face in the mirror don’t seem any different
but the words fall off beat in each new limerick
cause there’s somethin inside tracing its eyes around lies,
not sure if it’s your hand or the devil in disguise
leading you up the staircase
each flight brings a new face
broken shards where the cards lay
words spoken not quite the same
and you’re not really sure of anything these days



it’s 3:13 pm
and i’ve forgotten who i am again
this always happens after midday
sense of self slowly slipping away
so now i’ve just got to sit and wait
and hope that tonight she isn’t late;
she’ll always reappear around sunset
especially if you’ve got poetry
and a cup of tea that isn’t cold
so don’t worry if you can’t find her now
because i promise she’s lost just as often as she’s found



you missed your connecting flight
to the next life
too busy staring into the pond
of everything that’s come and gone



too scared to say yes or no
because i feel different today than the day before
and i don’t know how i’ll feel when tomorrow comes
or in the future years weeks and months
can only ever know how i feel in this moment
don’t ask me bout the future cause baby, i’m not old yet
and i don’t know who i wanna be when i’m 33
barely know who i wanna be by the time i’m twenty
only really know who i am at 19
and don’t even know that all the time;
only some days, and most rainy nights.
if you declare who you are through what you do
then you’ll build a life you love all around you
move closer to your truth in every moment
and even if this life don’t feel like home yet
i promise it will soon



you walk until your feet get tired
but the circles you’re goin in
just gettin wider and wider



little voice whisperin in your ears
honey where you been all these years
been searching high and low
for some place to go
but you weren’t there.
so i packed up my things
and travelled round the ouroboros rings
in circles and circles and circles.
now the oceans have parted
and life’s truly started
and i guess i found it
all on my own



looking out those windows don’t feel the same anymore.
you’ve built entire villages in the crevices of your bones
so no wonder this small place no longer feels like home;
you’ve grown.

By em

a sometimes poet, sometimes painter, always philosopher

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