"what is a revelation?"

he asked

his voice as soft as a

winter's dawn

she gazed at him,

eyes mirroring the spectacle

of stars that glistened around him

she smiled

"It's that moment when

your chest tightens and

words seem impossible to speak,"

the rustling of the branches

echoed in her pause,

"It's that moment when you

begin to feel

everything

at once

after feeling nothing at all"

— revelations / delaney

Dear Juliet,

I might have downed a bottle of rosé while writing this but I'm going to try my best to convey how I feel. When I think of my ideal life with someone or my ideal person to spend time with, I can never truly like the person romantically and the dynamic between us never feels right. But then I met him and we partially fell in love, like we were on the edge of falling in love. I felt what that was like, a sort of glimpse of romantic love and it was a good feeling. Then you and I got closer, and I just felt so drawn to you, and no matter what I just always wanted to talk to you and hold you – just have some sort of physical contact with you. I'm just always wanting to be around you. There's always this magnetic connection between us, this unexplainable spark, a spark I've never felt with a man. I don't know if this is me confessing my love to you but I am saying that I do have feelings for you. Feelings more than friendship. You don't have to say anything back to that that you don't mean. I won't be offended I swear. Please know that I will love you always as a friend before a lover.

Love,

Delilah

What I think it would be like loving you (based off the things I know about you): 2AM dances in the kitchen in your pajamas making flapjacks; waking up to you bringing me tea and sitting to talk to me; making me feel safe when swimming in the tidal pool; you call me beautiful everyday and you kiss me constantly; you support my passions and hobbies, and sometimes do them with me; our arguements are always sorted out maturely without any childish games and manipulation; playing with my hair while I read my book; picnics in the botanical gardens in the summer time; we love each other in the most cliche, romantic way possible, like the ones in romance novels and romcoms. You'd love me wholeheartedly and passionately, something I've never seen or heard before.

as if She were

the feathers to a birds wings;

without Her the sky would be

merely a myth

a bedtime story to those

unbearing of the gift

without Her, the sky would be

a minuscule cavity in the

clouded daytime

the cadet blue only visible if

one truly sought it

I would never know of the earth's

roundness, the way our land's

edges piece together like a

vintage puzzle, the plush greenlands

that await our bare feet;

I would never know to travel the

foot of sailors, lightly treading

tempestuous waters and

soaking in the tender salt

if Her presence wasn't ever so

prevalent

I would never understand the blues

of this world –

oceans, unclouded skies, irises, Gentians,

pansies, the wings of an emperor butterflies,

a gas lit fire, Saphire and Aquamarine, the

way Her hands look in the cold, my childhood bedroom;

without Her

I would never apprehend the wanders that

live gladly beyond my four walls

— I'm grateful to have known her

seasons of love.

i associate him with every season;

summer when the breeze is brisk and slow

winter when the raindrops tap tap tap the

window pane

it's strange how these little things change

when you miss someone

suddenly every wind, every droplet is

about them; your longing to be in the arms

of your lover

i see him in the autumn when

the leaves hibernate;

turning a crispy brown before descending to the concrete floor

in the hot tea i cradle between my hands,

sipping slowly to savour every moment

he is within the spring when flowers bloom

and the oceans calm

when the fresh smell of grass roams the clear skies and circulates the open houses

i long to see him in my garden;

within the low cut bushes of proteas and fynbos

for him to pop up and walk into my home

his aftershave scent linger behind as he walks

my hallways

i want to see him in my home;

for the seasons to change but him to remain

but that's all it will every be

a longing

one that will never return

— seasons of love / @poetrybydelilah via tumblr

things used to be good but a small alteration can make everything fall apart

Discouraged.

As a writer I feel discouraged most days. I still on my neatly made bed and read over the poems I wrote the evening before, criticising every grammar error and the incorrect use of a word. I feel like absolute shit to the point where I give up and go to sleep. My mind cannot function when I'm bombarded with the reasons why I shouldn't write; why writing is nothing more than an interest and will never amount to a career. It hurts, deeply.

I constantly question my writing: Why does it read like it was writing by a toddler? Why is your vocabulary so small? Why can't you write like (insert writers name)?

I know every artist has a bad day but I'm becoming skeptical of mine. There aren't supposed to be so many bad days in a row and when there are, I believe that I'm doing something wrong or maybe this isn't the path I should be following.

our loneliness ignited

flames of desperation

it fused us together

like melted plastic edges

and when we hardened,

we became one

a red solo cup

carrying the weight of our

liquidised emotions —

we have mistakened rejection for endearment;

the continuous need for the warmth

of somebody cradling us at night

and the simple interlocking of fingers during the day

we mistook the desperate need for affection

as a sign of love,

and that's where we stumbled

— flames of desperation / by @poetrybydelilah via tumblr

"Why are you like this?" He asked as I picked the freshly healed skin on my shoulder - the white scars an indication of my anxiety. I didn't know why I was like this; why deep waters make me tremble or why intense fear courses through my veins every time we drive up the mountain road. I didn't know why I was like this.

He challenged my fears every day and became offended when I retaliated with irritation or anger; he questioned me in all the wrong ways - forceful and disregarding, ways that never intended to help me overcome my anxieties.

He disrespected me as a person. Whenever I expressed my anxieties, he would flat out a laugh - loud and noticeable, a lack of empathy. My uncertainty grew far and wide for him, yet I could never find the courage to part from his captivity.

- the perspective of someone that dated a boy who disrespected my every need and opinion.

July

The smell of rain-soaked leaves circles the block; tenacious Cancers strut around with party hats on their heads and their hearts on their sleeves; the soft melody of Waterfalls echoes throughout the streets; puddles splash nearby pedestrians; houses radiate warmth; dams overflow with yesterday's rainfall.

July is the month of hibernation and rejuvenation - it's a time set aside to reflect and grow. It's time to take a step back from the busyness and step into discovery.