The Brown Eyed Dreamer

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


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Advice for Lost and Lonely Souls

If you ever feel sad turn your head to the sea;
Feel the morning breeze lace through your hair
Let problems slip like sand through open palms
And let the ocean’s cool, frothy fingertips
Caress your cheek and calmly, gently,
Carry your troubles away from shore.
If you ever feel lost bury your head in a book;
Fill your nose with the musty scent of yellowed pages,
Run your fingers along loved and weathered spines,
And swim deep down in a pool of words
To lands where adventure awaits you,
And lets you disappear.
If you ever feel empty fill your head with music;
Feel the melodies cascade across your bruised skin,
Let sweet serenades seal the cracks within your soul
And follow those soft, hopeful rhythms
With eyes closed and ears wide open;
Teach your heart to beat again.
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The Shortest, Sharpest Lies

‘That’s fine.’ ‘We’re fine.’ ‘I’m fine.’
Two short words slip off the tongue.
A feeble excuse, a weak shield
Fighting off a barrage of questions,
Blocking off a wave of sympathy,
Keeping out the quiet thoughts
That tell us we’re simply hiding.

‘That’s fine.’ ‘We’re fine.’ ‘I’m fine.’
Two short words that spring to mind.
A shady alibi, a little white lie
Whispering into the dark at night,
Chanting into the light of day,
Ignoring the quiet thoughts that know
That we’re not fine at all.


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I Promise.

When I promised them I was getting better, I wasn’t lying. I am getting better. Food doesn’t lodge itself venomously in my throat like it used to, and calories and calculations don’t swim before my eyes anymore. I can face mirrors and have learnt to ignore most of the screaming taunts from my mind; the urge to shatter my mocking reflection into a thousand tiny pieces is mostly gone. I’m learning to ignore the judging eyes and smirks that play upon muttering lips as I pass by, and snide little comments are beginning to hurt me a lot less than they used to. I’m finding my feet and picking myself up again, and I am getting better, promise.

But sometimes, when I look behind me to where I used to be, temptation grabs me like a rope clutched around the neck and pulls me backwards, and suddenly it seems okay to make excuses and ‘forget’. Suddenly the mirror wailing out my flaws for the world to hear seems like almost like an old friend, helping me find perfection by pointing out the imperfection. And in the depths of my wildest thoughts, I can’t help but cave in to the pleasure of wrapping my arms around my body in the cold air, rubbing fingers across flesh and feeling the ridges of bones protruding where they really shouldn’t. And in those moments, I can hear a distant crack that sounds vaguely like a cry into the darkness or the slow breaking of an innocent heart, the gentle wail of a promise slowly breaking.


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Rumour

A snake, twisting, turning,
Scales shining as it slides from mouth to mouth,
Words hissed like venom out of its vicious lips,
Changing like Chinese whisper’s as it’s passed along.

The plot thickens, drama, disaster, doom,
Seasoned onto this perfect piece of gossip,
Fed into the mouths of the ignorant,
Who feast greedily upon its whispered words.

The truth lies bent, beaten and broken,
Forgotten at the start of the line,
Shadowed by this big, over-powering rumour,
That no-one believes, but everyone spreads.