[jenniferratcliffe]

Signature

I have not wrote of you in a while, because you are undeserving, because I clam, like pearl, in ocean sweat whilst they expect they wait

for entertainment for Halloween on a Wednesday in June You are neither and nothing and all tasted in the twisting tidal stomachs of the anxious, the knowing: tastes like digested skin and living thin.

I do not write of you But I deserve letters stuffed with self portraits of me, who is me? I am me.

Every time before and hereafter They sing

'But

__ seemed so nice'

whilst I bewilder in sand Do I not seem? Do I not need? Do I not sound sound of mind?

Niceness...

I won't write of you I will only write of myself in relation, biscuit shaped smiles baked in memories of friends, to help choke the me down despite lipping the poison.

I am here,

I was there,

I will never go there again.

I have not wrote of you words have not wanted me to sentences recoil at any trace of truth - how do you manage to sign your name?

[jenniferratcliffe]

Quietly

Leaf by thorn, a racket is lulled into single tone

Hushing the loud and pretty

Shushing the intelligently soft

Silence drawn on edges of petals -

Too colourful, too curved

Too alive

They want

Ash in the shape of a flame

[remanence-of-love]

[alifestylecafe]

[betrachtung]

my god, there is never any time to recover from the world

[jenniferratcliffe]

These hallways are felled

oak in grand deaths,

I weave myself

Echo’d step after echo’d step,

light warbles

ominous songs of shadows;

interjection of grief in logic.

Both ends are bleak

unseeable future’s

with only one certain freedom,

encased in my own

Humanity.

[jenniferratcliffe]

20s Britain

The middle class are on strike

The working class go unpaid

The middle class are rioting

The working class get living standards lowered

The middle class complain about disadvantage

The working class struggle to find average

The middle class talk about intersectionality

The upper class talk about glass ceilings

The aristocracy talk about lineage

The rich gossip about holidays on the moon

The working class get handcuffed for taking walks beneath it

[jenniferratcliffe]

Do you really

need

to see me

to decide

if

my words are worthy?

[jenniferratcliffe]

Skin is fibrotic

Untouched touchings

Of things in

Between

Said on the flight

Of eyelash wings

Like a cats long blink

And suddenly

You are

No more

Like a swift at sea

[jenniferratcliffe]

The wind is not as strong

In your arms

The rain forgets to chill

In your arms

Blistering sun becomes illuminated breeze

In your arms

This life is not so tough

In your embrace

[jenniferratcliffe]

January sits down

Heavy and unrelenting

She is so tired and doesn't want to walk anymore

You pick her up and carry her

The weight of two sleepers.

You trudge through frost and slop,

Elated at occasional coloured skies,

January cries and fusses

But you bring her along

You tuck her in.

She convinces you to lie down,

Sleep beside her -

Be quiet,

Be still, more.

Reminds you

February isn't going to stop existing

If you let yourself be

with January

[jenniferratcliffe]

Relationships are not two halves of a whole, they are two wholes in amicable existence attempting to sing in harmony

[jenniferratcliffe]

The world is not as generous -

The cosmos must infinitely be the same;

I thought the Sky was breaking

When rippling through the bleak, Stars came

[jenniferratcliffe]

What a tide

Taking me from me

Breathless

On unfamiliar shores

Mottled in sand

The capsizing so common

Bedraggled by senses of cycle

And the knowing

It is all just coincidental

[jenniferratcliffe]

Blue bird with clipped wing

Sends a flock

Flying

[jenniferratcliffe]

20s Britain

The middle class are on strike

The working class go unpaid

The middle class are rioting

The working class get living standards lowered

The middle class complain about disadvantage

The working class struggle to find average

The middle class talk about intersectionality

The upper class talk about glass ceilings

The aristocracy talk about lineage

The rich gossip about holidays on the moon

The working class get handcuffed for taking walks beneath it

[jenniferratcliffe]

I love a soft space

Where wind whistles through ears

Smiles at no-one

You can become the landscape

Still

Whether seen or unseen

There