When I was little

I hid

my heart under my bed

and on Sundays I buried my dreams

in the sandbox and talked to the whistle

of the wind. In school, I’d write poems

onto paper airplanes. I threw them as far and wide

as I could because I was too nervous

to talk them into this world

- but they were sank into paper balls

by words such as ‘attention’ and ‘sir’.

By the time I’d grown up I’d dusted off

my heart that I’d hidden so long, 

pulled it from the claws of monsters that hid

under my bed,

found the ‘X’ that marked the spot in the sandbox

and went chasing my breath

that I had lost in the wind.

On days when the world doesn’t have a friendly face,

look up

to that man in the moon,

smiling, and shining,

always smiling

and living up to his name.

The day I let you go

was the day I started yoga

but I couldn’t stretch anything well

except the truth.

The next day

I listened to the radio’s static

for 14 minutes and 32 seconds 

because I thought I might hear your voice.

When I forgot the colour in your eyes

I bought every shade of blue paint from the shop.

You’ve been gone such a long,

long, long time.

They keep me up at night -

ghosts

that have shadows.

Monsters exist inside of us,

mine smelt of smoke

(and cinnamon)

it was a dancer,

a big swimmer - a real positive thinker.

I think you are the reason

that I cannot sleep.