This Used to Be My Playground

*This poem was published in May 2020 in The Poets Symphony by Raw Earth Ink.

We never had a photo together
yet I remember every expression of you
I have never returned the books you left on my book shelf
the only ones without dust

Silent night has never been peaceful
since I heard your car burned into flames
on the highway with extra snow
buried your seventeen years old charred body

This used to be my playground
This used to be my childhood dream
This used to be the place I ran to whenever I was in need of a friend
Why did it have to end

I have never been able to say goodbye to you
maybe that is why nothing good had been with you

You left me a letter before you boarded the plane
You know I have never opened it to this day
Nothing matters really since the day you’ve been gone

This used to be my playground
This used to be my childhood dream
This used to be the place I ran to whenever I was in need of a friend
Why did it have to end

Nothing is as pure as childhood sweethearts
No love is sweeter than sweet sixteen

I dream of you still in black and white
Your linen shirt flying on the swing
Your manic laughter on the seesaw

This used to be my playground
This used to be my childhood dream
This used to be the place I ran to whenever I was in need of a friend
Why did it have to end

There is no he will ever replace you
in the land of the living
You are my perfection
my first
and my destiny

Beyond The Horizon

The rocks lie still letting the sun comb through their rugged form

The shadows of the trees line the path with whisper of old stories stalling me from walking into the sunlit serenity

I wonder if the pelicans will be my eyes to survey the island far beyond the horizon

*Photo taken by Cassa Bassa at Green Point Foreshore, The Central Coast, NSW, Australia

Unexplainable Explanation

You don’t understand
why I need to shop for
yet another red lipstick.

I can only explain
that perfection lives in tomorrows.

Simplicity


I don’t get tired of
watching people
listening to the rain
and
thinking of you

Today is a good day
I get to write about
thinking of you
while
listening to the rain
and
watching people

Simple things are beautiful
I don’t mind experiencing them
on repeat
every day

#Publication – Wounds I Healed


Wounds I Healed, The Poetry of Strong Women
Published by EIF
Edited by Gabriela Marie Milton

Today Is Like Yesterday

I remember your breath on my skin
I responded in goosebumps
Your touch kept me secured
in the shape of a heart
You called me a cute name
I paused, melted and became undone

There are so many moments I remember
They match every moment of our today
I fall deeper and deeper in love with you

The Boat People

Living Poetry word prompt writing


“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly without complexities or pride.
I love you because I know no other way than this.
So close that your hand, on my chest, is my hand.”

You recite Neruda to your dying husband
in the storm this boat cannot withstand
We may not enter the safe haven after all
My last sight of this calamity is love on display
I thank you fellow refugees
When I close my eyes,
I know the goodness of God

Love Blooms

You brought me sunrise
When darkness covered my mind
Morning dew diluted last night’s tears
My lashes tasted sweet upon your lips
You tendered me with a crown of frangipanis
Within the distance of our breaths
A butterfly fluttered frantically
twining around the invisible bloom between us

Vincent

This is the version of you
my unskilled hand could manage
I know you won’t mind
because you didn’t think
your name would be remembered
or your face would tell fascinating history

You painted every scar into beauty
I am one of the many
in awe of your creativity
and touched by your humility

Once upon a time

I get to know Alana
she wears leopard print dress
and flaming red nails
she plays the keyboard
in broad daylight
to fight off the blues

We talk about girly stuff
skin exfoliation
hydration mask
hair tossing
and stiletto heels

She tells me about Alan
in corroboree
he wore coloured feathers
and ornamental coverings
he painted white and red bands
across his chest

Alana doesn’t go to corroboree anymore
she cannot bear to see herself
in Alan’s persona with
bare chest and hairy body
she misses her mob
and the land

It is easier to talk about
the Summer makeup trend
balayage hairstyle
slimming corset
and hot pink toes

Writer’s note: This poem was published in Australian Poetry Journal. It highlighted the struggle of being a transgender Aboriginal Australian. They are up against the disapproval of their mobs and elders. The constant feeling of the need to live a double life often adds the stress and mental strain, and subsequently has a negative impact on their mental health.