A collection of forgotten, lost and new poems from The Page of Pens
Empty Places: Poems for the Lost is available now on Amazon. Fully illustrated, I will also be at the BS5 Art Trail, September 7th to 8th 2024, selling original artwork from the book, so if you’re in Bristol UK around that time pop along.
Updates to the Society6 Store: I can know be found at https://society6.com/thepageofpens/designs
She started something that she didn’t know how to finish.
Wanting to be something, find something, that would make it all worth it,
A way to learn to live.
She twisted and crippled herself, broke off fingers, cut through bone,
A masque of pain to teach herself, find herself.
We never knew there was any other way, to grow, to be.
Conquering ourselves to the point of brutality,
To find magic in the horror, love in the broken places.
We wanted to be nothing at all, to be something, to be everything,
The teenage dream of growing up in a story we wrote ourselves,
And the reality of it being a war of our own design.
Original photography prints, featured in ‘Oceans and Dust: Poems for Loneliness’ are now available for purchase at society6.com/issara_simone
Also available now on Amazon
Who am I anyway,
Soldier, sovereign?
I’m not young anymore,
But I’m not old either.
I’m not a mother,
I’m not a partner,
What would I have to offer if I were any of these things?
Who do I even think I am?
Pausing at the edges of worlds and wondering,
Who am I? What am I? Where’s my place? How do I fit?
I’m not funny, I’m not friendly,
Uniquely untethered,
Searching for magic doors and wordless angels.
Enjoying. Questioning. Who am I anyway?
How do I be less of me and more of you?
More human, more worldly,
Connected to and less observing of?
Is there an answer hidden in the midwifery of caterpillars and butterflies?
In the space between one state and another?
I’m not old, but I’m not young.
I should have all this by now.
Every question answered, every hole filled.
Who am I anyway,
Artist, Alchemist?
I should know by now.
All sums should be added and equaled.
Who am I anyway?
So… I did something.
‘Oceans and Dust: Poems for Loneliness’ is out now if anyone’s interested.
Available on Amazon and Kindle.
I am a phoenix rising,
I burn through my own pain
And forge wings from my ashes.
I am a phoenix rising,
The ouroboros of fire and air,
I consume myself to birth myself.
I am a phoenix rising.
For the first time I notice green has returned to the trees.
For the first time I notice the sweet smell of cedar.
For the first time the books around me feel like towers of knowledge,
Not pillars of protection.
For the first time the new is inspiring not intimidating,
And what is out there is meant for me, not a barrier against me.
For the first time I am the change that wants to be.
For the first time I am what Is.
My body’s soft, it doesn’t do anything.
(It doesn’t resist)
Soft, unbaked clay, yet to be hardened, be strengthened by flames.
Hands knead, knuckles and thumbs press.
I’m a fetish that so many have played with.
I’m not real.
(I don’t resist)
There’s no bone underneath this flesh, no soul, no feelings,
I’m an object of curiosity to hands and eyes.
What would they do if I were real?
What would I do?
Would I bite off fingers with unsuspecting quickness?
Would I scratch and kick, pull at hair and clothes?
Would they run?
Would they leave?
Would I be left here, alone?
Unbaked, yet to harden, to be strengthened by flames,
Return to earth, unformed, forgotten.
I’m just a fetish, to so many.
(I won’t resist)
Page of Pens Poetry 