My confidence seems to grow when
people notice me,
just a small glance,
or a smile,
the superficiality that clambours its
way into my heart.
This never ending need for touch,
is it love or just lust,
or just insecurities blossoming their
way to people’s trust.
The flowers on my window sill seem
to grow all the same,
everyday their beauty enamours me,
yet it’s all consuming need for my
attention devours its independence,
for without me the petals would
wilt,
and the bright colours would fade.
So maybe my need for others if not
so superficial afterall,
maybe it is part of me that is natural
and healthy,
or maybe it is a part of me that needs
filling,
before I drain and wilt away.
People are stressful,
They allude their love through
hugs and wishes,
But I feel the resentment in their
kisses,
As I try my best to stay afloat,
I feel their words at my throat,
They conquer me with their illicit
looks,
That shadow my inner minds
rooks,
The torment that trails behind
me,
Is something I wish I could mirror
in their reality,
So for one day they could view,
How weak and fragile I feel in
their selfish hue.
Big voices,
Small words,
Privilege seems to come to mind,
When I see how the world works.
The economy in recession,
They ask how that could lead to depression,
An education system of repression,
Ultimately your led a life of suppression
Freedom of speech is a term often phrased,
Yet individualism seems to pass by in a haze,
*Our manifesto speaks for the people’
Then why are you and I bled till bones dry,
Till the sight of the bill makes our mothers cry.
Big voices,
Small words,
Dehumanising seems to come to mind,
When I see how the world works.
They blind us with their headlights at night,
Confusing us with left and right,
They perform strong,
With us as their puppets stringed along.
Free childcare? Free school meals?
I must have heard wrong,
As the puppeteers feel the past is something to
prolong,
Something to relish and entrench,
Perfect policies for privileged people.
Big voices,
Small words,
Is something I wish to become absurd.
As its ebony roots stood strong,
it laced its evergreen along,
Intertwined in my fingers,
Tangled while it lingers,
Green when all was new,
Marigold when the earth turns blue,
It sees blooming buds of life all through,
With subdued silky feathers that always few,
That played in the tall nests that grew,
Rose tinted raindrops dripped from it’s heath,
And splashed the placid grass surrounding
beneath,
To some as visible as the colours of the moon,
To others the petite pretty happens in their plume.
SHE
She held my hand all through the storm,
A hand that bore strength in me,
A hand on my heart that felt so warm.
She sang a soliloquy of virtue,
Dulcet tones regarding her absent mind,
She knew it was her I wished to pursue.
There was things peculiar about her soul,
Something eccentric,
Something cryptic that left my heart with a hole.
She enamored me with her looks,
Alluring me with her delicate thorns,
Artistry that could rewrite books.
She looked at me through glassy eyes,
I was caught in her arduous noose,
‘I love you’
she then replies.
She let me loose in the storm,
A hold that had once bore strength,
She spat words to misinform,
A hand on my heart that felt so warm.
Connect with Isabella Welsh on Instagram
