she was green eyes
and smooth thighs
his palms were rough
and his hair stood up
at the back, when i left
and went to my bed
from his
or hers
to mine
again
his and hers
hers and his
(no,
i'm not buying matching towels)
fluidity and focus
come side by side
in a darkened room and a heightened time
i like her kisses
and her hands
i like the truth in his eyes when he's sad
i'll be with her
or him or them
and i'll be with one or none or ten
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 5:18 AM UTC
i find myself wishing i could write
like i used to
write hard hitting poems that leave aches in your bones
i can't
i'm happy. i'm somewhere else, and i'm happy.
i look at old writings and i do not see me
i see a girl who was struggling to live and to breathe
six months ago, i'd take it all back
i'd gather up my poems and i'd stuff them in the trash
six months ago, i'd want to forget
but now all i see is development
i do not recognize that version of myself
but now,
i know it is for the best
i know that without our past selves,
we'd be nowhere near our present
and i quite like her
i like her strength the best
i like that even when it's not needed
i know it's served her well
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 8:23 PM UTC
I thought I knew what missing someone was
an ache
in the deepest pit of your stomach
that hits you like a truck - trucks hit you all at once
I was mistaken.
I thought I knew what missing someone was
And so
I sat listening to these songs and
That jumper I picked out today - it didn't fit perfect but it
brought me comfort.
I thought I knew what missing someone was
It's crept
All up and upon me so slowly, so
stealthy and disguised, our everyday things - they each piled inside of me
one by one.
I thought I knew what missing someone was
And until
I met you, it wasn't all bad
But I am wrapped in us - our clothes. our pictures and songs.
I miss you.
I miss you
I see now
That before you
I'd never missed
any one person
Not a little -
Not a once -
Not an ever -
Not at all.
I can only hope you don't miss me
Because the thought of you feeling this
Is so much worse
Than to not be thought of at all
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 2:17 AM UTC
it's an odd feeling
To pass someone by
and to know that their favourite colour is green
and that they like only one sugar in their tea
and to remember slurred words that fell from their mouth
and to remember
that you know your way
around the dustiest corners of their house
to know that they hate being tickled
on the curves of their hips
or to know that you've placed countless kisses
upon their hopelessly chapped lips
but mostly it's just sad
to pass someone by
and to look at them knowing
that never again
will they stop to say hi
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 10:47 PM UTC
I'd almost forgotten the smell of your perfume
Though it makes sense
That even the most faded of memories
Must have a curfew
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 2:27 AM UTC
On a polished oak desk
Wrapped in a thin dust-jacket
Lies an unused pen,
A blank sheet of paper,
And an empty pack of cigarettes.
I used to think that if these things could breathe, they would be loneliness personified.
But that's wrong.
If they lived, they wouldn't be lonely at all.
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 7:39 PM UTC
Golden words make
For a golden painted life
A little tarnished,
Yes.
But surely in reach,
And surely in sight.
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 9:26 AM UTC
You sat on coloured carpets
As a child
Wondering when the time would come
To grasp certain four lettered mysteries -
Titled love, life. Both questions for another day.
You stand now on technicolour floors
Painted, though not quite as vivid
Manufactured this time round - glass mirror-bred tricks of the light.
And all those mysteries from so long ago - far off questions left for a far off day - they baffle you just the same.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 7:18 PM UTC
Little changes are adding up like the
Drip drop of water that pools in the bathroom sink
from a rusty metal tap not quite stoppered.
And I am glad it is opened.
I am glad to look up from the little pool of changes turned large
To flick my eyesight skywards and head on into the mirror that steams up with condensation as I breathe
and I'm me
I breathe, and I know I am alive.
I look in this mirror and just like all the water droplets I see all the changes
And they're in me.
The tap is gushing freely since the day I took control
I took residence in the drivers seat and found the courage to twist the metal between my fingers and let it be how it is to be
And I am healthy
I see lights in my eyes again
I see a shine in my hair
I see new length to it too
I see clothes chosen with flair
I see colour flood my skin and a smile that shows teeth
I see red painted lips and weight off my hips
I see confidence in my stance, upright and straight
I see peace and tranquility less smothered by hate
But most of all, and finally
I see what I have always wanted
I see, and I know that if I am not free
I am soon to be
(I see recovery.)
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 9:38 PM UTC