September Poetry Slam

messy thoughts

Portable Network Graphics image-5E522D57AD9E-1


September is the collision of old and new. Of summer ending and a new year in school beginning. Indian summer wears on for some and the air gets abruptly crisp out of no where. Doodling when we get distracted or writing memos on our wrists or back of our hands. It’s a time when you can forget and remember.

You enter a basement door thats propped up on the side of the street. You double take, check the address and make sure it’s the right place. It is. You descend down dimly lit steps into a room that feels like red velvet. Glowing ruby lights and plush couches rimming the walls. Whiskey and jasmine tea are both being served in an assortment of antique tea cups. Some are straightening up pieces of paper and other have dog eared journals. The first person enters the heart center of the room and takes a breath.

JPEG image-48C0B161A04E-1

I didn’t think it was possible to be this tangled,

Twisted by torsion force to the point where I’m just about to collapse,

And my strings might break under your distressing torque.

Yet we are not intertwined,

And we might never overlap.

This frenzied last ditch attempt becomes a side effect of falling in love with everyone you meet.

You’d have to be as stupid as me to not read the fine print on the side of the bottle,

Before watching someone else swallow you whole,

The rattling of that plastic is loud enough for me not to hear rationality.

I am trying to keep myself tied down.

I don’t want to jump and risk it.

I couldn’t stand to drown hating you.

So thank you for holding me underwater,

Because I couldn’t bear the thought that you’d want to hold me where we can breathe.



JPEG image-95BDB32D3247-1As I sit and ponder in front of a lit fire; ferocious flames and fierce moments of absolute ignition reoccur over and over again. I wildly delve deeper into the mysteriously guided illustrations provoked by the fire itself and a series of pure communication between my soul and the fiercely lit fire.

I inhale the deep ashy, slightly musky scent through my hungry, willing senses  and feel myself truly rise into a state of peaceful, warm solitude.

Allowing myself the pleasurable  feeling of being present and soaking up the complex fulfilment within the scorching fire.

I envision any negativity feeding through my body slowly venturing out into the wispy, desperate hollows  of the flames. At this moment I feel immense power over me, my thoughts and my envisioned surroundings. A total and utter state of positive mindfulness


JPEG image-79B5A120DFD8-1

The light! Watch how it dances.

The result of a fabricated magic

upon youthful skin.

Oh such a carefree life.

But wait. Wait for what?

No more than that which awaits you

you youthful thing.

Oh such perilous strife.


Words thought out but never shared,

sheets that need to be aired.

If ever I am to feel at ease.

The covers must be stripped

hung out to air.


Remember! Whatever is there to remember?

Perhaps the silver screen idols,

With all their feminine charm.

Or young lips pressed against the neck of another.

No harm! Of course no harm.

If only it remains suppressed.

And yet, I suppose,

I must confess.

JPEG image-69E243C84E16-1.jpeg

I might have melted, if I’d stayed there any longer

My eyes were shut, but red remained behind closed lids

Sweat gleamed on my temples and my lungs filled with warm air

I wasn’t bothered by it, I welcomed it


I used to think I was like the moon

Freezing with powerful energy

Dark with consuming thoughts

Until I felt the sun’s ever consuming beams fall upon my pale skin


The tingling at my fingertips ceased,

Only to be replaced by a blazing embrace

No longer did the sun shine on me,

For I became the sun


Burning with bright desire

Flaming with fiery passion

I was an eternal star of fury, light and fire

Giving life and loving freely


It wasn’t until I felt the wind that I realized I was everything


This cool air blew in my hair and filled my lungs

This flowing water ran through my veins and over my skin

These brilliant galaxies were in my eyes and in my mind

These pulsing forests grew under my feet and on my body


The sun, the moon, the clouds, the stars

I was all of it

I was the world.



JPEG image-0DD50E519C5C-1

An inkling: Friday 2:00pm

Each day continues in a sugar-coated fashion. I’m sick of portraying myself as someone who is loveable. I want space.


Denial: Saturday 10:00pm

Koko, Cass, Sabrina and I are dancing.

Twirling and moving and dipping and falling.

Whirling and panting and laughing and looking.

All glitter and sequins and swinging skirts.

The waning moons light illuminates each of us as we move around the oblivious adults.

Stealing drinks, balloons, and crumbs of cake.

Snatching, and climbing things we shouldn’t.

He tries to talk to me but can’t make it past my twirls and whirls.

Then the band begins and we join old hippies, young children in tutus and manic middle aged women.

Slowly everyone comes together.

Everyone begins to sway as one.

The band begins to play faster and faster.

Saxophone screaming. Guitar at full bass.

The movement of the crowd gains momentum.

Bodies move past boundaries and limits.

Energy soaring and colliding.

Quicker and faster.

But then twirls become tumbles and whirls become whiplash.

And everyone falls down.

But we remain twirling and whirling.

Until he pulls me aside and I can’t ignore him any longer.

He breaks things off and leaves me standing still.


Reflection: Sunday 4:00pm

I am remembering a pounding dark night.

Things blur around me.
Lights, faces, kookaburras, balloons.

I hear a cackle of Germans and a roaring car.

I remember feeling glad to be outside of my four walls.

The air feels charged and crowded.

He was like a warm fireplace for the soul.

Flickering in and out.



But I remember wishing I was mid-dive under a wave.
Washing him off me.

Washing off the smoke and loneliness that clung to him.

He was wacky and wonderful.

Troubled and troubling.

But I came to love him.

Along with the moonbows, dark nights and sleepy eyes.

Along with the sound of skateboards on gravel, bones cracking in a mosh pit, scratching of pens on important paper, deep sighs of students, sneakers pounding on pavement, high pitched shouts intended as whispers, the hesitant opening of a sliding door, the sound of an early morning shower in a bathroom that’s not your own

I didn’t love him.

But now I do. And now he’s left.  

I’ve learnt that we are not the hands we hold.


Heartbreak Medicine: Sunday 1:00am. I have tried:

  1. Soaking in a bath of lavender. Allowing the steam to open my pores and for emotion to pour out.
  2. A chocolatey drink lovingly prepared by my Mother, I can taste cacao powder, honey, almond milk, coconut sugar and tears.
  3. Calling a friend. She’s been there. All she offers is the bleak, unhelpful line: “Once you care you’re fucked.” More tears come. I let them pass.
  4. Cuddling my dog and eating some gingernut ice cream. I’m reverting to cliches now in hope of comfort, but instead my dog farts and my ice cream melts.
  5. Staring at a globe of rose quartz, hoping for a spiritual awakening. Or at least a pause from this chesty ache.
  6. The affirmation “my love for myself is all I will ever need.” Bullshit.
  7. Distractions. Scrolling through instagram, counting the leaks in my roof, drinking a litre of water.
  8. Getting over myself and opening my bio textbook, from which an old forgotten note falls out of and sends me back to my bed.
  9. Twiddling my thumbs.
  10. Being at peace with the fact that nothing lasts forever. Including being alone.


See you next month for another Messy Poetry Slam! Submit your poems to

JPEG image-69E243C84E16-1.jpeg


  1. Virginia Lone says

    Hey guys! Please read my latest email about the credit mistake on my poem! My name is Virginia and the name on my poem entitled, “How it Felt to Be the World” is incorrect ! Thanks in advance 🙂

  2. Anonymous says

    The talent of the girls that have written these is truly amazing. Takes me to another world x

  3. Phyllis says

    I loved Train Rides To Forgotten Places by Jamison so much I stuck a copy in my art journal!🐆

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *