Words for Tokyo

I can’t build a tower for you.
I cannot scrape my name into your sky
with architectured letters,
bold and wide.
That doesn’t mean I don’t feel high
like you must always do.

I can’t say when I’ll be back here.
I cannot write your soul into my life
forever. Perhaps it’s better
that I don’t.
That doesn’t mean I don’t find mine
has lost itself in you.

I can’t invent for you a switch.
I cannot turn you off at our goodbye
and pray you’ll stop without me,
wait for me.
That doesn’t mean that I won’t think
about you from back home.

I can’t believe you don’t have ears.
I cannot believe that you might not hear
this poem-lullaby
I sing you.
That doesn’t mean that I don’t think
you’ve heard it all before.


My Vocabulary is Lacking [w.i.p.]

Wet of eye,
blessed by some distant moonlight,
I write:

“I don’t know,”
I sigh,
“It’s just that
it feels that
no-one ever
could have felt the
same way as
those words that
I write
where is the word,
to dignify
the feeling?
The one that
I write of,
and revisit?
No one word
has tasted the tongues,
here I am
with several.”


I no longer want to be that girl.

The one to waltz another person’s whirl.

The one who sits on mountaintops,
but at a word –

I no longer want to be that girl.

The one whose dreams in others’ hands unfurl.

The one who traded in her mind
to leave nobody else behind,
but –

I no longer want to be that girl.

The one whose love the boys wear strung as pearls.

The one whose heart,
not polished up,
has now just ruptured –
ruptured up, and

I no longer for them am that girl.


Future Love

Future Love,
I see you there:
your hands on mine,
your pulled-back hair.

Future Love,
you’ve yet no face.
From where you come,
an unknown place.

Future Love,
I see in you
all of the things
I feel I’m due.

Future Love,
your words are fair,
your heart is strong,
your love is rare.

Future Love,
I heard a song
that made me make
you come along.

Future Love,
the night we meet,
I’ll play it you.
We’ll stamp our feet,

Future Love,
to celebrate
the fact no more
must we both wait.


When was it I got to be
my own self’s own worst enemy?

When was it that I became
myself unable to make tame?

When did I start to believe
more in my demons than in me?

When did I start to feel shame
for that which I am not to blame?

When should I start to look past
the things that I cannot recast?

When should I start to feel peace
that in my present roam no beasts?

When can I myself unmask
as free of pain, as free from farce?

When can I myself release
from this dark place myself I keep?

When that day comes to myself swear:
never again I’ll come back here.

Alien Kin

My “so soft” skin
is alien kin,
while earthlings
keep you grounded.

My eyes are tinged
with Saturn’s rings.
Your fear of me’s

And don’t they say
that Space is made
up mainly of
dark matter?

And is that
what’s the matter
with me?

And is it only
Einsteins know
the comfort
creatures like me sow?

I thought you knew what comfort I could be.

Baby, I thought you knew what comfort I could be.

Sayonara [*middle finger emoji*]

These aren’t words I write with:
they’re smoke and dust from a page
that’s a furnace.

Sit and burn it;
all the shit that makes me tick,
I made into a fire.

Burn the wick –
the one that’s made from scorn and rage and

It’s gone away,
what could’ve been words, and made to stay,
cos smoke unfogs and dust unclogs

and now I’m feeling fresher.
You have been cast to Never-Ever,
and there you’ll live forever.