I will never have two bull’s-eyes
Shooting direct daggers into the retinas
Of masculinity

Bear trapped in backbend
Posture poster child for
Un-gracefulness
Statue of David, meet
Three-legged Gazelle
Shaking, un-swaddled new born
Struggling to cement pose

After school, there are citrus hues
And the tension flares between us
At least,
That’s the spark of thought
Rubbing against my wooden brain 

Young Mary had a lamb,
A baby like she was,
Soft fleece of an innocent,
Wrapped around her heart.

If I understand correctly,
I’m supposed to chuckle quietly like a princess
Place my hands in my lap
Seal my lips 
Nod though I may disagree
But the same people are telling me that it’s okay to be me?

Hurricane Milton, fierce and wild. 
Winds like a freight train, waves tall and steep, 
The state trembled, stirred from its sleep. 

Covid stopped the show, but now we're back. 
So get ready, it's about to be a heart attack! 
Regatta didn't come to play, 2023 was just okay,
But 2024? We're on our way! 

They're often pushed aside, 
No reason given, no care applied. 
Disrespected, hated, misunderstood, 
Underestimated, some say overrated 
But trust me, they'll never be outdated. 

In the opaque, olive-green water
of the rusted rain barrel,
the leaves on the surface shift,
unearthing a nursery.

The midnight hour rouses me awake,
To the glittering city of stars.
That even my balcony cannot reach,
I sit alone captivated by the silence.

In twilight's arrival, when shadows swallow the land,
A band of crickets tune their instruments.
Tiny appendages swing in common practice,
Swift and loud, they let out music.

On the painter's canvas, his colours are commonplace.
His fingers calloused and worn,
Holding his brush with tender care,
And each stroke tracing the mundane.

On the checkered fields of war, the king prepares.
Overlooking his devoted bishops roam,
Knights gallop in a calculated play,
Every move is a step towards victory or vanquish.

I am not hoping for your return, 
I am hoping to let it burn 
I am not hoping to forgive, 
I am hoping to relive

Trudge pass with fondness 
Broken into shreds and mutilated; 
The weeping heart screams for awareness 
Mental capacity seems frustrated. 

Where once the heart was heavy, now it learns to be free,
To forgive as Christ forgives, with grace and purity.
Mercy falls in the shadow of the cross,
Where love redeems what once was lost.

In the garden of Gethsemane, 
we plant the seeds of love and sorrow.
Each flower is a memory; each thorn a lesson to gain, 
graciously grown but through agony learned.

I lie awake
Listening to the howling wind
How long have I been up for?