I've always been a fighter. I push. I can't ignore, I address. I don't play defence, I...

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It was always the same fight. We were messy throughout. So much so that after it ended I could no longer recollect anything but the ugly. We were always unhappy, I was always crying, you were always emotionally unavailable. I was thunder, you were lightning and the sun never came to break apart our angry clouds constantly colliding against one another. But sometimes...

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I'm an open book because I choose to be. Think reservoir versus open ocean. If the prospect of that does not worry or unnerve you, then perhaps you need to re-evaluate everything you perceive to know about me. My confident speech and grandiose actions; she's a girl secure in her own skin. My unabated thoughts casually overflowing into everyday conversation; she's got nothing...

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