Teenage

Rolling on she goes
pushed by her big brother,
she can’t stand
she can’t walk
she can’t move.
I watch the two
talking, joking, laughing
this time so sweet
but there was a sour side
like the sour key candy she loved to eat.
Those last two bitter months:
in hospital — chiseled bone, two screws in place
then home — five formidable weeks in bed
and now — hobbling towards health.
He pushes her
keeping her smiling
keeping her safe
keeping her buoyant.
I walk in her ghostly place
My legs now able to carry me
to buy sour keys.
Her memory encased in mine
I watch her enter the corner store,
come out,
and repeat.
She’s walking now,
we walk together.
The sour keys await.
I go into the store and get some
before looking around
and leaving.
I don’t see her this time.

Four against a tree, sitting with the bees
Someone new leans against the tree, who could it be?
A child, dressed in tan and black
A knife on his belt, smeared in blood
The Four believe he’s not here to have fun
One by one, he lures them away
Never again able to laugh and play
All but one who sits and stares
As the tree of bees turns into a tree of nightmares
Years later the fourth returns again
Staring at that tree of pain
He lays down next to the tree
Laying with the flowers and bees
He stares up at the sky
Watching as time flies by
All the while he sits and stares
Staring at the leaves of the tree of nightmares

As a society we tend to lend our dismissal days,
Happy to pass the distasteful feeling to regard themselves,
The lonesome feeling of being downcast,
Therefore putting others in harms way
Puts their weak matches at bay.
However if you feel euphoric you turn selfish like a beast refusing to be tamed.
Anyone in their correct body would feel that way ,
However mistreating this privilege can feel as uncomfortable as a rooster in a pond
You have to earn joy, if you do not earn it, it will not treat you with reverence,
but swallow your pride wholeheartedly leaving only the stench of regret.

Here I hang,
A cold-metal showerhead,
Tightly bound to my horrendous fate.

Day by day,
I sit, perched like an eagle
Stalking its innocent prey,

The look of panic appears
On their pale, horrorstruck faces
As the toxic, torturous gas
Wraps the weak and strong
Like a suffocating blanket,

The sudden thud
Of the lifeless bodies
Against the chilling concrete floor,
Cues the entrance of the guards,
Ready to add
Yet another victim
To the pile

702
Kind creative and smart
children of the zoo
who love pigeons, bin chickens and crows
Who need understanding friends and dino nuggets
who give friendship, carrots and potatoes
who fear unkind unhumans and monsters
WHO WOULD LIKE TO SEE THE WORLD
we are the protectors of the night
you are safe for ever
We are 702

In nineteen nineteen, a world worn and frayed,
A table of nations, where hopes were laid,
A pen held tight, where the fate of many swayed,
The Treaty of Versailles, in shadows portrayed.

In Paris halls whispers blend,
A fractured world sought bitter mend,
The victors gathered, hopes held high,
While shadows of the lost would sigh.

Germany had to sign the deal,
A heavy heart accused to steal,
With penalties and reparations’ weight,
Turned into a nation burrowed into their fate.

It was they who bore the blame,
With no one left to stake the claim.
A grievous error, a costly mistake,
In silence, they sought to rectify for their own sake.

They were to repair what was flawed,
With a staggering total of 6.6 billion, a burden awed.
With each shaky signature, poverty entwined,
Leading to a deep depression they struggled to unwind.

Their army limited to just 100,000 men,
A sense of weakness awoke within this nation’s pen.
With a mere six battleships, their might was reduced,
Germany fell deeper into a pit of abuse.

Territory lost through this formal agreement,
Six million Germans faced a harsh deportment.
With no more dominance to reveal,
This country got a taste of their own meal.

In the heart of night where shadows conspire,
Whispers of change spark like a flickering fire.
With voices rising, like thunder they swell,
A pulse of defiance begins to rebel.

“We want a change of monarch,” the whispers clear,
For the crown buried in selfishness, not fear.
No longer a happy country, a place where we roam,
But a land where the inhabitants disagree on their home.

“We want a change in laws,” the whispers are firm,
All the land others own is a concern.
The rich hold authority, their power a flaw,
While the poor work like slaves, for what they’re made for.

United we stand, with dreams that ignite,
To build a new future, to reclaim what is right.
With hope as a banner, we echo our plea,
For justice and freedom, a chance to be free.

Censor the king! To freedom it shall bring!
Communism for all, it’s an idea that will swing.
From heart to heart, like a ball it will travel,
Uniting the masses, our power to unravel.

Hand in hand we will connect,
We’ll bring an end to this monarchy, wrecked.
We’ll dance through wars with a grin so wide,
To the freedom that blossoms, our spirits our guide.

(Influenced by the Russian revolution)

Every day, I look forward to seeing the blue-eyed face
of the one person who makes me more awkward
and shy than I already am.
First thought: my life hasn’t started yet.

University in Liverpool. Fashion journalist in New York.
My silhouette, perhaps even in a clipping of my own.
If only there were instructions for how to get there.

Today I received a U (ungraded) in an English essay
and my teacher wants to see me next week.
It made me feel stupid.
I don’t study as hard as I should for my A-levels.

I’m wondering how I could be more assertive and confident.
How to stop speaking from my throat when I’m nervous.
I need to learn how to talk from my diaphragm instead.

Today one of the girls in my Sociology class inspired me
to buy a pair of white linen trousers after I saw her wearing some.
I got the Beatles question right on the morning quiz.
My form tutor was really quite impressed with that.

I am a sham because I say I want to work hard and then
spend far too much time thinking and wasting time.
My anxiety has been very prevalent recently, I’ve noticed.

I have to pretend to be unaffected when they kiss
each other constantly at lunch.
There are other people here too, you know.
I feel like he’s making fun of me.

Now, I don’t know when I’ll write next
but I’ll tell you if anything happens, which it won’t.
Life hasn’t begun yet. Love, Lucy.

I feel.
The sensations that fill my soul.
The burning passion which leads me into the path
That I will take.
Emotions cloud my senses.
Gas me up like a bomb.

I must feel.
In whatever I do, whatever I say,
I must seek.
The feeling of modesty and justice.
In what I do
The feelings are too much.
Quite a burden, maybe not.

I contradict and I conflict,
The azure pain of being in my sleeve.
I feel –
Oh! How I long to feel.
How I’ve never felt before.
I feel.
Oh! How I long to feel.
The way I think about my deep conversations with myself.

The feeling
Of complicated art.
In the mystery of love,
In the misery of pain.
And in the madness of the brain.
And I
Promise not to be vile.
So, I
Can be a person in life.
Not an emotionless monster.
I feel – oh! I must feel.

Tells the king of the jungle
The tigers roar and the bison rumble
Looking at the big black beast
Tigers fantasise a hefty feast
Tigers attack it with a bang
The bison uses its horns to ram

History reveals the bison’s regime
Belonging to the lineage of bovines
Their food is what we had been encroaching
We killed, slaughtered and started poaching

That social bison who loves to graze
Lacked behind in the jungle’s race
From gangs of beasts with a glorious fame
To merely thousands left in the game