I Won’t Always Be Me

I won’t always walk gently.
Sometimes I will stomp, and I will rage,
and my footsteps will shake
the mountains of love
you have heaped upon my earth.
I won’t always speak kindly.
Sometimes I will spit, and I will scream,
and the venom from my tongue will poison
the oceans of love
you have brought to my shores.
I won’t always live passionately.
Sometimes I will hide, and I will cry,
and the blackness from my soul will darken
the gardens of love
you have planted at my door.
I won’t always be me.
Sometimes I will be the very thing
I have been fighting against,
and it will swallow me, and it will laugh,
and I will climb out of the depths of it all
to meet you gently, and kindly,
and passionately again.

© Nicole Lyons 2017



Picture Source: Pinterest

Bring Your Wishes

It is empty in here.
This place that once
felt the fire of falling stars
is now cold in his fading light.
So I shall invite you in
and ask you to bring your wishes,
and perhaps the both of us
will burst like suns again.


© Nicole Lyons 2017

In Collapse

Still, I wonder, here in collapse,
if I should pick the jagged stones
of humility out of my knees,
or let them settle in, pushing
rough edges into my vulnerability.
And if I did, would you see me as divine?

© Nicole Lyons 2017

Syllable by Syllable

And sometimes these words,
they save me, but sometimes,
most times, they kill me,
syllable by fucking syllable,
they rip me to shreds.

© Nicole Lyons 2017

A Collection of Madness and Magic


My mind is light and dark and always uneven,
a rest stop for a long line of weary travellers
and mischief makers; a home to thousands
of manic spiders spinning sticky webs
of dark delusions against the back of my eyes.
My ears itch with the whispers
of hyper charged bits of paranoia.
My throat burns from the speed
at which I swallow the rants
and raves of transient thoughts,
and I am able to breathe again.
My blood boils with electricity,
ferocious enlightenment kicking
through the walls of a dead heart
and I am alive again.
A collection of madness and magic,
I am a place where art and illness collide.

© Nicole Lyons 2017

Vintage Heart

For Tamara, with love.


She’s an old soul
with young eyes,
a vintage heart,
and a beautiful mind.

© Nicole Lyons 2017

Yes, I Remember You

Yes, I remember you.
I remember the hitch
and the gasp before
my veins opened up
into fields upon fields
upon barren wastelands.
I remember how thunder felt
that night when a thousand
wild stallions carried my pulse
around the mountains of my bones
and placed it where I hoped
I would never remember you again.

© Nicole Lyons 2017

Someone Else’s War



I have been caught in
the palm of crooked hands,
slid myself along promises
down pinky fingers
and into the throats
of corrupt bedfellows.
My mouth tastes of shame
but my eyes glisten
with the spoils
of someone else’s war.

© Nicole Lyons 2017

Walk With Me

Walk With Me.jpg


Walk with me.

Walk with me through this world;

hands clasped tightly, bodies at ease.

Walk with me.

Let us travel together to places

unknown where we can fill our lungs

with strange air and dip our toes

into unusual waters.

Walk with me.

Let us climb mountains beneath

the sea in search

of treasures long forgotten.

Walk with me.

Let us venture deeply

into splintered minds and leave

lights burning in the darkest corners.

Walk with me.

Let us leave bits of ourselves

in the places we will go

for the travellers who come

after us.

Walk with me.

Let us leave our mark

in strange cities, on rooftops

and under bridges, within

the tired minds and broken hearts

that walk the streets alone.

Walk with me.

Let us cast our worries

to the winds and set

our clocks to the moons,

and perhaps everywhere

and nowhere

will become our home.

© Nicole Lyons 2017

Poets and Whores

And that is the nature
of us poets and whores,
to make things hard:
dicks, choices… life.

© Nicole Lyons 2017