a mood is lippy on a cup of something crucial
a person’s choice of lip shows social preference
hear your red and you’re redolent with riches
touch your pink and you’re prior to other pinches
taste your lip and you’ll experience that fully
see your beaut and you’ll believe you are lovely
smell your grey and you’re grazing something truthful
listen to shade: you’ll touch your wounded core place
my mermaid soul fears the sea,
the depths from which she came,
but the time is now to tumble turn,
to dive, to lose, to gain
I’ve been apologising for oh so long,
as I explain and cringe my choices,
that I lost the point of me.
Born, I was too much crying,
too many nappies, too much bother
to feel there was a point to me.
A child, I was told I was far too messy,
warned to be good and stay quiet.
There was no point to me.
Teenaged, I was never allowed my style,
was asked did I think I looked good in that.
I cried and searched the point to me.
Studied, I gained diplomas, degrees,
which I thought would make me whole.
Looking back, I wonder the point in that.
Grown up, and business gave me power
to manage, to lead, to create.
My star waned: what was the point of me.
A mother, a new life with other fertile ones
I thought would give me meaning.
Playground bitches destroyed the point of me.
Stressed, I feel the yawn of my heart.
Pleasing others from dawn to dusk:
who would ever make a point of that?
Broken, a life with a faded façade
and scaffolding all torn away.
I start to vision the death of me.
Darkened, I think of ways to loosen
my grip on this mortal soil.
What the **** was the point of me?
Soul-bound, I’m saved from today’s maudlin.
Tomorrow I’m not so sure.
What’s the point of staying here?
Awakening, I take a daily breath
that surprises me each morning.
The only thing that keeps me alive
is the point one day I’ll believe in.
inktuition 