Two cats

Two cats play piano;
Soft paws on ivory keys
Stumbling into unintentional melodies.
Whiskers tickle thick chords
As hammers hit hard harmonies.

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I want to write you songs

I often write you poems, but I want to write you songs.

Simple syllable structures do not adequately capture your complexities.
The staccato of careful couplets cannot convey your dulcet dynamism.

I would sing to you in bird squawks and animal growls;
My shy tongue unable enunciate your beauty.
Even in song, I would fail to articulate your significance to me.

You are pure symphony.
An orchestra would better capture the melodic cacophony of your perfect contradictions.

I would transpose words for notes and beats;
Encode emotion in a worthier form of art.
I would write refrains for us to hum together;
A new lexicon of love.

I want to write you songs but instead I write you poems

Knowing words alone, no matter how carefully arranged,
Will never quite be enough.


Advice to self

“I’ve never considered drowning a cat.”
He says this and, politely, I concur with that.
In shameful realisation, I play it off as a joke;
The impulse is not as relatable as I’d hoped.

“I don’t really hit the snooze button. I’m refreshed after sleep.”
She tells me when I tell her my morning routine:
Waking up disappointed, not quite wanting to be dead
But not feeling alive. Staying safe in my bed.

“I make silly faces in the the mirror until I smile.”
Is her answer after pausing whilst she thinks for a while
When I say I have enough clothes but nothing to wear
Because the judgement of my reflection is too much for me to bear.

“I feel so much better when I just exercise”
He prescribes for the days that I don’t go outside.
I imagine the endorphins of a stroll through the park
Whilst lay like a corpse for full days in the dark.

“I keep positive affirmations in the lists that I write.”
She bestows me this weapon for the demons I fight.
Because I’ve asked her if her nightmares seem more real than real life,
Because I’m dreaming my days and I can’t sleep at night.

I swallow my struggle and I smile, “You’re right.”
When you asked I how I was, you were being polite.
I appreciate it, and I’m grateful, and I know that you care.
My problems aren’t your burdens and they’re unfair to share.

I don’t want you to fix me and I get so frustrated.
I need you to listen; love the flaws that I’ve hated.
I know it’s too much to ask. Let me spare you instead–
May that be my comfort in the words left unsaid.