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Updated: Jul 8, 2019

Must I always write in verse

And tangle and entwine my lines?

Must I box my sole creativity

By acquitting to straighter rhymes?

At times, I don’t think it’s possible

To voice full artistic flare;

Putting in place fixed structures

Makes it harder to take you there.

Where? Well, what do you think?

What do you feel?

Are you close enough to it?

Don’t put the cup to the wall...

Put your foot through - break through it!

Creativity is too raw for a

Feeble tapping at one’s door.

You must run in and loot the lot

With a wilfulness to break a leg, and the law.

 
 
 

What will I risk

To jump back to you

To twist all I worked towards

And allow it to fall through?

I’m now a different person

Someone you never knew

Are you sure you really want me

Or ready to watch your perception skew?

Our perspectives still differ

On how we went on to suffer

You seem to think you're worse off

Because I eluded you with my buffer

But no other than you

Broke my soul in two

How melodramatic

But I refuse to lie too

 
 
 

My heart incarnate.

Your words swell from my lip.

Seems I’ve swallowed such a syllable before;

But perhaps on a different trip.

Emily - you are ephemeral.

Sparking an iridescence in me.

A sunken darling emerald,

Anchored to the eternal sea.

Life fragile like a butterfly wing,

You’ve flown in with bold effect.

The ripple of your fleeting touch,

Has left me rather windswept.

And how did I find you,

Glinting from history’s sands?

And why do you speak so fluidly

And so close to my heart’s demands.

Untapped unto time,

There’s no longer such thing as the ocean.

Defying all space and time,

I felt affinity to your life’s devotion.

And why in 1880,

Do you muse such familiar patterns?

Why do you draw the parallel

To a paradigm I feel I can fathom?

Dickinson’s innovation;

Resonates too deep within me.

Stirring the sparkling evening dust,

Into a starry matter, mysterious to me.



~


PRETEXT: FINDING EMILY


I found a book today and it spun me on my axis. Somehow a seemingly plain lavender book stood out to me, Emily Dickinson - The Complete Poems. A Victorian woman born in 1830 who spent her lifetime writing over 1800 poems, never for them to have been acknowledged in her lifetime. And what felt so odd was that her styling felt almost parallel to my own crazy musings. I welled up for two reasons - one, because no ones art has ever made me feel so intrinsically connected or compounded my deepest thoughts, and two, because the first pages I read contain the title of my album to be “space and time” and (as silly as it sounds) “Busy Bee”... a concept so close to my heart and part of my short life-so-far story. I could mention four other instances of coincidence that would make no sense at all to the outer, but my inner world lit up in catharsis while I was sat in total bliss and sunshine... much needed after the past few solemn weeks tending to my most lonely, loud and low thoughts. Anyway... I was inspired, spooked, and compelled to write this. How amazing it is to find someone’s work and have it completely obliterate the concept of time. We are all more connected than we think.

 
 
 

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