Pictures

Pictures

The following is just a quick little poem dedicated to my partner, Si. I am reaping the benefits of his secret photography during our time apart.   He likes to take pictures. He has one of those Fancy cameras With the lenses You can take on and off. He takes pictures When people aren’t looking All people, Strangers and friends alike. Rarely, they catch him, And he looks away. I take pictures Of him taking pictures All of it, In secret. I show him later Or not at all, Keeping the memories for myself, Like the faces he makes When he thinks no one’s watching. He takes pictures Of me, sometimes, When I ask him to, Like when we travel. I used to hide from the lens But now I try to see myself Through his eyes. He makes albums Of his pictures, His people-watching...

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Brits vs Americans

Brits vs Americans

Wherein Tasha, the lovely adorable Brit from Hampshire, and I discuss the differences between British and American culture. Hilarity ensues. Tasha f: Urbex Attic ig: @urbexattic t: @NtElizabeth CiCi About Me f: Reagan Eyes ig: @cicireagan t:...

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Mommah

Mommah

Merry christmas, mommah. I don’t know How I’ve come this far Without you. Some might say It’s a tribute To my strength But I’m not so sure. More than anything, I think It’s a tribute to yours. I have an unwillingness To admit defeat Because of you. Because of What you taught me. Taught us. I’m willing to put aside My fear of failure For the possibility Of success. We all thought You had so much longer, So much more time On this earth. We were wrong. I am angry, I am still so angry, Because of what the world lost When you left it. I remember saying goodbye To you, When I walked in your bedroom, And saw your small face, Your frail body, Under that white sheet. I remember the moment That the anticipation ended And I was forced to accept That you were gone. I...

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Belonging

Belonging

Wrapped up In your jacket, Inhaling Memories. It’s intoxicating, Reminding me Of our three weeks Of bliss. Wish you were here. It’s heaven And hell- Devoted, Infatuated, Separated. I drive, Chasing the moon, To feel closer to you, Knowing it’s the same In the sky Over England. If I close my eyes You could almost be here, Whispering, Ever so softly, That you love me. I grew accustomed To your presence- Holding your hand, And the joy I felt In making you laugh. Home is no longer Where I lay my head. It’s not the lake I love so dearly Or writing my mother’s name In the sand At the beach. Home Is my head on your chest, Wrapped up in you. It’s the sound Of your voice. And walking away In that godforsaken airport Was agony. There is a hole In my heart now- Having left...

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Mind the Gap

Mind the Gap

Twisting And turning And man-spreading. Women With bags And crossed ankles And a dozen rings. Lights flickering And scooters And stained fabric From the hundred asses That came before yours. Stale air Punctuated With too much cologne On businessmen Wearing dead animals On their feet. Raucous laughter of youth Disturbing quiet patrons, Sweaty and tired. Designer handbags And hair all a mess. Too much make-up And too-tight dresses And old men Who can’t avert their eyes. Accents And languages And pockmarked faces Awash in florescent lighting And the stares of strangers With nothing better to look at. In the darkness Of the tunnels It could be any hour. The LCD glow Of phone screens Illuminate faces When the lights Unexpectedly dim. But even still, We’re surrounded...

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