Writings of a Phobophobe.
Stashed away,
Like an old toy in the attic —
A forgotten classic;
An all-time favourite.
We learnt life without it,
When life got in the way.
It’s time for a shift!
They got into the attic,
Found this dusty toy,
Unrecognisable from it once was —
An embarrassing reality,
Yet a precious memory.
As if diving into the sea
While a fighter jet flew by with uncertainties.
As if the conductor raised his hand
And the orchestra of worries halted.
He seemed to be her sense of peace,
Calming to the point she could hear her heart racing —
Unsure if it’s from the anxious thoughts.
Or the sheer presence of him.
Amidst scents of flowers,
He was greenery.
Sunday afternoons
Love was the best scenery.
Scattered mass;
Glorious mess.
Towering strongholds —
The only grasp of reality.
There’d be bad times.
There’d be good times;
There’d be some after your dime;
There’d be ones that last a lifetime.
You’ve forgotten how to love.
You’ve forgotten your own worth.
Suppressing your needs for another,
At her beck and call.
Money, time and pride
You gave it all.
The beauty of love,
Is that it is mutual.
I’d show you,
If you’d love anew.
Life without a dime,
Deemed society’s crime.
You’ll be a mere mime,
In a race against time.
When I buy,
I don’t quite want it.
When I comply,
I don’t quite agree with it.
When I try,
I don’t quite fit in.
When I cry,
I don’t quite feel it.
When I lie,
I don’t want you to believe it.
When I bid goodbye,
I don’t want you to take it.
A nostalgic scent
Of unwanted feelings and crying eyes;
Of unfulfilled dreams and hunger to succeed;
Of unfated soulmates and lingering touches;
Of unwritten poems and stashed thoughts.
The smell of haze
And a hazy future are synonyms.
A reminder of we’ve come far,
But not quite far enough.
Run away
From the world you loved,
They never understood your ways.
Fade away
From those dreams you had,
They won’t take off anyway.
killgwen 