Title: No Port for my Traits, No Home for the Less

I want to be drawn
caricatured to make me a craved character
where people no longer pass by, but instead stop to admire the lines on my face
sketched by an artisan, instead of being marked with the conventions
of sketchiness
I’m not a shady delinquent who chooses the streets as his curse
but I’d implore some shading to rub off the stains left on my skin
from the filthy stares thrown at me
by you
every day.

Do you know what it is like to wish to be the people whom you equally
hate pass by you every day?
Is it me?
Who has then lowered my standard to wish to be standardised
or is it you?
Who has lowered your standard
Since you so pathetically scoff at us
the marginalised.

You created that margin
you separated me from the rest and you won’t even give me a dollar or
a fragment in time to share my story
and yet I still sit here eagerly waiting for you everyday
that’s true dedication.

I’ve dedicated my life to your cause of dismissal
yet you won’t even do me the courtesy of explaining why I’ve been dismissed
not missed
just hissed at
and dissed for not looking priss.

If it’s a pristine appearance you’re after then make me into a portrait
cross-hatch my skin with the cross-roads I came to
where I chose the wrong path
scribble the vices onto my face that forced my beard to grow
hiding me from societies sensibilities
dot labels of disappointment across my forehead
I’ve heard them all before
and now they’re the only words I know how to spell.

So just draw me
perhaps all my details will hold value as art
a port to hold my traits; somewhere to call home.

But just promise me
once the drawing is complete
leave me a page blank
so I may write myself a new destiny
with a destination to call home.

Poem about indigenous culture

Title: Envy-digenous

Dear Elder,

you are granulated by a land
that doesn’t make you abrasive
but instead delineates your intricate and contextual pattern

coloured by a darkness
that doesn’t shadow your cultural heritage
but instead allures intrigue into the richness of your ochres

you’re rhythmically aligned
to the beats set out in the breaths of nature
symphonically awakening their crescendos in corroboree

you dream of times
not held as limitations of our past
but instead as visions brought forward
as stories of explanation
to provide hope

you speak of wisdoms
held in the sky
that become the platforms we must search for
on land
so that we may find the path
to reach their heights

so Dear Elder
now knowing who you are

I envy you

A poem on Asylum seekers

Title: A-sly-lump

we are clumped
crammed into a vessel thats buoyancy is only held afloat by our covet
for freedom
moulded by a country that forgot how to knead its malleable citizens
hiccuping bubbles of carbon dioxide trapped inside our clay as a
desperate attempt to gasp for oxygen

we remain clumped

we are a fugitive
our government commits the crimes and yet we become the ones committed to asylum
becoming a prose written for psychologists
our valour defamed & renamed as vigilantes
trying to climb ladders of hope but still stuck on the first three
letters of our rung:


missing the loose fitting ‘g’ which hangs as the only god to entice our faith

there’s less faith in our community
for your formidable golden soils have left our faces girt by seas

no asylum
we’re just a-sly-lump of cancer
where the cells we were transported in, become the threat to the
clarity of your government’s voice
diminishing its high frequency
or its pitch to care
leaving us with the sore-throat of a disciplinarian
who’s scratchy baritone boasts our abandonment
that’s just it
we’ve been abandoned
except now
it’s by you.