it lights me up in a kind of hope
and i turn back to my work
clutching a cup of tea
i know, the person i love made me

a box of red flags
a carrier bag of lost things
a wooden trunk
full of poor attachments

equality
is a power reality
a resetting of the switch
oppression tries to knock it down
so power gives us a lift

i have planted poems
as,
an arable crop
i have bridleways
of words and sentences

my life
has been well sprung
but it feels like
i have always been unsung

at 23
wondering
if there was anymore at 24
feeling less alive at 25
trying to make my fingers click
at 26

i am quiet
and pragmatism
has an undeniable realism
that i never want to shift
having lived surrealism

the value of self
feels important right now
in a world
that feeds on our individuality

people are tone deaf
that is why,
we are where we are
unable to sing from –
the same hymn sheet