the heart laid bare

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the curse
Under seige
Beyond the blues
Introspect
Balloon
push
a strange distance
SWIMMING ALWAYS DOWNWARD
A ONCE-FAMILIAR LANDSCAPE
No Apology
the thunder
tinder
VERBAL PORTRAIT OF A CAT OWNER
critical shortage
the sky we thought we knew
CIRCA SOLEM
almanac
baby
dearest orlando
FIVE MONTHS
A LETTER TO THE UNDESERVING
cactus heart
would we
the fall of giants
paradise lost
Dad
after you've gone
time
a smile from the eyes
trepidation
why so cold
fix this
swallow me
untitled 8
insular
cry alone
robin
quicksand
laces
D.I.S.C.
stripped
waving goodbye
your open eyes
enemy within
mortal
untitled 4
sleepless
OUTSIDER
untitled 9
come dream with me
in the face of adversity
one word
the dark of the night
untouchable
one and one makes two
you burn me
see me
this shaken core
my lover
helen
my room
his words
foolish
rita
chalk drawings
the longest night
stupid skeleton
CLOTHES MAKETH
FIRST LASTS
STELLAR
TODAY
I WATCHED A MAN DIE TODAY
THREE WEEKS
this slippery slope
untitled 5
Arrows
First Kiss
The Talk Of Love
Nicotine
Blackout

A ONCE-FAMILIAR LANDSCAPE

I miss you.
And it’s weird, missing someone you’ve never actually met.
But there’s a space where you’re not,
That used to be comfortably empty,
And I miss you.
 
Eighty minutes by car and a whole world away,
But you respond with cute little emojis that make my stomach flutter
Within seconds or minutes,
Like you are hanging on my next words;
The same way you must know I’m hanging on yours.
 
It’s frightening to think we may be better digital
Than flesh and blood and imperfections.
I don’t know.
I’m almost afraid to find out;
Afraid that neither of us will live up to one another’s expectations;
Afraid the slow dance with a hand on my hip will never happen…
… afraid that it will.
 
Eight years of ice are starting to thaw;
As long-buried pieces of me that I’d forgotten are suddenly exposed to the sun
The deep cracking sound is deafening.
A once-familiar landscape that shifts and shakes under my feet.
Like a map that’s been crumpled and then smoothed, it all looks slightly different;
Though the picture is technically the same,
There are new contours here that fit to the palm of your hand.
 

© mjc 06 August 2017

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Biography

Daughter, sister, aunt, godmother, friend, public servant; self-confessed hermit, confirmed cat person, sporadic baker, irreformable yarncrafter, voracious reader; occasional wit, voluble shower vocalist, frequent sacrifice on the altar of brain-to-mouth filter fails, unrepentant purveyor of puns and dad jokes, writer and poet.

I have always lived by the theory that no matter what you do for a living - if you are compelled to write, if you wake up in the night to scrawl the contents of your dreams on a notebook beside the bed, if no event in your life seems complete without you recording it, if you are drawn to comment upon the world - then you are a writer.

These are my words.