The Boy in the Cupboard.

Grab a pack of tape,

some binding rope and a padlock.

Gather some bricks for good measure.

 

Find a crawl space hidden from view,

stuff it with years of experiences,

prepare to forget, forget, forget.

 

If the weight on your shoulders is too much

use rope to bind it until it bulges out,

apply force where necessary.

 

When your truth still won’t fit,

keep cramming until it takes shape.

Think yourself a processer, force it to conform.

 

Find the mouths that scream out,

choke them with tape.

Leave no space to breathe. Snuff it out.

 

As they gnaw their way through

apply more and more and more and mo-

don’t stop. Don’t let them shout.

 

If you run out of tape gag them with lies,

fill their mouth with toxicity,

do not dare let them speak aloud.

 

When the honesty starts to flit between consciousness,

awake, asleep and gone,

take heart that your job is almost done.

 

Your confessions may try to play on your good side,

remember that it has no place in your life.

Remember, you are your best side.

 

When the life in its eyes finally dims,

breathe a sigh of relief that the task is complete.

Cover the hole and get ready to be free.

 

Push heavy against the door,

do not let this beast out, it cannot escape.

Snap the lock shut and swallow the key.

 

If you worry that the truth will come out,

take the bricks and lay them neatly,

leave no room for suspicion.

 

Use saliva as concrete,

tell yourself ‘this is you now’.

The body underneath is no one you know.

 

When you are sure that it has gone,

that the words screaming you awake are silenced

leave and never look back.

 

Do not revisit the crawl space,

do not remind yourself of what you could have been.

This is you now and it is perfect.

 

The history that piled high on your shelf

is no longer an ocean drowning you,

you have resurfaced… breathe.

 

Go out into the open and learn,

study people meticulously,

steal their smiles, have them take center stage.

 

Take your best paint set and your finest brushes,

ready yourself at the mirror.

Paint a smile that will never crack

 

And remember:

 

never look back,

 

 

never look back,

 

 

 

never look back.

 

-A.Webb (second draft)

IT IS DONE!

Has NaPoWriMo been and gone? Is it safe to come out now? You really mean it?! I’m free!

Well, wasn’t that an adventure?! I enjoyed NaPoWriMo much more this year and I think that’s a sign that I’ve improved a lot as a writer. Thanks to everyone who read any of my pieces! I’m excited to start editing them so they become vaguely presentable.

The main lesson I’ve taken away is to stop abusing the enter key like it is going out of fashion. I hereby commit to no more poems that

read

a bit

like

this

unless it is for

deliberate effect

like

rain

or

something.

Thank you for your support and a huge hello to all the new followers from this month! I hope you’ll stick around to read more of my work. This is pretty much guaranteed asyou are now contractually obliged to stay a dedicated independencedaywriting-follower. So, pull up some floor space and get ready to regret your decision to ever support me as a writer.

Of course that was a hilarious joke by yours truly, there is no pressure to stay but I’d love it if you did.

Have a great day and see you on here soon!

– Alex x

Morning Walk (A Pantoum) 30/30

Life spills out into the park,

I head out for the day

and spring is heavy in the air,

sunlit trees leave shadows.

 

I head out for the day,

blossom bursts from branches,

sunlit trees leave shadows,

petering out with the day.

 

Blossom bursts from branches,

casting spells in the wind,

petering out with the day,

magic enchanting the world.

 

Casting spells in the wind,

the park is brimming with beauty,

magic enchanting the world

overflowing into the lakes.

 

The park is brimming with beauty

Life spills out into the park,

overflowing into the lakes

and spring is heavy in the air.

 

-A.Webb (first draft)

Brewing. (29/30)

I’m sat in the local coffee house

getting ready for my artisan drink

birthed from the guest ‘beans of the month’.

It’s going to be delicious,

I can already taste the pretense

dripping from my lips and it is fabulous.

No, it’s so much more than that,

it’s… unique, breathtaking and, most of all, independent.

The idea of it makes my body shiver.

 

The music at this place is magical;

a fast-paced symphony of harmonious clicks.

The instruments? The latest Macbooks,

standard models to my right,

the ‘airs’ to my left and in the centre is me,

leading the orchestra with my ‘pro’.

We are all sat there, drinking our coffees not even realising

what we are in the process of crafting:

the 21st Century’s answer to ‘Flight of the Bumblebee’.

 

The bearded barista observes from behind the coffee machines,

wipes a tear from his eye,

thinking of the story he can regale his family with.

How he witnessed the rebirth of creativity,

the simultaneous act of dismantling and rebuilding

what the world knows as masterpieces.

Today, we didn’t just create art,

we single handedly blew the concept out of the water,

smashed expectations and became legends in the making.

We are not simply artists,

oh no no, darling, we are better than that,

we are artistes.

 

-A.Webb (first draft)

Buy One Get One Free (27/30)

You’re out at the shopping centre,

ready to try on something different,

looking for new clothes to fill out,

thinking, dreaming of how great you could look.

You find a  jumper four sizes too big,

it’s perfect! Just like the one in the magazine you read every week.

You climb in, a home too big to house your belongings

promise yourself to grow into it

make plans to renovate, expand yourself

be something different, something more.

You leave happy but unsettled.

 

One day you gaze in the mirror a moment too long,

see yourself swallowed up by the ocean of expectations you’ve given yourself

take off the jumper defeated and regress.

 

Confidence knocked you take shelter in a charity shop,

desperately ransack clothes racks for something familiar,

find clothes that reek of childhood.

Tell yourself you could be comfortable in them.

Pull it over your head in hopes of a better image,

even though it took 10 minutes to get on you smile,

pass the money to the cashier, it’s your’s,

you might be limiting yourself to old trends,

at least you know you look great.

 

You look at old photos to compare

cringe that the jumper-phase was ever a thing,

you’re much  more comfortable now.

It’s like you’re 15 again,

it’s like you never grew up,

nothing ever changed.

You look in the mirror again, reality lumps out of your body

bursting under the pressure to keep your adulthood under wraps.

This isn’t good enough.

You aren’t good enough.

 

You rip the clothes off and start the process again.

 

-A.Webb (first draft)