The Tide of You ​I don’t know how to tell you The way I feel inside, With memories grown translucent now, Like shells beneath the tide. They blur and break and drift away, My pride a wounded guide, As if the mind seeks shelter In the things it tries to hide. ​I walk beneath the…

Being his mum is walking a hard road,a road of long nights, tight fists, and quiet tears,of picking up the shattered pieces he leaves behind.It is fierce love wrapped in frustration,harbor and storm in equal measure,saying no a thousand times while hoping he hears it once.It is holding him to the line,even when it tears…

by MissT In memory’s quiet corridors, where tender echoes dwell,I see the blue of John’s kind eyes, an ancient, tranquil spell.Strawberry-blonde, that piercing gaze a warmth time can’t conceal,Though buried deep within the past, such kindness still I feel.Through oceans crossed for others’ sake, through love that went unearned,I stand unbroken, still I give, though…

Let the broken bitch go.She did her job.She bent. She swallowed. She stayed when leaving would’ve cost too much.She made herself smaller so others could feel taller.She carried shame that was never hers and called it loyalty.She kept you alive.That was the assignment.She completed it.But she doesn’t run the house anymore.You don’t need her flinching.You…

I reached for the curtain. Sunlight flared, white and sudden, flooding the room. I blinked.Then I froze.She stood where she always did. Red coat. Green dungarees. Blonde hair loose, ungoverned, as if the world had never taught it to behave. Leaves lifted and spun around her, reckless and bright against the sky.My sister.I did not…

Last apples dance upon the wind,Grass blades lean and brush aside.The mountain stands, austere and still,Where land meets winter’s ebbing tide.Bare trees reach up, their leaves long goneGhosts of motion, cold and freeSpinning whispers through the air,As if the world has paused to see.Lights flicker on in distant bays,Murmuring tales of former days:Painted walls and…

by MissT Christmas in the 80’s Christmas, childhood—toys, delight,family sagas, sibling fights,theatrical but always magical,loud and loving, slightly farcical.The party piece, the piano show,cousins beaming, stuffed with Rolos slow.The turkey carved, the gravy ran,my gran began her yearly plan:I may not be here next year, dearI thought: I can’t. I wouldn’t hear.Mortality near the mint…

by MissT She is not fragile, though she has cracked in places. She laughs where it hurts, uses humour like duct tape on old wounds never properly stitched. She loves too hard— falls for potential, not proof. Mothers the wounded. Calls it loyalty when it is hope that refuses to die. She knows better. She…

Getting Older MissT Getting older, getting wiser,Life’s a blur, my eyes can’t see,The small print feels like witchcraft now,And predictive text hates me. The telly’s got more channelsThan I can blink and play,My phone rings, then my watch kicks off,And somehow I’m on a three-way. The stairs present a challenge,Going down’s as bad as up,My…

MissT I laugh too loud to drown the hum beneath,call it charm though it masks my grief.Each jest a ward, each quip a prayer,to keep my shadows unaware. Sarcasm drapes me in mourning lace,a jesting veil across my face.It hides the ghosts that stir within,the cracked cathedral of my skin. It is a castle wall…