Megan Porter Poetry

i think i’m back here with you, again

it’s nice really, the years just falling away, how the days

feel slow when the malaise cracks open the skin, but the years

blast by like a jetstream afterburner, it’s nice isn’t it?

though i suppose i’m keeping you trapped in here like i’m a zookeeper,

but you’re the one keeping me fed.

you’re so right, that love can always be a thing that no one understands

from the outside, it’s inexplicable, that is.

you brought down the stars for me in these grains of sand that once

used to suffocate me. it’s a six-legged spider on the screendoor:

it’s making the best of what you’ve got

The sunflower loves the sun,

but it wilters, when it wonders

if the sun loves it back.

It must know

the odds are terrible:

so many sunflowers

and only one sun.

But still, it signals

in the sunshine, and waits.

The world keeps teaching me so much about myself.

Been wrapping these tight strings

around myself

so long I’ve forgotten what it feels

to be unbound

so please be patient with me

love

because I need to learn how to move

again

with no strings attached.

A life is made up of a billion impressions, most do not stand

the test of time. The altering is subtle. A new shell on an endless beach.

Some split you open, the cuts, your hands hold the hunks of flesh until they fuse back together. Quick fix, come back to it later with kinder instruments.

I think I like the stains the best, the colours, the patterns. They last a while then fade away. Being with you

makes me wonder.

How long will you stick around?

Beacon eyes, lighting a way to shepard us safely, though

intentions can be illusive—a catalyst for widening the gap between us.

Can a thermal scan pinpoint out pressure points? You’ve become Charon,

bitter and cold in your lonely citadel, an Eden for a self harmer.

In a way, the invasion is already over; the newer heart a paragon

of resilience. A renegade spirit hides inside like a mass of inert chaos,

like a cause without an effect. You pull away, hope reaper in

overdrive to cluster despair on these wavelengths—doom collector.