I wrote this when I was 15 years old, after spending an hour alone in the bush.
The silence of aloneness, the sound of desertedness
Nothing but emptiness, a fear of nothingness
All around quietness, only a stillness
Maybe it's loneliness, it could just be peacefulness
I'm such a nerd.
Thursday, 7 February 2008
A break from the usual stuff
This is just a piece I found today that I wrote when I was 16 about my boyfriend at the time.
He's not very big, a little taller than me, but there's no mistaking his size for frailty. He's ahtletic and seems to glide effortlessly from sport to sport and skill to skill like he was born to do each one. But he walks like a criminal. Head down, eyes lowered, like it's important that no one recognise his face. He takes huge strides, moves quickly. He wears a white cap pulled low, close to his eyes. It has dirty smudges from the same repetitive hand action that keeps it on, and him incognito. But somewhere in there are dependable soft lips, gates to his soft heart.
He's not very big, a little taller than me, but there's no mistaking his size for frailty. He's ahtletic and seems to glide effortlessly from sport to sport and skill to skill like he was born to do each one. But he walks like a criminal. Head down, eyes lowered, like it's important that no one recognise his face. He takes huge strides, moves quickly. He wears a white cap pulled low, close to his eyes. It has dirty smudges from the same repetitive hand action that keeps it on, and him incognito. But somewhere in there are dependable soft lips, gates to his soft heart.
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