An actor I may be,
But only by Degree.
I guess you don't need a Drama School
To take the world as a bunch of fools.
You learn your lines,
Say you need "time",
And always play it cool.

A musician you may be,
But only by Degree.
Perhaps I should sing along
Next time you write a song.
Sing the highs and the lows,
And the cliche sorrows.
And wonder where we went wrong.

You can't trust no man but your father.
But I can't be mad, you played the game.
This is why they give storms names.
We are the only natural disaster.

Mirror, Mirror on the wall,
Were you pushed or did you fall?
With glue and tape, I can put you back
Though you'll remain forever cracked.

I miss your eyes illuminating with the fire in your heart,
Burning as you ramble on before returning to the start.

The lyrics, the key change, the hook, the middle eight.
"This is the best part", you say, "this next part here, wait"

Musical jargon soaring high above my head for hours
While you sing me folk songs of women with hair full of flowers.

And though I didn't understand what you meant by A Minor,
I knew it sounded beautiful because your smile shone brighter.

Flowers in her hair like the first blossom of spring.
Swaying in the wind, picturesque.
The birds, for her, they sing.

When her branches lay bare and she's empty and colder,
Don't take it personally,
Don't be afraid to hold her.

Seasons come and go
And this you should know,
She will never be evergreen.

Kinda lost in my mind that's made of candy floss.
Everything's a blur in my green and hazy world.
Floating on a cloud where the silence is too loud.
Oh I love my cotton candy brain.

Tell me you know he's here.
Tell me "come home, you're mine".
Shouting out in the town
We don't care who's around
Because this is the last time.

Silence on the freeway
Until we get to the driveway at home.
With one hand up my shirt,
And one hand up my skirt,
You tell me I'm not alone.

It was beautiful agony
For two years, maybe three.
Kept me trapped with each kiss
And the ring in your lip
And you knew I'd never leave.

A post-*** serenade.
Drank your Kool-Aid, I was blind.
Overdosed you with love
When you didn't give me enough.
I guess we're a different kind.

I lay in your bed.
I shouldn't have been there.
But still I lay in your bed,
And I found a hair.
Too long to be yours.
Too blonde to be mine.
I'm no longer yours,
But I still wish you were mine.

How bitter sweet to be entwined for one last time.
And for one last dance to the song of our united breath.
How bitter sweet to be given one last chance to shine.
Who'd have known a goodbye could be so welcoming?

I'll never forgive my washing machine.
How it took the last of you away from me.
How it lathered
and rinsed
and drained your musk.
"Confident and fresh" you used to mock the slogan.
Now the fabric smells of softener,
And the colour's crisp and pure.
And it's just a tshirt again.

Forget your mothers words
When she told you lying is wrong
Because once you've had the truth
You'd have preferred the lie all along.

Soles hang,
Souls hang
Amongst the green.
They dangle, pleading of acknowledgment.
They twirl in their places,
Connected by their laces.
Countless but clear.
The shoe tree whispers "we were here"

What are you thinking
At eight in the morning
When you sit there drinking
Your coffee and yawning?

Is it merely desire
To go back to sleep?
In the bed, by the fire,
Counting your sheep.

Do you think of me
And my unpainted face?
Is it my two sugar tea?
Or my empty bookcase?

Is it reflection of past
Or a fear of now?
Or how I always asked
When you never knew how?

What are you thinking
At eight in the evening
When you sit there drinking
Your red wine, not speaking?

Why can't I write when I'm not feeling sad?
My pen only cries when my heart is bleeding.
It's not like happy souls don't have a thing to say,
But it was ink that got me through those lonely, rainy days.

Why can't I write when I'm wearing a smile?
I can only do it with a tear upon my cheek.
It's not like broken souls have any more to say,
But it was ink that got me through those lonely, rainy days.

It's not like I'm not trying when I'm not crying.
It's not like I would rather be in pain.
It's just that I would like to write you something,
To thank you for those dreamy summer days.

It is more than family photos
Hanging on a wall.
It is much more than a garden,
Where as toddlers we may fall.
It is much more than a roof,
Standing over some red brick.
More than a place for us to shelter
Whenever we get sick.
It's more than flowers on a mantlepiece,
And endless cups of tea.
Home is not a place,
Home is letting me be me.

Scary yet essential.
I have forgotten how to do it.

This is fine.
This is just fine as long as it doesn't go in my hair.
My fringe is hanging down a little.
What if it goes in my fringe?
I can't adjust my hair now, it'll ruin the mood...
Just look ****.

Oh god, he's looking at me.
I can't make eye contact with him, it's too weird.
Maybe I should close my eyes and roll my head back and make some sort of moaning sound.
That's a thing isn't it?
That's a thing girls do in ****?
It probably is.

****. I am not a **** star.
This can't look hot.
I think I'll give a nervous giggle.
Maybe it'll sound ****.

Great, now he thinks you're laughing at his *****.

No he doesn't.
He knows you love his *****.
Well, as much as you can love a *****.
It does feel good, but they just don't look very attractive do they?
Especially not when they're thrusting in front of your face.

Stop it - focus.
Don't focus! Relax!
Be in the mood.

How long does this take?
He's using his hand, surely he's a pro at this.
Why is he taking so long?
It's probably only been thirty seconds.
I hope it's been longer, I'm running out of ****** expressions.
Maybe I should talk *****?
But what if it goes in my mouth while I'm trying to speak?

Oh, he's grunting.
This must be...

It's in my ******* fringe.

I could be brave,
Or at least I could try.
Lord knows I've had a lot of practise.
I could be stubborn.
I could match your decibels.
I could cry.
I could listen.
I could do damage or be damaged
If I thought it's what you wanted.
I could sing your favourite song,
Admit that I was wrong,
Be weak, or be strong.
I could plead, pray, or beg.
I could hold my head high.
But I could never be yours could I?

The picture spoke a thousand lies,
A thousand lies but not a word.
We stare, obsess, we analyse,
But not a word was spoke or heard.
That intoxicated smile hides
That painful party, now a blur.
Pictures mask what stays inside
And only show us as we were.
No fair display of life in truth,
They capture only our disguise.
She appeared content for all her youth,
A theory which she now denies.

You deserve a new delivery,
A sentence unspoken.
But when my lips do part,
And as do we,
I fear of unoriginality.
There are words that fit
But do not do justice.
Do not tire of me,
I pray,
Until I find a new way.

I want to be thin.
I want to trade skin
And what lies within.
Let's trade prayers,
Trade pledges.
My curves for your edges.
Let's trade places,
Faces.
Trade lack of embraces.
I'll take your eyes
And your highs
In exchange for my toes
And my lows.
If only.

He is the only one who I truly need.
The one whose arms shield and protect me as a castle does a queen.
When I am sad his are the only hands which can wipe away my tears,
And he wields the only smile that can sooth my soul and rid my fears.
His eyes, oh how his beautifully cliche eyes see me. All of me.
It takes a fool to fall in love
And a fool to run from it.
I know one day he'll break my heart
And there'll be nobody to blame.
He'll be worth the pain when we part
And no one else will be the same.
He is the only one.

Midnight.
Both an end and a beginning,
More of a transition...
The tension of the countdown,
The thrill of the cheer.
The champagne,
the kisses with near and dear.
A rainbow of measures,
one after another,
drop after drop.
The night carries on,
song after song.
The clock strikes
as does a glimmer of hope.
For a second the promise
that this year will be better.
We swayed in the streetlights,
the moonlight,
the club,
And we sang
with the busker
who played only for us.
The truth is this year
will be the same as the last,
But blink and you'll miss it
and it'll soon be the past.

Do you remember what Harold was told by Maude?
"Oh Harold, that's wonderful. Go and love some more."
A young boy of your age should not be tied to the ground,
He should be free to love and learn in no bounds.
But a man like yourself should be only with myself
I assure you that together we need nobody else.

Is the pain of saying farewell to you worth the joy I get when we say hello?
Every train station tear drop, and all the goodbyes we spoke through choked up throats, I would do over again in exchange for one last night in your arms. Love is enough.

What's the point
In wasting time and wasting ink
When I can't verbalise the thoughts I think?

That night with you,
I learned the secret of it all.
The secret of love and how to fall.

In case you wonder
How you ever will know,
Spend time in silence and love should grow.

For we shared a glance,
A glance that pitifully pleaded.
And with that we knew that no words were needed.

I could swear my heart is bleeding, so why is my pen run dry?
I could swear my eyes are streaming, so why won't my pen cry?

I remember that night as clearly as the stars did shine for us. Who'd have known that a secret touch and a stolen kiss would lead to such beautiful agony?

I'm going crazy trying to think of new ways to tell you that you're perfect. That your smile gives me a whole new reason for life. Three words match perfectly, with a whole new understanding, but it isn't enough. It doesn't do justice to the way it feels to wake up in up in your arms, or the butterflies I get when you catch my eye. While the search seems impossible, I'm still going to try. But for now I suppose that "I love you" will do.

Take me home
To the place that I know.
Where the grass is greener
And the air smells sweeter.
Take me to Neptunes fountain and the parks and the hills,
Where I can walk down a street without being offered pills.

Take me home
Where I'm never alone.
To the place I adore
And will cherish forever more.
Take me to the racecourse, the promenade and town hall,
Where I bask in bliss under the starlit sky, and deeper still I fall.

We send each other love songs to express what we don't know how to say.
Freaky adolescents in the night but epitomising sophistication by day.
We send each other love songs to express what we cannot conprehend.
The looks of disapproval we'd give when they refer to us as 'friends'.
I tremble under his touch and I linger under his lips
While he takes a deep breath and tells himself to always remember this.

Who are you to interrogate me now that the boots on the other foot? Now that it's you in pain?
You tell me you can't sleep at night, thinking of him and I.
But where were you when I needed you?
Where were you when I was driven to insanity by the image of you and her, and the other one?
I've been living lies and faking thrills, yearning for your touch. But you aren't here are you? You're the loose cannon, the spontaneous, adventurous one. I know that about you.
I love that about you,
but where's the security?
What if you change your mind?
What if you don't love me?
What if you just miss me?

I've spent all this time thinking you were toxic for me
But I'm having second thoughts, I'm toxic as can be.
Laying up in bed with a man expecting you to be alone,
And then freaking out the second you don't pick up your phone.
I'm a hypocrite.
I hate myself.
I'm holding his hand.
But when you come to me,
you met some girl,
I'll never understand.
We both made promises we both should have kept
Because the way you make me feel that day I'll never forget.
You said you'd wait for me, said I was worth the pain
And now you come around saying you can't do this again.
I get it.
I ****** it.
Yeah it's always the same.
But it's cool if you're in bed with her and can't remember her name?
That's *******.
You can't expect me not to feel hurt
After all those late night texts telling me I was the right girl,
And that I rocked your whole world.
Now the thing is
Does she make all your senses tingle even when it's only kisses?
Does she write you songs and poems when it's you that she misses?
And ten years from now is it her you picture as your missus?
Let's stop playing all these games.
Stop hiding, there's no shame
In loving when it's us two.
I'm the one you know you're always gonna run to.
You know this makes sense.
Who you think you're kidding? It's us until the end.
It's you who said the one you love most to kiss is also your best friend.

Ten years from now I wonder where we will be. What will we be doing to **** time before time kills us? Strange to think we'll be nearly thirty, the age we spoke of in dread as the old us sat in your hallway smoking cigarette buts from your ashtray.
Remember when we spent those six weeks apart? Remember how much we had grown? Perhaps time changes us just as time heals pain, or so they say.
And why is change so taboo? We needn't feel guilty when our new selves adore one another quite the same as the old. My new inner-city slang is still besotted with your mainstream skinny jeans.
There was that day in the park when I awkwardly ignored the bride and groom that passed us by, followed by the elderly couple, and the toddler on the swings. You asked me how I pictured my future and I shrugged, considering life's unpredictability.
Now I sit by my window, gazing at the golden glow of the city, not knowing what I want for a life of my own, but fantasising of the possibility of a Christmas morning where you unwrap a guitar and spend a lifetime with musical memories, with or without me.

They sat there, peaceful in euphoric bliss,
Feeling the rush of electric with only a kiss.
They talked about death and the meaning of life
And the times he had struggled, just him and a knife.
They sat on a bench amongst autumnal trees,
Gazing through eyes that pleaded never to leave.
They sat in silent intervals, savouring each second,
Realising what seemed like an hour had turned out to be seven.
The sun set and they kissed at the station and parted
Content with knowing that they're journey had started.

Do you remember all those nights that we painted the town?
When I'd bring you back up when you began to come down.
Our mouths were dry from smoking but never too bad to kiss.
I'd be happy if you were with me and we were laying like this.
When he touches my thigh baby, know it's not the same.
And know that I don't get those butterflies when he says my name.
In another life, another place, maybe we'd work things out.
Perhaps we'd live happy ever after and we'd have no doubts.
But for now it seems the least we can do is try.
No worries, no *******, but just you and I.

My life has been misleading
Or at least that's how it seems.
I've been brought up on lies on love
And fairytale dreams.

But now that I am older
I feel I've been deceived.
Nobody told the truth to me:
That sometimes people leave.

Why not me?
Why don't I deserve true love?
The type of love I would scoff at and belittle when others possessed it.
What makes them worthy of three, four, five year long relationships when the longest anyone would put up with me for is eleven months?
Not even a year.
Maybe one day I'll experience the affection of an anniversary card or a rose or a box of chocolates.
'Cliche *******' I'd call it, bitterly, in a failed attempt to disguise my envy.
Not envy.
Sorrow.
Loneliness.
Understand that when I see them pass me by holding hands, publicly embracing, I'm not truly disgusted.
I just want to know why not me?

Ear studs.
Leather gloves.
Silver nose ring.
Too much clothing.
You think you like records?
You should see his collection.
You think that you're flawless?
You should see his complexion.
He rocks Houndstooth better than any chick you ever seen,
And even more fiercely than a 2009 *McQueen.
The boy with peroxide hair is one to watch out for.
When he enters the room there's applause; he's to die for!
"Don't dream it, just be it*" that's what he always said
He's a bad killer queen, he's the one, the only, *Ed.

I don't know
what made me
think I could
replace you.
Neither am I sure
why I thought
it would be a
good idea to try.
Haunted by
the memory
of how I would
embrace you.
And regretting
every second
of the day we
said goodbye.

I am merely another story
Behind another window.
With or without me,
The game goes on.
Drowning in skyscrapers.
Crushed by industrialisation.
Suffocated from the inexhaustible thrill of the city.
I am enchanted by my insignificance

Outside I sense the streets' hustle and bustle.
Inside, not even a rustle.
Who'd have known the city could be so lonely?
Thousands of faces but none of them know me.
Cold coffee. Uncomfortable small talk.
No familiar paths for me to walk.
The place that I connect not to, but they call home.
Their foundation, their roots, where I am alone.

Day two
Without you.
A million miles apart
But under the same stars.
I am sleeping alone in this river I've cried.
The nights are so long when you're empty inside.
Are you thinking of me?

The day you went away
was the day my world stopped turning.
We both always knew this would be temporary but Three Hundred and Twenty Seven days of you was never going to be enough.

The flowers here wilted
and shrivelled away when you left.
They only ever blossomed for you.

The grass dried up
and the leaves fell down.
Dusty tracks now where once lay roads.

The birds flew South
but not just for the winter.
To be with you.

This place,
our place,
the town that brought us together
is tainted now.
It can offer me no more.

Come home.