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Toby Adams Poem
I am a girl,
Everyone sees it.
I graciously accept the label,
Twirling in a girls spool,
And playing it up for others.
Sometimes I feel an itch,
In a place I can't reach.
There are times when it quells,
When my voice cracks,
And I am somewhere else.
Where my hair is to my neck,
And my voice bellows.
But I am brought back to reality,
Because I am a girl.
He comes out again,
Stilling me when girls are asked to line up,
Twitching when a teacher asks for a 'strong boy',
I hold him back,
A slap on the wrist,
A prisoner in a cell.
But in the deepest of my thoughts,
I am free,
Completely and utterly.
He is with me,
Unchained,
But it ends every morning I wake.
I step out of the shower,
Hair cascading down,
As I stand in front of my reflective captor,
A deep rumbling comes from inside me,
And he bubbles up to the surface,
Itching and scraping at my soul.
I claw at the confines of my chest,
And he bursts out like dynamite,
Sparks flowing,
Tingles of electricity follow my nerves,
And I truly see him,
Staring back at me,
He smiles softly and my eyes open wide,
The words linger on the tip of my tongue,
But they stay rooted in my brain,
As him and I both realize,
I am a boy.
Copyright © Toby Adams | Year Posted 2024
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Toby Adams Poem
My lotus flower, adrift on the water bed,
Your petals top the pond,
Lilies, Irises, Hyacinths.
The sun reminisces,
And the moon grieves,
For in the dark of night,
It hides your leaves.
I weed your sodden garden,
Cattail, Waterthymes, Reeds.
My lotus you're safe,
I know your needs.
The scabs from the tear,
Haunts your fragile stem,
Faint, pink lines like those of your petals,
Shine like a gem.
My lotus I trace along those lines,
And your hesitance remains,
My lotus, I say,
"I know not the hurricane,
That caused your injury,
Nor the pain of how it felt,
But I know the misery,
And the doubt."
My lotus, I hold your leaves,
"Your weeds grow back,
But I will still stay,
Your stem dries,
And I will water you everyday,"
My lotus, I caress your greenery,
"Your flowers have bloomed,
In the harshest of weather,
But now you know sunlight,
And I'll make sure it's forever."
Copyright © Toby Adams | Year Posted 2023
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Toby Adams Poem
The life of a stained glass window,
Is a life boring and dull,
You take in rays of sunlight,
And breathe out the colours that swell.
The life of a stained glass window,
Oh so boring, oh so dull,
You give light to others,
And shoo away your own,
While they see the world in colours,
Your sight you loaned.
Colourblind by choice,
You live in a monochromatic world,
Your wants and needs,
Have all been sold.
Discount, free sale?
Anything for you!
For how a stained glass window feels,
Is anything but true.
I paint and handcraft rainbows,
To shine along churches and stores,
But if my hand grows tired?
Who cares if they're sore!
The life of a stained glass window,
Is a life boring and dull,
This stained glass window,
Hates to endow!
Curse the rainbows they'll miss so well,
Now that their world is dim and dull,
This stained glass window thinks they should go to hell!
The pretty colours adorning a pedestal,
The shards that make streets glow,
I should all let it go!
This stained glass window,
Paints the world in black and white,
And this stained glass window,
Is no longer right.
The life of a stained glass window,
Oh so boring, oh so dull,
Who wants a stained glass window,
With no pretty colours? Well...
No one.
Copyright © Toby Adams | Year Posted 2024
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Toby Adams Poem
An ultimatum stood at my door
And greeted me so fondly
To the tune of my thumping heartbeat.
"Live as I seem or die as I am"
The words had reverberated in my skull and rattled my bones-
Sick with grief and mourning
Of a life never lived,
A lick of air never tasted on a tongue of a new man-
Not man-soon-to-be, or transsexual or Pinocchio without the splintering of wood but of words,
That scar my treacly heart,
That would better beat being born of another,
Without the tack tack tack of a dull toothache,
Soothed by morning (mourning) migraines or piercing stab of the mirror you avoid,
If not only to ignore the cavity but the caveat of a sorrow sight sought by seeing the sores gap,
Or stain of black mold
That seep into the other aspects of life,
Rotten tooth, rotting
Rotten life.
The ultimatum greeted me once more with a jolly hello on a Sunday morning
(After Saturday night was such a wonderful night)
Ever persistent, like church-going evangelists,
The knock-knock-knock
Similar to the beating of a batter to beat broken bruised boys,
Yet a boy was not who I was (To the eye)
But what I sought to be,
Surely the movement door-to-door or to move preaching lips mimic the migration or change in oneself-
To them; As enlightenment
For myself; A step down where the fire crackles,
Even as the tide crashes below,
Pitchfork points dig into my heel,
I'll take the grueling punishment,
Cast into the bowels of the earth,
And pecked by the birds,
So give me that old time religion,
It's good enough for me.
The ultimatum met me atop a bridge and greeted me,
Gun to my head,
"Fall back as I seem or pull the trigger as I am."
A coup de grâce,
The ocean lingers at a standstill as the gun cocks,
Waiting to exhale.
Unlike the earth,
With my heart's final pang,
I don't end with a whimper,
But with a bang.
Copyright © Toby Adams | Year Posted 2025
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Toby Adams Poem
At night I dream,
To be a poet.
One whose words flow as smoothly as a pen,
That eyes would graciously glide along.
I would write,
Each and every thought,
Exactly as my mind saw them.
Harrowing,
Frantic,
And full of you.
Copyright © Toby Adams | Year Posted 2024
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Toby Adams Poem
Everyday I go birdwatching,
I see them-
Seagulls, Geese, Humming birds-
Flutter and puff out their wings,
To soar the tinted sky-
Dancing along the clouds like small jets,
Or the carefree glide of paper aeroplanes.
I watch as their wings carry them-
Steer up and down-
Allowing Pelicans to dive and splatter-
Into the water.
An apprehensive dove's feet teeter-totter at the edge,
Perhaps it had not yet learnt to fly?
Though does not every bird with wings learn to decorate the sky as I would learn to a bike?
Does it matter whether the fowl was pushed off a branch,
Or learnt to swim against the tide of the sky with a leap?
The bird stretches it's wings,
Feathers caressed by the wind as a mother would her child.
It lingers,
And leaves,
As I do myself.
Everyday I go birdwatching,
I see them-
Pigeons, ducks, swans,
They greet my feet with pecks or kisses,
As if I were their own.
My gaze drifts upwards-
As it always does-
The same dove sits,
Very still,
As if the bird was capable of fear,
Does it question if it will survive the jump?
Or if it'll soar the skies like those before?
Is it weary of the impact?
Or dream of life as a Phoenix?
The bird flutters and puffs out it's wings,
Watching those already playing on the clouds,
It's feet- paws- claws,
Scratch against concrete,
It sighs,
I giggle,
And stretch my wings out for the last time.
Copyright © Toby Adams | Year Posted 2024
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Toby Adams Poem
I was so close to the sun,
Tantalizing; ethereal-
Warm rays rolling over my skin before-
Sinking deep,
A parasite rooting itself into my neck,
Gentle caresses-
Strangling-
Choking-.
Churning-,
Inching closer-
And it stopped.
I felt air again,
But my lungs had grown so used to the feeling-
I gasped and grasped for air to receive so little in return;
A fated reminder.
My neck; freed,
Yet I strained for air-,
I learnt.
To wrap my hands around my neck-
To twist it (Just how he did)-
To breathe in,
And out,
And in,
And out.
And when I walked,
I stumbled; so far from the chain-
The leash,
I stumbled.
I saw it everywhere.
I saw it in how the leaves that were hoisted up by the wind (Which I craved dearly)-
Flew,
Being carried away by the gust-
Just how those warm rays had,
Rolled, rolled down my skin-,
But the leaves drifted without worry; careless.
I saw it in people holding hands-
Hands that would surely grip, claw and seize-
To sink deep- deep- and deeper still into that dripping, tensed palm-,
Fingers that would tighten around;
Nails to rip and to tear;
A forefinger and thumb,
To lift you so high;
Only to fall-
Fall-
Fall.
But soon my hands grew tired of grasping my neck,
And my legs grew bruised from crawling.
I no longer felt the air-,
Climbing through a crushed windpipe,
But instead a,
Whirlwind.
In and out-
I breathed in and out-.
In that crowded mall-,
People walked past; oblivious-
To the clean air-,
In and out-,
I breathed in and out in that crowded mall.
I stood, staring into my palms-
No longer stained with my sweat-
And I breathed.
Copyright © Toby Adams | Year Posted 2023
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Toby Adams Poem
Are my thoughts too loud,
Does the breeze of my breath graze your skin in the heat of summer?
And my hands cling too tightly that your palms sweat,
And you count the seconds until I notice?
Do my words come out staggered and awkward-
Far apart and yet too close,
And do I linger far too long for hands held too stiff for an applause? [one that won’t occur]
Do you like me kinder, sweeter and quiet?
Am I preferred to lie in the heat of battle,
And to falter at rejection? [Whilst known I did]
Is it not okay to stand too quickly, [After being paddled down]
Or am I meant to bow to the sun whilst turning my back on the moon,
Meant to favour right over left,
Sand on my blistering palms instead of the fields used to roam,
And thank the lord that I have hands at all.
When my skin starts to peel, [Under pounding heat]
Are my lips then parted justifiably?
When my eyes start to dry,
And my throat starts to ache, [Parched, unlike before]
Are my rights there undeniably?
Is there proof of humanity,
Under rubbled buildings?
Are our bones a remnant of life
Or do we lie there undefinably.
Copyright © Toby Adams | Year Posted 2025
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Toby Adams Poem
And yet I see within those eyes,
Not a beast in disguise,
But prey with unheard cries,
To it's faith it'll never know,
That whimpers and hinders,
Heady flame sunk in snow,
One that had not yet roared in anger,
One that had not yet learnt to bite,
As hard and harsh,
And filled with spite,
To darken misty air,
A growing girl,
Who sang with flair,
Who dreamed of heaven and fairies,
And neater, straighter hair.
Yet married a man so cold,
Yet strong, yet bold,
For he would hold her til he's old,
For the autumn, winter and summertime, sold
Her body beneath her clothe.
Barefoot and pregnant,
An orphaned widow by divorce,
She'd use that voice she used to sing,
To yell to cry,
but not to think,
To her children she died,
To herself she never lived,
"You live a loveless life,
You marry a loveless man,
You do your best,
And take what you can."
Copyright © Toby Adams | Year Posted 2024
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Toby Adams Poem
It starts in the little things,
A man's suit,
A floral dress,
Pretty pink bows,
And ties to impress.
Segregated lines,
To stand in before class,
Rough and sporty,
Or hands delicate glass.
Boys made for fawning over,
And chopping wood,
Business owner,
Bread winner,
With wives in the kitchen;
Ladies 'man',
Children 'can',
Can't, have,
Ideas or Plans,
Dress your boys for their jobs,
Players, soulless husband,
A mother robs,
Her son of free will,
He's made for work,
Not for frills.
A daughter weeps,
For hair cut short,
Father's word seeps,
Deep and curt,
"How would prince charming,
Climb Rapunzel's hair,
If for when he reached,
It was no longer there?"
Baby dolls,
Plastic toy kitchen,
Dainty soles,
Needles stitching.
Future mommy, don't you worry,
Mother raised you well,
When your tears start to swell,
Wipe them astray,
for when night dawns,
She prays,
All her hopes and dreams away.
Copyright © Toby Adams | Year Posted 2024
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