by Rie

won’t you stand
a little closer
won’t hurt

speak truth/
lies beneath cloudy water

tell me stories
towering tall
brimming with sparkle and wit

and you

I like to think of verse as sleights of pen. Because I’m a weird cross of dark, emotive and punny.

And, of course, I mean “punny” as I mean “funny”.

For a day packed with things to do, I have become strangely pensive – it has brought me to a point where I am almost static.

You are moving and I am moving but it is all relative, so it is as if I am staying still.

I think a lot. I have been sad a lot. My freshest memories are not my happiest. Now I am left with the cynicism I’m trying to mop up with happy. Is this part of the process? To have your fear and sadness turn into anger and bitterness while you’re trying desperately to paint rainbows in a black, black room.

I am too young to grow up. I am too old to look over my shoulder.

I am tired.