This week has felt a little endless, but Friday has poked its head around the corner and here we are at last. I'm a little frustrated and a lot tired and utterly ready to flop into bed and sleep for the next 14 hours—but before then, here is Friday Poetry, right on schedule.
Unfortunately, it appears the good writing streak from last week has deserted me, and I don't quite know what's left—something vaguely poetic but, if I'm being honest with myself, more resembling word vomit than anything else. I wrote this yesterday and stressed over finding a title until Tanvi stepped in with a dash of wordsmithing and a sprinkle of luck. So you have her to blame for that, at least.
But the rest is, as always, of my own invention, for better or for worse—and I do hope you enjoy it, lovelies. Have a wonderful weekend. I'll see you on Monday. x
I don’t believe in fate –
just the symphony of a city rainstorm,
absonant, soggy, umbrella-less girls.
I believe in butterflies erupting from
apocalypses. things like fairytales or
nightmares, like I swear I’ve seen you before,
waltzes down midnight alleyways. I
believe in ordinary insanity. in hibernation,
in the people who wake up too early and
are proud or wise enough to chase down the
demons that exist only beneath their eyelids.
I don’t believe in the stars, in the sun, in
the beautiful empty words from boys
who have memorised poetry books and
frank sinatra songs –
but I believe in sudden beginnings and
in graceless ballerinas, I believe in the thieves
who stole away our history and the ones who
will draw the wild cards of our future. in
computer screens and stark naked stories,
the ones that aren’t beautiful.
I believe in what’s too broken to be poetry.
I believe in the raindrops and the teardrops
and the girls so busy trying to memorise the
taste of his chapstick that they forget
their mothers’ middle names.
I believe in what’s real.
I believe in what could be if the monsters
learned not to fear their own voices
and the curtains learned to lift
just a little bit higher.