I’m highly over-performant in my distress 

I’ve known running for fear of facing shortcoming 

Producing perfectly, always hiding my stress. 

Until I shattered and crashed in superstar ways 

Persona imploding like a supernova 

A crushing emptiness began haunting my days.  

My titan-like presence, talented youth brought low 

No longer lauded, neither was I applauded 

Yet I found something inside me that can still glow. 

I turn eyes away from yesterday’s superstar 

To peer deep at who I am under all the glam 

And find that who I am has since come very far.  

Given chance, I’d glut myself on your attention

Hungering for how we converse free of tension

This is not missing you: this is starving for you.

Your company is delicious to me anew

I rate it three stars, it’s Michelin quality

But the portions of you that I get are tiny

I am never replete.

Don’t shame my appetite; I crave voraciously

I rarely complain about your lack of plenty

So my rumbling empty ought not deserve disdain.

I’ll learn to savour you – my palate, I will train

I know well that I mustn’t consume you with haste

As you’re not filling, although delightful to taste

You’re a treat, not a meal.

There’s a strange aftertaste when I try you too fast

Salty tears and the bitterness of our shared past

Could this flavour be that which is called decadence

Or am I wrong in how I enjoy your presence?

Togetherness is a recipe hard to make

I’ve erred in its creation and would instead bake

Poison or addiction.

Pungent and repellant, a horror to ingest

I’ll admit you’re better for me sampled, if pressed

It sickens, ample plates of such rich emotion

So I hold on my tongue my words of devotion

Enjoy feeling the flavours burst like a fine wine

And learn to feed into poem, stanza and line

The taste that has this love.

Given sunlight, still I have not flourished 

Missing now that I should but feel nourished 

Making naught that’s worthy being cherished

Save inner work that’s never been renowned.

Frequent falling short awaited greatness 

Brilliance manifests itself with slowness 

Watchers feel dismay, they see no progress

Because it’s with much patience fruits abound.

Orchid sowing, dandelion growing 

Means that soil was incorrect for toiling. 

Often life is effort unrewarding 

Savants unrecognized are all around. 

Blossom beautifully, genius can do 

Should it have the nurture life will give few 

Where my buds were cut begins to accrue 

I’m wreathed, lush, and grow in words profound. 

Water sacred ink through root-like hands mine 

Curl then letters, verses, sweetest rhymed line 

Leaf of paper filled by quiet moon’s shine 

Devotion can release what fear kept bound. 

Felled trees quake their forests with their powers 

Seen or secret, bloom the nighttime flowers 

All potential grows when fed enough hours: 

But minds, like gardens, thrive best in good ground.

now, to me, you live in snapshots

of new furniture and haircuts

but you grow in my memories

like your latest vegetable plots.

inside of your heart, oh inside

there is, you are, what I perceive

as my most unfamiliar home.

how much you must have altered…

yet how much have you truly changed?

You asked if I feel free as a bird.

Frankly, I found the question absurd

I take flight not for joy of leaving

But through instinct, the push to survive

I’m skittish; it’s what keeps me alive.

I truly don’t want to want to leave

But I’m too prey to receive reprieve.

See, I feel edible as a bird

I am plucked by and plucked from my nest

Call me chicken if you think it best.

I am here for observation

Not to watch, but to be surveyed

So, I don bold affectation

As distraction from where I’ve quailed.

I know my misdirection to be quite see-through

But if you can’t tell my wails are more fear than rage

I can perhaps imagine how you might construe

That you terrify me any less than this cage.

I can’t trust to you my weakness

As you’ve shown you don’t know the way

To treat me so I’ll show meekness

We’ve dominance battles each day.

You bring numbers, I act stubborn – you’ve got more might

You use force, I scream till hoarse – I’ll preserve my will

I’m waiting for you to de-escalate the fight

You want control, so show it – be the first to still.

You are placed in authority

But don’t know how to use power.

Meeting vulnerability,

You think it will fold or cower.

But one can’t command someone in pain to be well

And when cornered, may bite even the tamest beast.

Aggression is an ache a good healer can quell

This would not surprise a good healer in the least.

Yesterday, I dropped a cup – it shattered

Into less pieces than did the psyche

Of the main character of my new book.

Raised protagonist too, I’m not flattered

That folk called me strong where I proved spiky

Lauding thorns while, my blossoms, they forsook.

There’s an adage champions come from strife

A notion turmoil is what brings power

A belief buds aren’t dear to the briar

But I toiled so to bring petals to life

Pushed through snow and faced droughts just to flower

Only to be turned into barbed wire.

My castle boasts no balls, it’s made fortress

My story boasts no belle, she’s made beastly

This is not the tale I sought to relay

So, since I flourished to speak tenderness

And my tome’s plot is floriography

I find the heart to reclaim my bouquet.

Each protagonist exists to protect

That which is precious from what would cause pain

Thus, I weave daisy chains to guard my “no”

I pick up the blooms that people reject

Marvel alone at how soft they remain

Root in defiance… and let colours grow.

I’m undeniably sinking.

When water has entered a boat

When a vessel won’t stay afloat

There’s a hole in the ship to note

And good sense would have one seek to patch up the flaw.

I could almost believe such a harbinger true

But I built this barge and, in the plans that I drew,

I put no such gaps – yet I still checked through and through

And found my dinghy to be sound.

The problem, I think, lies therein:

I’m in a canoe, soaked to skin

And lost at sea, to my chagrin.

Your waves crest high as you ask me to check for leaks.

I am obviously full of misperception

I visibly need some healing intervention

I’m undeniably sinking, near perdition

But from within or from without?

In the end, a siege does not poor construction make.

Where I am, there’s paper – it’s the sole concession

I’m left to express who I am in depression

With my forcibly bound voice and my inkless hands.

What’s paper worth without a tale?

When all opportunities fail

I sit and fold origami.

Expecting that I’ll go unheard

I build nests, assign each a bird

Lacking words, I craft safe spaces.

But in my birdies, there’s a song

That draws to me a gleeful throng

Whom I show how to flap their wings.

I was taught to fear bearing fruit

Then nearly cut down at the root

Because I did not, yield, produce.

It’s like trees are deemed scrap paper if they can’t feed

As if being house to birds and the nests they need

Isn’t in and of itself an act of greatness.

I am art-blind: my uncoordinated hands

Flail inexpertly through space – I can’t illustrate

What is when I draw answers to your emotions

Through all my stacks of talentless finger paintings.

But you prove yourself tone-deaf to my art-blindness

As the words you counter-sing to my melodies

Respond without showing due care to what I said

Even though I know quite well that you hear my song.

At least we both possess a good sense of rhythm

Beyond lyrics, beyond shapes easily described

Actions prove themselves loud in the most vibrant way

And we begin together a dance we know well.

Now you listen to me, serenade me in key

I finally see you in full technicolor

And I can begin to paint you in kinder hues

While you strum notes that are no longer discordant.

You have shown yourself tone-deaf to my art-blindness

But as we’re familiar with the same form of dance

We set our emotions free instead to movement

Reconcile in gestures and speak our art through that.