..and they bottled the good the bad and the ugly

… And so he collected pain in small jars and labelled them the past, with a footnote for the future…

… And so she collected pain in small jars and labelled them the future with a footnote for the past…

… And when she appeared he knew within his core…

… And when he appeared she knew it was her call…

… And those jars of pain that belonged to another, they whispered, shouted, screamed and demanded take cover…

… Believing her to be the devil…

…he opened up their lids at the first hurdle and let their essence spill…

… But she was the angel sent to save him..

… And so in fear she tumbled, the jars fell smashed upon the floor…

… And now she drowns in his despair no hand reaching there…

… For he was the angel sent to save her…

… And now, alone, she wonders if he was the devil.

…and they collect pain in small jars upon a shelf…


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She just wants milkshake

My inner child,
really is a child
She likes
strawberry milkshake
and a straw to blow
Mr whippy on winter days,
blankies in summer,
penny for a guy
and a sky full of glitter.
She likes a
nursery rhyme and
cartoons from
days gone past.
She’d rather
then blow them,
make daisy chain
then earn them.
She likes giggling
and laughter
and nonsense
makes perfect sense.
She’s a real little girl.
She wants to hold
fingers not hands
and share kisses,
not plans.
She’s happier
watching skies
not motives,
she wants simple love
not complicated war,
open thoughts not
the bang of a door.
My inner child
is just a girl,
all innocence
and lost hope
she just wants to
Know love…
true love, fairytale
crap with true loves
kisses that heal
her every scar.

Karen Hayward © 2018

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