In his bedroom, studio

The everyday is far from everyday

Singing, playing songs he’s written

Me holding back my own words

Written and spoken

Not knowing what to say on the final chord

Because it nearly brought me to tears

Because he doesn’t know how good he is

And I don’t know how to tell him

But a kiss will do, I think

Because it seems to say a lot more

It speaks quieter and easier

Not obtrusive, not lingering awkwardly 

Or ending abruptly

Less pressure, more pressure

Flirting with the idea of love

Or just intimacy

Isaac Gracie plays on

As we find more ways to speak

And learn to leave longer spaces between breaths

Because breathing isn’t important anymore

Because breathing is lonely

And I never want to feel that 

And I feel I never will

Fear I never will

Home

Soft hands of delicate lace speak louder than any mouth upon youthful face,

Patient eyes set deep in skin provide purpose and reason to unquestionable sin.

A slow, paced, experienced stride leaves lost times, loved ones and warm hearts behind,

And a house that waits in misty cast upon grass that remembers the visitors past.

All would be nothing without body and bone for my grandmother’s love is my definition of home.

I wrote this poem for my granny, whose birthday it is today, as I sometimes find it hard to say in person how much I admire them. I also find it incredibly difficult to write a poem about a person I love. I don’t like to talk about people with loud metaphors and excessive hyperbole. This is why I tend to focus very closely on the specifics of a person or an idea as I believe that true beauty is in the detail and not the unnecessary decorations we tend to smother it in. By concealing our beliefs and our raw emotion in extravagant and idiomatic sentiments we reduce its meaning to a muted and detached string of words that merely say what others have already said. To make something truly personal we must dig deeper and focus more closely on where our passion and emotion truly lies.

I’m not now going to write a paragraph where I list the amazing things I love about my grandma as I’m really not into that cheesy kind of expression, and never have been. So instead I will let my poem stand as it is as I feel that the semantics behind it convey all the emotion I put into it and therefore to comment on it here would be to offend its very existence. Enjoy.