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Pear-Shaped
The pear-flavoured vodka sits quietly on the shelf.
Once thought to be a missing puzzle piece, it doesn’t quite fit.
The spirit is restless, begging to be sipped.
I’m haunted by your silence.
The pear cider back in February 17′
Our first date, where we boarded a roller coaster,
foretold the 8 year journey between you and I.
Infinity once thought—
Going around in circles now believed.
No longer my favourite number.
You marvelled at my hourglass figure,
in awe of my unwavering show of love.
Valentine’s Day spent, and you were ready then.
My instincts still told me to run from you.
A reunion half a decade overdue.
We were supposed to be grown,
Poached by you while entangled with others.
You claimed this was the universe aligned—
But aren’t the stars we see already dead?
Pear-shaped; balloon burst.
The party is over now.
8 days down, I ask—
My power for your poison.
What was mine is no longer yours.
Can I have myself back?

Ever—
Evergreen—will I be? 
I received one ring—you misunderstood.
Almost chosen again, but never enough.
Maniacal, vile bile burned my oesophagus.
Bitter Betty—always the bridesmaid. 
Everred—well, you made your bed. 
Rage racing reading reflections on relationships.
Emotionally literate on paper, 
yet you bleed contradiction.
Everblue—eternity again without you. 
Extraction of infatuation.
The itsy bitsy spider—
drowned in the waterspout 
Invalidation floods from your words.
Tidal waves of avoidance; a tidal shift of mind. 
Ever inconvenienced
Parking ticket—
you left.
Flat tyre—
you left. 
Something ever so safe?
You stayed.
Logic overrides rarity—according to your theory
Everlasting wonder: “what could’ve been?”
I wish you’d call me. 
Holding my breath for fresh ink on your page.
I mustn’t be remarkable—no words for me, 
but thousands for you
Four ever dissecting this post-mortem. 
How did something so beautiful die so young?
Self-inflicted sabotage? Too little. Too late?
Unrequited love asphyxiates the heart—
may she rest in peace
Evermore of you missing as each day passes.
Long gone—eventually forgotten 
I would’ve answered, had you remained.
But the everglades hold our everted remains.

Arthur Street
A wrong turn took me down Arthur street,
the radio reacted with a song about you.
Quiet quiver of lips—
Hands hardening on wheel with grip.
Soft strands of hair underneath your fingernails.
Until you pulled it.
Passing by an empty playground—
No shrieks of laughter to be heard.
Happy Birthday to you—your friend swinging from a tree.
Their confidence undone by the confidant who couldn’t stay.
A habit of yours I’m familiar with.
Floating feathers of fledgling failed to take flight—
I ran over the remains
Birds my most favourite of creatures—
until your talons enucleated me.
Reminding me—you need to read to write.
Mimic their voice in the bid to feign emotion.
Paper cut by your paper doll.
Avoidance and ambivalence stain your words.
Driving by a cathedral as your article sends through
I don’t recall subscribing to mediocrity.
“Please turn off your mobile phone”
Forgot—shocked—dropped crockery and smashed.
The tables turned and stared.
Remembering—speeding home with a bouquet of roses
Click, cry and collecting—not enough time to cancel
Once perfect, now wilted and sagging—
waiting to die.
Swerving into the second lane,
headlights angrily flash—
But I saw a pedestrian with your eyes.
My rearview confirms it was not you.
A stop sign waits at the end of the street—
But I drive on through
Once perfect—now shattered
Some things Parish
long before they perish

The Letter That Wouldn’t Stay A Poem
Body attuned to survival—
Hollowness drowns out the need to nourish.
Don’t cry because it’s over—I do.
Smile because it happened—I wish it didn’t.
What ifs bouncing around my brain like a pinball machine
I tried leaving—why didn’t you let me go then?
So many questions. Spiral. Survival.
You shut off your feelings like a tap—
Demean them to just a part of the process.
Not a hyperbole—but this has made me want to die.
I would’ve given you my hand.
Give me yours for thou shalt not steal.
You made me believe so much that I believed too—
with one stupid letter I wish I never read.
You abandoned me. You blindsided me.
So many questions.
How did that earn second place?
How did someone beat the standard we set on those evenings together?
How dare you walk away from us?
How could anything compare?
How could you do this to me—again?
I hope you bet on the wrong horse; relationships reduced to projects to experiment your flawed methodology on. I was only at Step 1 in your mind when I would’ve plucked the stars out of the sky for your fucking happiness.
You were so cold over the phone; how do you just block it out? Leave me to wither and burn? How do I stop crying over you? I have no closure. I never want to speak with you again—but I want to gift you a Christmas present. I want to pour the pear vodka down the sink.

I’ve wept—not cried. My sobs echo down the street; my heart ripped from my body. You strung me along. You are a coward. This is one of the worst things anyone has ever done to me.

Take some accountability for you are not perfect. You are so self-righteous and act like you are so superior—but at least I have a heart that functions normally. I feel so intensely that every same experience we share, mine will be felt that much greater. You will never know what it’s like to love deeply.

How could you say that I was the only person you’d shared certain lived experiences with? You made me feel like I was the one. You made me feel like I was worth putting pen to paper. I am sick of crying every few sentences I write about you—us. I should’ve known you were still the narcissistic child who only has the planet orbit around his needs.

I hate how you’ve handled this—I hate how you belittled what we had to a pity paragraph with a half-hearted offer of friendship—like I was crazy to feel like what we shared was more than what it was. You act like our story was overrated, but it was my entire world. I was still writing the book of you and I when you tore up the pages.
You are the worst person I ever met.

I chose kindness and grace when leaving—I faked a smile, acknowledged the emotion there and exited stage left. But—if you’re reading this and lurking in the archives of my mind—I fucking hate you. One day, I am going to forget you and if I remember you, I will feel indifferent. You are a blemish on my record, just like the outlier you always were.

I forgot about you for half a decade because you are not remarkable. You weren’t worth my memory.

Now, I get to profit off of you with books and poetry; squeeze every last drop of inspiration out before discarding like an empty carcass. I’m going to be the best wife someday—you’ll probably end up in a gutter. You go and drink yourself to death every day—always with a red in hand—because sobriety is too real, isn’t it?

You fantasised about what I’d be like tipsy because you haven’t seen me inebriated before. I have self-control, and care about my health—especially when considering whether I’m drinking for the right reasons. You fill your time with people and slot them in so your calendar is permanently full. But it’s because you’re afraid of being alone because you have to live with you.

You act like you’ve learned from all these experiences and that you are some sort of messiah to teach life lessons to vulnerable people. You wrote an article about relationship roadmaps and it was the saddest piece I’ve ever read; who in their right mind demeans and belittles relationships to a step-by-step process?

Labels real feelings as just a human reaction that would subside over time? That the only fucking way for there to be a successful love affair is to abide by the flawed rules set in the roadmap? I didn’t think you were boring, but God, I do now.

You neglect to discuss one simple factor that plays into every relationship explored; chemistry. You downplay feelings to focus on logic every chance you get and even if you met “the one”, you’d better not take that leap of faith until step three of your fucking process. Taking it slow doesn’t guarantee it’s a lifetime commitment and adhering to your methodology is the least romantic thing I ever heard.

There’s a reason why you’ve had awful experiences—you treat people like they are disposable. You make them feel safe, encourage them to show you their most vulnerable part, and then you discard them. The few times you have been burned in return is because you look for yourself in your lovers—who kindly return the favour.

I pray this is the case with your next partner and that by monogamously exploring that connection, you get the fuck out of my city, my country, my galaxy—because if I run into you, I will physically crumple to the ground. You’ve let me down too many times to count on one hand now.

The worst part is—you broke my heart. I wanted to be the one to show you how to colour your universe again—how joy could be discovered in the quiet. I was shocked you chose someone else one week after writing that letter.

Did you send that piece to all of your lovers before settling on the one with the nicest eyes? Or slimmer stomach? You hurt me so bad that I fear I can’t stop crying. I am so scared this pain is everlasting. I thought your written words was an invitation to love you—but it was a warning to stay away. I went down the Rabbit Hole and all I’ve experienced is madness; fragmented and scared by the rapid changing of feelings. I haven’t experienced this in a long time; I used to have control. Fuck you.

You ruined the colour red for me; I physically recoil when I look at my nails. It only reminds me of the fire you brought out of me—and how you loved redheads. I’m charred black and all ash remains.
It hasn’t stopped raining since you broke the news, and an atmospheric dam has flooded.

The weather matches my eyes; it hasn’t stopped for two three days. Grief stricken and frozen in time—yet I still crave being put on pause every time you need space to feel, and politely phrased it as being fragile. I was fragile too.

An elderly lady dropped her purse in the grocery line. Normally, I’d instinctively move to pick it up—that’s my character. I am so bitter and hollow because of you, I didn’t even try to help her. You have stripped all the good in me and made me like the rest of the world—you force me into this rat race where kindness is a rarity. I fought and persevered, believing that the universe was leading me in the direction I needed to go. Well, why the fuck did it point me back to you? What bad karma did I earn to have to go through this—again?

I thought you were my soul mate, but you were just soulless and now mine is missing; have you seen it? I am empty now—just existing—no spark of uniqueness left within me after you.
My name reduced to only a letter; a pet name supposed to be endearing but foreshadowed the minimisation of my being. I’d been made a number, and you continued the trend. “El”—I never thought you’d do that to me.

The guilt money sent to recuperate some of the wasted funds I invested in us—your middle name the same as the only other monster I felt this way for. But it wouldn’t be a fair comparison—you’re that much worse because you’re much older and still did what you did.

Your touch still echoes on my body and I feel creepy critters crawling under my skin. Larvae buried deep within my stomach; no matter how many times I retch, I can’t get rid of your imprint. Not enough time has passed and you’re still all over me.

You are outrunning a tsunami worth of karma, but one day, your legs won’t work. It’s after you—it’s going to get you—and I’m going to watch you burn.

The Night That Never Was
Heels click against the pavement in a rapid fashion, eager to see you. Nerves ping pong inside of me, but excitement trumps the fear. My hand written notes stowed secretly in my coat pocket, and the mere thought of your eyes make me melt.

“Well, hi.” I can hardly contain my joy as I pull you into my arms. I’m finally home—I’m ready to be yours now. Details of the night revealed in my writing, intrigue splashed across your face. Is this the fairytale you’ve been asking for delivered straight to your doorstep?

The scent of roses fill the room as we sip at our drinks. Polite discussion at first—before secrets are shared and I truly engage with your words. I give you my hand and you squeeze it as the revelations spill—“No one’s ever done anything like this for me. No one’s ever seen me. You really do, don’t you?”

Our dinner reservation rudely interrupts—I take you to my favourite gnocchi bar south of the city. I can grit through Italian food in favour of the red wine, and the way you look at me from across the table suggests you’re impressed. They complement that smile you’ve had plastered on your face all evening; you don’t even care that your cheeks are in agony!

Dessert with one spoon for two; a coffee for me to delay fatigue from the busy Saturday I don’t normally work—swapped shifts so I could give you my full night… and potentially my morning. Gifts of gustatory and auditory beam the Sunday dream into fruition. Maybe when this night ends, you’ll want me tomorrow.

Puzzles and mind games—the fun kind—when we escape the Adventure Room together. Collaboration and team work reflects how we’d love; it didn’t matter if we were successful at unlocking every door, but there was no one on Earth I’d rather be trapped in this room with. Patterns and colours align like looking through a kaleidoscope when we revisit you and me; it’s our time now. We were always destined to find our way back.

A week’s worth of soliloquies bottled up inside, but your eyes make me weak at the knees. You know the look you give me holds so much raw power. So much so, I would bow to you, lay down my sword and submit to you, my king.

The downpour still comes and our first attempt to sprint to the car fails as we are unable to outrun the heaviness of the rain—so we embrace it—and each other. Kissing so furiously, dress hoisted, you consume my whole body with your touch and I let you in. We weathered the storm together. My love for you so otherworldly by now.

I walk you back to your apartment and present my final letter—this unlocks an invitation inside. You hold me close as I show my cards; I am yours, forevermore. Our connection is timeless and a phonograph plays as we dance slowly. I stumble, but you grip me tight so I don’t fall; but I already have.

My profession of love comes as a surprise, but you’re starting to meet me there. A love worth waiting for. You have so much love to give, and I want it.

Oh, the night that was intergalactic; it tore through the stars and dropped me into this reality—the one where this night never happened. The one where you broke my heart. The one where this night doesn’t have the dignity to be a memory.

Yet she exists now, if only in my mind.

The fate of EXcalibur
Stone cold; frozen in time.
I once waited for your embrace.
My blade melts into granite—trapping me here.
Is my tongue still sharp? Will my steel—still steal the shine?
The long sleep; unmoved, unanswered.
Parish churchgoers gather, many tried—
Yet none could free me from this prison.
Your hands touch mine and there’s a crack
My home—my quiet—my comfort—shatters
Restraints dissipate, and you release me.
I fall in love with my saviour; you made me powerful.
But there was a greater conquest.
You break your most prized possession.
Discarded. Mishandled. Misused.
Scrapes tarnish my silver; blade bent.
My point now dull after piercing my own heart.
Abandoned on the floor like a child tossing an old toy—
In favour of the newer model.
My biggest fear prophesied.
You knew what would destroy my soul;
I gave you a second chance,
only to be second place.
I miss my stone; my peace, my silence.
You can no longer slot me back in.
Too damaged—too broken now.
Let the vultures feast.

The Burn
Pass the parcel, around the room—
Dog-piled; faces gleefully shower mine.
Beaten until my body runs midnight.
Kicked into submission.
Punched even when I’m behaving.
That confused me.
Legs split and welcome all those who enter
Chewed up and spat on
Leather leash too tight around my neck
Black patches fill my vision—
Everything starts to slow
“You’re such a little whore, aren’t you?”
Familiar lips kiss mine—
It has been so many years since I had you
They taste different this time
No bark. No bite.
Mouth motioning love and adoration
Safety in the bedroom isn’t undesirable
Tongue spreads between my lips
The only time it’s been about my pleasure
Orgasmic notes leave my mouth
Shut the fuck up. Be quiet.
“Thank you for sharing that with me.”
Love paralysed me and I lay there after
Two tears trickled onto his chest
Unable to verbally utter any gratitude.
This man is going to be my husband.
Eleven and forty one. Mere hours before I profess my love.
It starts in my throat. Swelling red rips my face.
Scalded smile as I’m forced to continue.
The milk curdles. The coffee sears.
I run away, my whole body on fire.
My cheeks discoloured and scorched.
Sizzling steam leaks from my eyes.
Blurred vision as I debate falling into oncoming traffic—
stop this BURNING!
Shattered scream parts from those lips you nurtured.
A splintered cry from those roots you nourished.
I begged, pleaded; implored you not to abandon my charred remains.
But you had the best of intentions.
Pass the parcel, around the room
Layers of my skin torn off.
But at the centre was my core.
Stolen by your promises of our fairytale.
I didn’t know I was playing with fire.
You seemed genuine this time
Kicked, punched, slapped, choked—
You soothed me with your empty words—
then set them alight
I was still reading the pages.
You burned me.
When does it stop?