She sits perfectly on her window ledge,
looking inward.

He polishes her face, straightens her hair
then positions her legs crossed –
how any woman should be.

He locks her away until the overflow
of suited men filter in.

They peek at her dotty dress, her tiny hands,
lacy socks and run their fingers
across her frail body,
scrape their nails across her skin,
poison her with their words
then claim. 

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Gracie x

A brand-new trophy for your shelf,
a small cactus swamped
in a pink, spotty pot.

For the first month 
you give me water, sun, love;
I’m your beautiful plant
that you flaunt to all your friends.

The drink you feed me slows.
Three drops become two,
two become one
and then –

My spikes fall to your floor,
my bright yellow flower shrivels,
my soil, now dry sand,
roots break, lost beneath.

The cool green succulent 
on your windowsill
steals all your sunlight from me.

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All my love,

Gracie x

Another sweet stolen from the jar,
you put me in your pocket
to be savoured at your convenience

Peel my wrapper from my skin,
throw it into the black bag in the corner
with all the mouldy apple, empty crisp packets. 

You lick at my sugar-coating
stealing my flavour, tasting it 
on your tongue.

My hardened shell
broken down by your teeth.

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All my love,

Gracie x

Planted a year ago, 
a stumpy purple bud
reaches towards the sun
begs for a single drop.

Roots remember drought 
still cling to cracked clay,
holding her silence 
beneath the soil.

The snow freezes her bed,
attacks her home
as she buries herself,
protects her seed.

A new stem emerges—
a light blue flower
stands tall, no longer fights
for light or water
but for her right
to remain in full bloom.

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All my love,

Gracie x

I was made like you.
Two arms, two legs—
though mine are slightly shorter—
a head, with a set of locks
that wobbles down to my boobs. 
 
My sculpture has never lived up to expectations. 
For some reason,
I was made with extra clay 
around my hips
and red engravings
around my stomach.
The more I try to shave the clay away,
the more noticeable it becomes. 
 
And when you point out 
that my teeth were placed uneven,
that’s when I start to realise
that I wasn’t made for you,
or him, her or sir,
I was sculpted in my own way—
the same as you. 

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All my love,

Gracie x

Your sun beams upon my skin,
burns it with eager light.
Fingers trace the soft outline
of my leaves, coaxing growth,
warming my soil, waiting
as I stretch towards your beams.

A cluster of clouds 
blurs your existence,
out of sight, out of reach.
Boats on the sea disappear,
swallowed by your mist. 
Neighbours fade into your fog,
my leaves curl, shrivel 
as I reach for your fading heat.

Even in the shadow,
I carry your season still,
accepting my crinkled leaves—
still rooted in what once bloomed.

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All my love,

Gracie x

Faced with a lifeless canvas,
an unknown smile
invites her to throw her paint,
make her mark.

She traces curves, presses harder
engraving her outline into the sheet
scribbling every detail into place. 

Her sketch fills the empty being
with her pinks, greens, yellows
glistening out of the white.

She adds her darker colours;
the page smudges it back at her,
paint runs down the page
and covers the apron.

Her hand dabs at the drips
but it smears even more.

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Where Water Heals: A Poetry Collection is available to buy on Amazon or is FREE to read on Kindle Unlimited.

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All my love,

Gracie x

He plucks me from the overgrown lawn;
my brothers and sisters wait 
for their turn to be taken 
or lost beneath careless steps.
A seed of my fluffy hair falls 
their reminder of my disappearance. 

I shake in his tight grip 
as he shows me to his tribe,
My spine bends, brittle his grasp—
longing for the roots 
that will never hold me again.

His hold weakens, passes me to another,
who takes a deep breath, blows—
strips me bare.

My children scatter
destined to replicate our cycle. 

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Thank you for reading! Did you know I’ve released a book?

Where Water Heals: A Poetry Collection is available to buy on Amazon or is FREE to read on Kindle Unlimited.

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All my love,

Gracie x