another old untitled poem

I'm feeling very grateful to my past self, who drafted poetry in her Notes app and just left it there to be saved by The Cloud. Very fitting, for someone who's since made clouds part of their personality.

Anyway, I'm grateful because now I find these old words and realise that this new identity – "writer" – that I'm claimed in the last year, isn't actually so new to me. I've been a writer for as long as I can remember, I just always lacked the self-esteem to say it. Now, I get to say it, and give a much younger version of myself the mic too. So here's another poem:

Your name on my lips – a whisper;

tiny gold fireworks appear

in 2am darkness

crackling in my small bedroom

born from a quiet town.

I return after bright adventures

and overthink, overthink...

My head a mess of many things

to be cured by dreamland's smile.

Fireworks in my bedroom,

I’m soothed by memory’s kiss.