out of sync

I’d like to think

I am a tree

but I’m not as kind

or resolute.


Strip some bark aside,

look inside,

the heart’s not hard to find.

You’ll see it beating,


squeezing some stress

out through the cracks.


If people aren’t cutting it down

they’re digging it out.

Either way it’s a sick feeling

and a horrible sound.


I’ve been looking for earth

to hold my roots,

a placed called Settle

is where I want to be.

But the more I reach for the soil

the less there is

holding onto me.


We were standing on a precipice,

the edge of something beautiful,

with our hands


I convinced them to let go,

push me off,

step away.

So I was falling down

and there was nothing I could say,

nothing to raise me

back through the air.

My plea

made it worse instead.

I tried too late

to make them see

I wasn’t dead.


I had failed to see the crumbled sandstone

lip of the cliff,

could not feel my own ragged fragments

tearing away like a ship spar,

my soul has never found a place to rest.

The salt on the air was not visible

but I could taste it, sour in my stomach,

flavoured glass ripping insides out.

Maybe it wasn’t that, maybe it was the

words I heard

and the ones I could not say,

a flood slammed against a dam wall,

until I had to scream them as it broke.

A vicious uproar,

the tide scared away any that would listen.

There was a desperation to the flow

and desperation stinks.

The good thing is

once the rush has subsided

and all the sticks

have settled again, there won’t be another flood for a long time,

no more risk of being cut

or broken,

at least until a new version of you

is sucked into an atmosphere

full of stormy tendencies

and unforgiving conclusions.

But if you survive the first time,

you will always stay alive.


I’ve been trying to figure out
If leaves have a life of their own.
When they fall are they simply done?
Do they just get blown with the wind
Or do they navigate?
When they leave home is that the beginning of the end
Or an escape?

Are they individual
Or are there too many to possibly distinguish?
Extinguish one,
It only hits pause on the fun
Before the rest realise they
Need to make the most of their time,
Especially if it involves making a dime
Into more.
We understand the crunch under our feet
Means they’re gone but we don’t mind,
They weren’t ours to think of.
And it’s probably more kind
To chop down the tree when it stands empty
Then to let it live without family,
But the tree is the only one that really understands the loss.
Despite the others moving in empathy,
It’s impossible for them to care
As much as they make out they do.

When a leaf is loose
It may fly for a while
Until eventually it spirals down,
As sad as the end of a good song
And the tree from which it came
Can only stand so long