Secret peaceful places

Secret peaceful places
touched with sadness
cling to my thoughts
with every breath haunting;
they refuse to leave
for too long now
I haven’t tried,
haven’t felt the warmth
of another skin,
all that guilt
tells me it’s safer,
but what if they knew?
what about time?
that healer of all wounds,
what have you been doing?
while I am still so broken
that wind just rushes
through my secrets


Refresh your spirit


Refresh your spirit from the human condition
With dancing and all things fab,
Don’t be the girl that was left behind
In an illusion wrapped in a cloud

In my head, the voice

When the rain comes
on the outside
the power of the underworld
will claim my soul
for light and dark
are in the air tonight
bound by ancient Runes
fragmented dreams
stop the universe
a smile tells a lie
that everything has changed
in my head, the voice

Hedda’s silence

Inner darkness hidden
She turns her friends into characters
To deliberately manipulate their reactions
While she remains hidden in her alien world
Silently killing herself with memories
Of her own inability to love.
Yearning for beauty
Her bodily silence
Remains empty until the end

I won’t grow old

Once I tried everything
rather than be lonely
and face eternity;
but I won’t grow old,
rather than watch time pass
I run as fast as I can
in the other direction.

Thursday fragments 9

Extract from Molly’s Dreams available now from Amazon

It was a few weeks after my sixteenth birthday and the winter sun was smiling on my face as I carefully parked my bike in the racks at the back of the school playground. I wasn’t late for a change and had been feeling better about myself since my birthday. After thinking everyone had forgotten about me, it was nice that they were all home to give me a surprise and for the first time in ages I felt like I belonged there.

I almost smiled to myself as I closed the lock on my chain. I loved this late July weather ― even though the air was still chilly there was a hint that spring was just around the corner. The wattle trees were covered in bright yellow flowers as if they were millions of tiny stars all bursting to shed their light. It was hard feeling sad when everything was so pretty.

I breathed deeply to smell the fresh air and swung my bag onto my shoulder. I was finally strong enough to face a day at school and turned towards the playground.

As I got closer to the school building though, I had to walk past a group of senior girls. They were sitting on a bench and I kept my head down and hoped that they wouldn’t notice me. Even though I was looking at the ground I couldn’t help see their smooth shiny brown legs out of the corner of my eye as they baked in the sun.

I was right alongside them when I heard one of them call out.

‘Hey, check out the freckled freak,’ she said to her friend in a loud voice. I tried to walk a bit quicker to get away from them.

‘Oh my gosh, look at her. They’re all over her face.’

‘Better watch out, Ruth,’ the first one said loudly, ‘Redheads have a fiery temper, you know.’

‘I’d like to see her try. She’s so little as well.’

I had gotten past and was trying not to run.

‘Hey, carrot top,’ one of them yelled after me, ‘Why don’t you come back and talk to us?’

I reached the school building and pushed the door open, but I could still hear them calling out and laughing as I hurried inside.

I half ran to my locker, trying to hide my face by pretending to be in a rush to find my books. A curly lock of hair fell across my face and I brushed it away impatiently. That damned red hair was the cause of all my troubles.

Thursday fragments 5

The clock on the classroom wall was ticking so slowly that I thought detention would never end. I tried to write about Stephen in my journal, but each time the pen in my hand shook and the words just stopped. Instead, I wrote about the book ‘My Friend Flicka’. I had started reading it when I was eleven years old and became completely absorbed in it and the other two books in the series. I still remember the way I felt when I read about Ken sitting on a horse, high on a hill and greeting the sunrise with a sense of freedom. It was just the way I felt when I was on my bike. Every page I turned drew me deeper and deeper into the story until I was living on the pages with Ken. At night when I lay in bed with my book I would get lost in the hills of Wyoming to escape the sadness wrapped around me.

As that year had progressed and autumn became winter, the bitterly cold days kept me inside, safe and warm in my bedroom where I could devour every word of my books while the wind blew outside. Life was hollow and empty, constantly changing under grey clouds as I was caught up in my thoughts, seeing nothing of the real world. During the day I would struggle through school, unsettled and uncertain, writing stories in my head, longing for the evenings and weekends when I could get back to those wild hills.

That year had gone by slowly until the sun eventually came peeking out from behind the clouds, getting stronger every day until it finally shone brightly on me as I lay in the long grass with the smell of spring in the air filling my lungs. By the time those first hints of spring came, I had reached the final page of the last book in the series. Closing my eyes and turning my face towards the warm sun, I felt like I was ready to be more adventurous and face the real world on my own terms.

But that seemed years ago now. Here I was on my sixteenth birthday sitting through lunchtime detention and still hiding from the outside world. I looked at the list I had made of all the books I wanted to read and wished I could get them for my birthday, but I had never told Mum about it so how would she know?

I picked up my pen and started writing again.

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