The Brown Eyed Dreamer

'Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.' William Wordsworth


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Life of a Waitress

The funny part about being a waitress is getting
To glimpse the most intimate parts of a person.
I know how much milk you take in your coffee,
How many sugars go into your tea;
If you prefer flavours or just a ‘plain old cuppa’,
If you daintily sip, or hastily slurp.
You pour me life stories as I pour you refills,
And laughter froths over flavoured lattes as
We share a private joke.

And yet; As you leave
You become just another face among a sea of faces,
Another clanging of change; another torn receipt,
Another mumbled thank you and small smile as you go.
Half empty mugs hold your last traces, a final legacy
Only to be swept up and replaced by another face,
One more coffee order.


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Darling- A Letter of Hope

Darling, how could you want to die?
Times have been hard lately darling,
We can see the pain in your eyes-
But please don’t utter those horrible words;
Don’t tell us you want to die.

How could you want to die
When you have ears to hear music,
And feet to dance along?
When you have a head to feel life’s pain
And a heart to grow strong?

How could you want to die
With so many books to find and read
And so many waiting tales?
With so many paths to be uncovered
And so many seas to sail?

Darling, how could you want to die?
There’s still so much hope here
And it’s waiting outside your door,
Darling how could you want to die
When there’s so much in life to live for?


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Only in Night

I tell myself I’m okay with being alone
And a part of me believes it.

But another part creeps out in the night and
Mourns over the empty, crumpled sheets
That still hold your shape and your scent. It
Cries over the memories of interlocked fingers
And lips held only a breath apart-
So familiar though so far away.

I tell myself I’m okay with being alone
But only if I’m alone
With you.


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‘You know I’d never hurt you.’

‘You know I’d never hurt you.’

There’s something so hauntingly bittersweet about that line. Humans are fragile creatures; we bruise and scar like our hearts are made of paper slowly shredding into confetti. We know how vulnerable we are, but we still clumsily hand over our souls to every open palm, only to be forced to stand and watch emotions crushed and bled through menacing fingers. And yet… there’s still a childish curiosity that lingers between our ribcage, a hopeful naivety that flutters and begs to break free. Trust. Hope. It reminds you of laughter, smiles- those memories you tried in vain to suppress because it’s safer to forget, easier to pretend. Love. Peace. It strokes your poor, beaten heart and whispers: ‘Maybe this time will be different.’

Strain to hear it above the chaos of your cluttered mind. Promises break like rusted chains and sometimes people hurt you even when they didn’t want to.That whisper is the sole reminder that things can be better- wounds heal and people can change. Sometimes you have to listen to that tiny whisper in the dark, and just try. Sometimes you just have to take a leap of faith across the chasm of doubts we call life and pray that someone will be there to catch you on the other side. And someday someone will catch you- and maybe they’ll hurt you sometimes, but you know they’ll heal you too.


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Her Words

Your words are like daggers in the night-time:
They slowly slither out of your mouth and then pounce
Upon their victim- me. You turn,
Look at me with squinted eyes and a snake’s sly smile,
Hiss the venomous words from between your tainted lips,
Litter the air around us with razor-blade insults and remorse.
I see you laugh
And laugh, your eyes glinting
As you watch the blood fall from the small cuts
That pierce the paper-thin envelopes of my skin.

They say the tongue is as sharp as any sword,
And I’m starting to believe them.


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Bridge

A walk home through the park
Where darkness swallows every stride,
Your hand in mine because you know I get afraid.
Took me to the bridge
To hold me tight and kiss me slowly,
When you stop to ask that lingering question.
‘Is it perfect for you too?’

Yes, the breeze whispers through branches,
Yes, the river murmurs underneath,
But still mouth forms no words.
Look straight into wide, inquisitive eyes,
Nod profusely, please let that be enough,
I swear, I swear more than anything,
It’s perfect for me too.