a home for wandering thoughts

rha 🌙 she/her 🤍 nineteen 🧸 writer 🤠

[rha-rambles]

waning winter branches like hands twig fingers reaching  buttercup yellow daffodils peep from brown ice sludge a shaky first breath

[rha-rambles]

meant for more than this

do you ever wonder if you were meant for more than this?

piles of pastel birthday cards sent to the same address for nineteen stumbling years

crumbs of the same flavour cake it must always be chocolate project your yearly forecast like damp tea leaves swirling at the bottom of a cream bone china cup

foiled wrapping paper sharp to the touch your fingers decorated in paper cut scars tremble towards another boxed gift set tentatively tickle another blood red ribbon

do you ever wonder if you were meant for more than this?

same day struck by winter ice same dress that compliments the turquoise living room walls same time so that the lighting frames your ageing face just right same people bustling around your house same handshakes and fierce hugs same voices clashing the notes of happy birthday until you don't feel happy at all

and you wonder if maybe you were meant for more than this

[rha-rambles]

queen leah's tea party

three tattered bears with gold foil crowns two had bitter eyes the other stared at the ground

five chipped tea cups and one raspberry cake her mother promised to attend so queen leah impatiently waits

an attic dusty top hat and a rusted pocket watch her father loved her long hair so she wears it as a topknot

ten shaking fingers dripping with hot tea two blue choking eyes as sad as a stormy sea

three tattered bears cradling mini chocolate bars two with greedy smiles whilst the youngest stares at the stars

[rha-rambles]

the sun is always in my eyes

no matter where i turn and which walls i face the sun is always in my eyes no matter where sleep and how many circles i pace i am blinded by your lies

those soft sweet things that you mumbled to me i can almost taste the dewdrops on the grass those silky serpent words that enveloped me i can almost feel the poison sinking in i can almost feel your arms on my skin

no matter what i do to my hair or my wardrobe even if i dismantle my bed the sun is always in my eyes it doesn’t matter if i paint the walls red and fall down the stairs memories of you come crashing down they seep through the window panes and my eyes crinkle and my heart thrashes in its cage

you still do that to my veins you still do that to me as if you’re a sea gushing swirling never letting me be free

[rha-rambles]

better when we're close

the trees look alive when we’re close half snapped branches twirl like fairies the sudden rainfall pools in concrete cracks and i become mesmerised by the smell of new beginnings

strangers are kinder when we’re close old ladies on the bus with smudged eyeshadow offer me mints and baby boys in pushchairs stamp the air with their hands signalling a warm welcome

the world is wrong now that we’ve drifted leaves rustle on side alley streets like tutus left out in the rain and the man at the checkout raises his eyebrows at semi skimmed milk and the loss of you feels sudden and my heart slows to a stop

[rha-rambles]

i worry about her

i’m worried about her this time i really am

she sees herself as the main character a disney princess under pressure with unevenly chopped hair that is both brown and blonde and skinny limbs sharp elbows and platform boots that seem to weigh her down

[rha-rambles]

i hope

i hope that everyone feels like this from time to time like their day has been defined by fake smiles and their speech is punctuated by falling tears and they feel that each minute takes a year

i hope that they lose sight of their talents and lay in bed checking off the tasks they haven't done i hope that their confidence dwindles like a flame and bank balance shrinks like a pale sun

i hope that they realise that their life is a mess and they can't even write rhyming poems properly i hope that they realise they're not at their best and when they wipe their nose on their sleeve it comes out all gross and slobbery

i hope that they remember to laugh and not take themselves so seriously

[rha-rambles]

summer

it has arrived and its footsteps sound like ice cream money at the bottom of a stripy beach bag. it has grown upon us like a bush of wild flowers and announces its presence by sending infuriating fruit flies into our red tile kitchens. it is proud and stands up straight, smelling of beach air and smiling with an eye creased blue stare.

it is summer, and it is here.

waiting to be acknowledged like a child gripping a piece of crumbling chalk and rolling an apple down a hill.

[rha-rambles]

writing

chipped tea cups and stained pages and mozart playing on the radio

dwindling fingers and rolling ink cartridges and frantic scribbles

is this what it feels like to bury oneself so deep inside a feeling that it becomes home?

[rha-rambles]

a new day, an old love

i hope that the flair of youthfulness will live inside us forever; it is what drives me to tiptoe towards my notebook at 3 am and write like the sun will never rise again

[rha-rambles]

ACT NOW

your silence is worse than the oppression; it is a comforting pile of logs next to a fire that will be eternally hungry.

protest, scream, fight.

your movements are being monitored by history books.

silence is lethal. 

[rha-rambles]

respect

feminism is equality and equality is sanity and i will never understand those who resist the existence of others

[rha-rambles]

a well studded with cobblestones, fresh morning air, crisp dew footfalls on vibrant grass, brilliant sun shattering your bedroom windows, a thatched cottage with a stream nearby.

the morning is calling, the berries are ripe, the birds are singing. what are you waiting for?

[rha-rambles]

the story went as follows:

girl, writer, poet.

world, injustice, humanity.

change, revolution, protest.

exercise your power and the fight will follow.

[rha-rambles]

candyfloss curls, puckers, shrinks into clouds.

carousel laughter and the jingle of loose change flit up into the perfect blue sky.

hot dog vendors forget their caps on the bus to work and they are tossed into lost property.

we inhale the smell of newly grazed scabs and maple syrup and call it life. we exhale the poverty, the pain, the lost and call it death.

[rha-rambles]

thick parchment caressed by morning light.

still green leaves peer into your window.

the clouds of sleepiness part and you can see again; you can delve into the depths of prose and surface with a dozen pearls. you thread them with spare fishnet and crown yourself a mermaid.

[rha-rambles]

i could shoulder a storm, sieze a kingdom, escape reality and avoid the worst of waiting rooms with a book in my hands.