babe - Hello Poetry

They say that love is blind The truth is just, love is pure. She is patient, she is kind, She’s unrefined and yet, demure. Through her looking glass she sees Spots of flaws and marks of pain Why do you cry so much, darling? How can I never make you feel that way again? Love should know that beauty fades, She should know that looks are weak But love cannot be easily stuck in place Not all who claim to find can truly seek. Are you the measure of the man? So wonderful in writing But is your face too faithless Shockingly unbeguiling. Is love so shallow that she can’t see How you give her the world? But is it her prerogative to be After those who make the heart twirl? Will love be another one with a seven With plenty of zeros to his name? How does her nature suffer When it is love you seek to tame?

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Aug 10, 2021

Aug 10, 2021 at 6:01 PM UTC

Love

They say that love is blind The truth is just, love is pure. She is patient, she is kind, She’s unrefined and yet, demure. Through her looking glass she sees Spots of flaws and marks of pain Why do you cry so much, darling? How can I never make you feel that way again? Love should know that beauty fades, She should know that looks are weak But love cannot be easily stuck in place Not all who claim to find can truly seek. Are you the measure of the man? So wonderful in writing But is your face too faithless Shockingly unbeguiling. Is love so shallow that she can’t see How you give her the world? But is it her prerogative to be After those who make the heart twirl? Will love be another one with a seven With plenty of zeros to his name? How does her nature suffer When it is love you seek to tame?

24

There I was in my almost clinical white coat Looking like Yoko Ono, oh no, didn't realise it at all. Strolling all around the front square, You in that tan coat stood there, Looking like something out of Harry Potter, I presume. I'd clocked you at the protest a year before, And you fell for me that first day, Early September, leaves not yet falling Me eating an apple a day. It was the last fruit of summer, I was still in love with someone else And as summer became autumn, and is now becoming winter, I honest to god can't tell. I can't help myself. I can't help myself. You in our second meeting- but the first 'meeting'- Acting like my very existence was bad for your health, All this merging and converging like its two countries joining together, I knew that you liked me, in ways you've liked me forever. But I wanted to make him come back to me, wished on a spirit To take him back to me, wished for the truth and- what did I see? The last fruit of summer, an apple tree. I was so nervous, I bit my lip so hard it bled, I come from the Hughes', I lie then, instead. Your red filaments, burning, yearning, twisting, turning, Kissing me and hugging me like you've never wanted to hold onto a thing so tight. I feel like a wild horse penned in, flying by night. Because I know that you're mad about me Honest to god I wish I was too, But I don't understand what stops me from letting go and loving you. It was the last fruit of summer, The final kiss from the earth, I wore all black, you in florals Me not knowing my worth. I want to take it slow, and you agree, You'd agree to anything I want because it's me. You and your artistic set, fashion-obsessed, Everything I could ever want, everything you could ever spend. But nothing that I really do want, in the end. And I ask for the truth, to the apple tree, I tell them- oh god- is this ruining me? I cut it and eat it piece by little piece, 'I can't help you, darling, so just sit back and eat.'

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Oct 27, 2019

Oct 27, 2019 at 6:45 AM UTC

The Last Fruit of Summer

There I was in my almost clinical white coat Looking like Yoko Ono, oh no, didn't realise it at all. Strolling all around the front square, You in that tan coat stood there, Looking like something out of Harry Potter, I presume. I'd clocked you at the protest a year before, And you fell for me that first day, Early September, leaves not yet falling Me eating an apple a day. It was the last fruit of summer, I was still in love with someone else And as summer became autumn, and is now becoming winter, I honest to god can't tell. I can't help myself. I can't help myself. You in our second meeting- but the first 'meeting'- Acting like my very existence was bad for your health, All this merging and converging like its two countries joining together, I knew that you liked me, in ways you've liked me forever. But I wanted to make him come back to me, wished on a spirit To take him back to me, wished for the truth and- what did I see? The last fruit of summer, an apple tree. I was so nervous, I bit my lip so hard it bled, I come from the Hughes', I lie then, instead. Your red filaments, burning, yearning, twisting, turning, Kissing me and hugging me like you've never wanted to hold onto a thing so tight. I feel like a wild horse penned in, flying by night. Because I know that you're mad about me Honest to god I wish I was too, But I don't understand what stops me from letting go and loving you. It was the last fruit of summer, The final kiss from the earth, I wore all black, you in florals Me not knowing my worth. I want to take it slow, and you agree, You'd agree to anything I want because it's me. You and your artistic set, fashion-obsessed, Everything I could ever want, everything you could ever spend. But nothing that I really do want, in the end. And I ask for the truth, to the apple tree, I tell them- oh god- is this ruining me? I cut it and eat it piece by little piece, 'I can't help you, darling, so just sit back and eat.'

43

And it’s only in those silent moments I feel sad. I spend my days keeping busy, I tell them all I am actually doing surprisingly well. Because I actually feel like I am, it’s not just something I’m saying to say. I grieved. You were gone for, like, three days before you appeared to tell me it’s over. So it felt as if you’d already done it. Like a missing person’s body finally being found, Like a crash towards the inevitable, that wave of just knowing. He is never coming back. But in the daylight I’m okay. No one has to know my feelings on the subject, You don’t even exist to them. It’s only when I’m in bed and the music stops that I realise the gaping hole in my world. The faces of men I turned down for you, The things I would’ve said, the plans I could’ve made, How close I was to finally feeling safe. But like every man before you, And probably many more to come, Safety is never an option. Security is someone you call to get people out. Home is a place where I build the walls, I decide who gets the password to come inside. But I don’t want an audience anymore. No one gets to see me. Why should I let anyone see behind the mask of the Great and Powerful Oz? What do I get in return? No home, no heart, no courage for finally speaking up, no. Just a slap in the face that feels like ice water. So I sit here in silence, avoiding what has to be done and I cry and I cry until nothing comes out but a squeak. This weak creature finally speaks: ‘You used to make me melt but now I’m melting.’ Oh, what a world, What a world.

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Feb 11, 2019

Feb 11, 2019 at 7:21 PM UTC

Ice Water

And it’s only in those silent moments I feel sad. I spend my days keeping busy, I tell them all I am actually doing surprisingly well. Because I actually feel like I am, it’s not just something I’m saying to say. I grieved. You were gone for, like, three days before you appeared to tell me it’s over. So it felt as if you’d already done it. Like a missing person’s body finally being found, Like a crash towards the inevitable, that wave of just knowing. He is never coming back. But in the daylight I’m okay. No one has to know my feelings on the subject, You don’t even exist to them. It’s only when I’m in bed and the music stops that I realise the gaping hole in my world. The faces of men I turned down for you, The things I would’ve said, the plans I could’ve made, How close I was to finally feeling safe. But like every man before you, And probably many more to come, Safety is never an option. Security is someone you call to get people out. Home is a place where I build the walls, I decide who gets the password to come inside. But I don’t want an audience anymore. No one gets to see me. Why should I let anyone see behind the mask of the Great and Powerful Oz? What do I get in return? No home, no heart, no courage for finally speaking up, no. Just a slap in the face that feels like ice water. So I sit here in silence, avoiding what has to be done and I cry and I cry until nothing comes out but a squeak. This weak creature finally speaks: ‘You used to make me melt but now I’m melting.’ Oh, what a world, What a world.

33

Yours is the face in the crowd I want to see. Yours is the name that I hear And I always speak. Yours is the sound on the wind The missing breath in between Mine is the serious thing I know you’re missing me. Yours is the song of the south Of east, north and west too. Yours is the message I see But forgo replying to. Yours is the chart that I read Yours is the name I wail out with dread When I’m alone sobbing in my bed Full of the missing in between instead. Yours is the face in the crowd I’d rather meet. Yours is the name that brings pain The bittersweet. Yours is the watery depth Mine is the fire that leaves you bereft And I know that I’m still a Queen But there’s too much in between.

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Feb 11, 2019

Feb 11, 2019 at 7:00 PM UTC

In Between

Yours is the face in the crowd I want to see. Yours is the name that I hear And I always speak. Yours is the sound on the wind The missing breath in between Mine is the serious thing I know you’re missing me. Yours is the song of the south Of east, north and west too. Yours is the message I see But forgo replying to. Yours is the chart that I read Yours is the name I wail out with dread When I’m alone sobbing in my bed Full of the missing in between instead. Yours is the face in the crowd I’d rather meet. Yours is the name that brings pain The bittersweet. Yours is the watery depth Mine is the fire that leaves you bereft And I know that I’m still a Queen But there’s too much in between.

24

I still can’t find the words Because, perhaps, a part of me feels That you’ll look at me like I have ten heads If I say how I cannot heal. Perhaps I don’t want to heal at all, Now I am a vulnerable, scorned thing. The looks of realisation passing over their faces As I tell my sorry story, my frightening fabula. The tale of poppies and lilies and The coldest winter I have ever known. I was skin and bone with a big black coat And I didn’t like who it was that I was. The tale of glassy eyes and cold ones And throwing yourself at me The tale of black and white pudding Of Brett Ashley and Daisy Buchanan Of ostentatiousness unrivalled. I still can’t find the words I’m angry, sad, tearful in public alone Confused and bewildered. Is that how you love someone? Or claim that you do? Is that the ‘nice thing’ you’re holding back? Is that the swivelling chair or the casting couch? Is that why I cannot seem to get over it? Not over you, it. And you say you weren’t well at the time. I supposed we were both stuck clinging to each other To broken to move away, to scared to be alone. But no, this isn’t an excuse. I still can’t put it into words How profoundly odd I feel these days You didn’t hurt me but you hurt me And all I can see if your smirking face. ‘Calm down, you’re gorgeous.’ Oh, I could hate a hurt like that. My sorry story, fantastic fabulam Is it too posh if I speak outside English? Why do you care? You knew who I was. You know who I am. You know. And I’ll bet you also can’t find the words So you hide behind cheap drinks and albums And everything scummy because you despise who it is that you are. Hoi polloi, the common man. Whatever ‘common people do.’ I still can’t put it into words And I don’t want to. It’s too complex and I don’t have the energy to tell a story To tell the world of the war I won The hollow victory, the end of our empire. Red lips, red boots, silver shoes. Go to sleep, it’s over now.

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Nov 5, 2018

Nov 5, 2018 at 11:31 AM UTC

Fabula

I still can’t find the words Because, perhaps, a part of me feels That you’ll look at me like I have ten heads If I say how I cannot heal. Perhaps I don’t want to heal at all, Now I am a vulnerable, scorned thing. The looks of realisation passing over their faces As I tell my sorry story, my frightening fabula. The tale of poppies and lilies and The coldest winter I have ever known. I was skin and bone with a big black coat And I didn’t like who it was that I was. The tale of glassy eyes and cold ones And throwing yourself at me The tale of black and white pudding Of Brett Ashley and Daisy Buchanan Of ostentatiousness unrivalled. I still can’t find the words I’m angry, sad, tearful in public alone Confused and bewildered. Is that how you love someone? Or claim that you do? Is that the ‘nice thing’ you’re holding back? Is that the swivelling chair or the casting couch? Is that why I cannot seem to get over it? Not over you, it. And you say you weren’t well at the time. I supposed we were both stuck clinging to each other To broken to move away, to scared to be alone. But no, this isn’t an excuse. I still can’t put it into words How profoundly odd I feel these days You didn’t hurt me but you hurt me And all I can see if your smirking face. ‘Calm down, you’re gorgeous.’ Oh, I could hate a hurt like that. My sorry story, fantastic fabulam Is it too posh if I speak outside English? Why do you care? You knew who I was. You know who I am. You know. And I’ll bet you also can’t find the words So you hide behind cheap drinks and albums And everything scummy because you despise who it is that you are. Hoi polloi, the common man. Whatever ‘common people do.’ I still can’t put it into words And I don’t want to. It’s too complex and I don’t have the energy to tell a story To tell the world of the war I won The hollow victory, the end of our empire. Red lips, red boots, silver shoes. Go to sleep, it’s over now.

53

I sit in the cold air on New Year’s Day Oíche Shamhna or so they say. I wait and wait for a strange delay Witch’s brew or so they say. I wish that I could sleep so tight So soundly like you seem to do When you say the soft ‘night night’ As if your conscience is clear and true. I shiver in the air this day It’s New Years now, or so they say. My resolution was to change And bury all the old timed hate. To forget, forgive and start anew To resolute with witch’s brew. To toast the past and future too To somehow live on without you. I wait inside the freezing cell All for the ringing of the bell You made my life akin to hell And from that low I found myself. I sit in the cold on New Year’s Day Allerheiligen as they say. I live for getting through today For I know you have hell to pay. With you and everything I’ve seen I can’t trust the moon on Halloween. With you and everything I know You’ll have what you want and then you’ll go. With you and everything we’ve learned All the minus points you’ve earned All the witches that have burned I have a right to be concerned. I sit in the cold air on New Year’s Day Oíche Shamhna or so they say. I wait and wait for a strange delay I wonder what form I will take.

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Nov 1, 2018

Nov 1, 2018 at 6:31 AM UTC

Remember, Remember

I sit in the cold air on New Year’s Day Oíche Shamhna or so they say. I wait and wait for a strange delay Witch’s brew or so they say. I wish that I could sleep so tight So soundly like you seem to do When you say the soft ‘night night’ As if your conscience is clear and true. I shiver in the air this day It’s New Years now, or so they say. My resolution was to change And bury all the old timed hate. To forget, forgive and start anew To resolute with witch’s brew. To toast the past and future too To somehow live on without you. I wait inside the freezing cell All for the ringing of the bell You made my life akin to hell And from that low I found myself. I sit in the cold on New Year’s Day Allerheiligen as they say. I live for getting through today For I know you have hell to pay. With you and everything I’ve seen I can’t trust the moon on Halloween. With you and everything I know You’ll have what you want and then you’ll go. With you and everything we’ve learned All the minus points you’ve earned All the witches that have burned I have a right to be concerned. I sit in the cold air on New Year’s Day Oíche Shamhna or so they say. I wait and wait for a strange delay I wonder what form I will take.

36

Coffee in hand, she sits on a train She smells a little like cinnamon and sage. She hears a voice, her heart in her mouth It isn’t him, as she fears. Absolutely no doubt. Amongst the loud hum, she can spy at herself So sad, so defeated, she’s like no one else. Tears spring to her eyes as she looks at her screen She’d been too busy living a Hemingway dream. She won’t call him again, as he doesn’t care She won’t let him in when he’s not really there. She won’t be his last and she wasn’t the first She isn’t the only girl to get hurt. So coffee in hand, she’s no longer forlorn For hell hath no fury like a good woman scorned.

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Sep 22, 2018

Sep 22, 2018 at 12:24 PM UTC

Only the Brave

Coffee in hand, she sits on a train She smells a little like cinnamon and sage. She hears a voice, her heart in her mouth It isn’t him, as she fears. Absolutely no doubt. Amongst the loud hum, she can spy at herself So sad, so defeated, she’s like no one else. Tears spring to her eyes as she looks at her screen She’d been too busy living a Hemingway dream. She won’t call him again, as he doesn’t care She won’t let him in when he’s not really there. She won’t be his last and she wasn’t the first She isn’t the only girl to get hurt. So coffee in hand, she’s no longer forlorn For hell hath no fury like a good woman scorned.

14

Honey, honey, oh How I wish we’d change I just won’t let a person in And that I’m deranged. Don’t you, don’t you know That the tides are not the same You know every little thing Except my middle name. Honey, honey, oh While I’m walking on the floor The little light is dancing And it’s in at every pore. I don’t, I don’t know What your god has in store The angel told me one time That my heart was meant for more. And honey, honey, oh I wish I wasn’t less I wish I wasn’t talking in My little black dress. And honey, honey, oh I swear I’d change it if I could From faraway it’s easy For a good girl to seem good. And honey, honey, I Am sorry and I want to say I miss you more than anything But it’ll never be the same. It’s all unraveling again It’s all so, so unreal It’s all falling to pieces ‘Feel, honey. It’s alright to feel.’

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Sep 7, 2018

Sep 7, 2018 at 11:02 AM UTC

Honey

Honey, honey, oh How I wish we’d change I just won’t let a person in And that I’m deranged. Don’t you, don’t you know That the tides are not the same You know every little thing Except my middle name. Honey, honey, oh While I’m walking on the floor The little light is dancing And it’s in at every pore. I don’t, I don’t know What your god has in store The angel told me one time That my heart was meant for more. And honey, honey, oh I wish I wasn’t less I wish I wasn’t talking in My little black dress. And honey, honey, oh I swear I’d change it if I could From faraway it’s easy For a good girl to seem good. And honey, honey, I Am sorry and I want to say I miss you more than anything But it’ll never be the same. It’s all unraveling again It’s all so, so unreal It’s all falling to pieces ‘Feel, honey. It’s alright to feel.’

32

I sit here. I fall prey to your charms, harms and weaknesses. I see you in my mind with glasses, Onassis. Your brother flying across the Atlantic And you are Atlas holding the world up. I feel the old pang. I fall prey- that’s me, Persephone. I’ve had my time in Tartarus And you were my Spring. My Astonishing Adonis, Sunglasses, Onassis. All second chances. The night I met a Greek hero disguised as a man Who turned out to be a man disguised as a Greek hero. And I miss you, as you go off. I’m not Persephone, I’m Penelope. I was unsure I’d wait for you And now I don’t want to. But still, part of me does. Everyone is like a Greek god in some ways. I’ve had my fun with Apollo and Hades and Zeus- Who I’m still holding out for. But aren’t we all? And you, born on the same day as my Pallas. My palace in the future, my ramshackled past. You know a surface, you weren’t meant to stay in my world. And I prayed and prayed to let you stay. But as always it was up in the air. So I sit there. I fall prey to your harms, charms and weaknesses. Mine is weak ankles, yours is your weak spine. And I wonder, Did love ever make you blind?

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Aug 8, 2018

Aug 8, 2018 at 5:25 PM UTC

Onassis

I sit here. I fall prey to your charms, harms and weaknesses. I see you in my mind with glasses, Onassis. Your brother flying across the Atlantic And you are Atlas holding the world up. I feel the old pang. I fall prey- that’s me, Persephone. I’ve had my time in Tartarus And you were my Spring. My Astonishing Adonis, Sunglasses, Onassis. All second chances. The night I met a Greek hero disguised as a man Who turned out to be a man disguised as a Greek hero. And I miss you, as you go off. I’m not Persephone, I’m Penelope. I was unsure I’d wait for you And now I don’t want to. But still, part of me does. Everyone is like a Greek god in some ways. I’ve had my fun with Apollo and Hades and Zeus- Who I’m still holding out for. But aren’t we all? And you, born on the same day as my Pallas. My palace in the future, my ramshackled past. You know a surface, you weren’t meant to stay in my world. And I prayed and prayed to let you stay. But as always it was up in the air. So I sit there. I fall prey to your harms, charms and weaknesses. Mine is weak ankles, yours is your weak spine. And I wonder, Did love ever make you blind?

30

I do so well without you Then you come back again I say that I am fine I sit and play pretend. I go off to parties I try to flirt with men I do so well without you That it’s hard not to pretend. And, silly me, I loved you And, silly me, I care For you and all around you But love is never fair. I do so well without you Then back you come around I see you in the distance You look for common ground. I say I want to see you I say I want to call I sit alone and wonder If I was anything at all? And, silly me, I loved you I thought I meant the world To me, you were my everything But I was not your girl. I do so well without you So very, very well. Until you say hello again And I’m under your spell. And, silly me, I talk to you I often bare my soul And, silly me, I love you But you don’t deserve to know.

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Jun 8, 2018

Jun 8, 2018 at 10:32 PM UTC

I Do So Well Without You

I do so well without you Then you come back again I say that I am fine I sit and play pretend. I go off to parties I try to flirt with men I do so well without you That it’s hard not to pretend. And, silly me, I loved you And, silly me, I care For you and all around you But love is never fair. I do so well without you Then back you come around I see you in the distance You look for common ground. I say I want to see you I say I want to call I sit alone and wonder If I was anything at all? And, silly me, I loved you I thought I meant the world To me, you were my everything But I was not your girl. I do so well without you So very, very well. Until you say hello again And I’m under your spell. And, silly me, I talk to you I often bare my soul And, silly me, I love you But you don’t deserve to know.

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