I’ve been waiting for the world to click into place.
I don’t know what it will sound like,
a tight snap of fingers,
a gun shot,
or the muffled click of a closing door
But I have been told that I will know when I know
In the mean time I devote my eyes and ears to the practice of searching
But when you have a hammer - everything looks like nail
When you have restless hope - everything looks like a sign
I have been waiting for the world to click into place
But I am not a patient person
I have never known how to walk,
my feet fall straight into a desperate sprint,
pounding pavement into gravel
I do not know how to wait
How to hold my aching palm open
To invite the world to place itself inside it
I only know how to rip things open before they unravel
A half formed larvae in a torn cocoon
I have been waiting for the world to click into place
But lately I’ve been wondering.
If this waiting is just another version of the great scam
The pearly gates, the self help books, the monogamy, the diet, the bodies you chase into darkly lit rooms, the idea of goodness and the promise of a you that is better than the current you,
The great scam that promises you eternity when you get there,
but only if you are patient. and if you are good.
But what is death if not staying completely still?
If death is stillness and rotting in place
Then living is flux, hunger, searching
A pale corpse looks peaceful next to a heaving ravaging body, but it is still ******* dead.
Perhaps instead of waiting for the eternal click I can aspire to be - a revolving door
Made to move in circular motion
Clicking and unclicking in and out of place
Still only until I allow the next person through
To move me, to move through me
Jan 18
Jan 18, 2026 at 10:25 AM UTC
If I learn to turn off all the lights,
And return things where I found them,
And train to catch things as they fall,
(And then to not drop them at all)
If I learn to be so ever-loving,
Kind, not crude, not shoulder turning,
Predict the cuts that I could claw,
(And then not make the cuts at all)
If I learn to truly be content
And spend the days not feeling spent
Swallow resentment’s bitter call
(And forget bitterness forevermore)
If I learn to live outside myself
Learn to re-align myself,
Remove venom from my teeth-myself
Live a normal life myself
Begin to sanitise myself
Stop retreating to the dark, myself
Retract my knives and fists myself
Pull delusion from my eyes myself
Would I still be me at all?
Apr 26, 2020
Apr 26, 2020 at 5:31 PM UTC
i am the insides of an open book
I am the pages that call out to you
I am the text that begs to be spoken
I am the story that does not exist until I am read
until I settle over your thoughts like a veil
until I enter your system like a truth serum
until I break you like fear
until I heal you like hope
until I become a part of you.
You are the perfect audience
you are the hands that run over my lines
you are the lips that bring my beauty to life
you are the one that returns after the end of every chapter
until you breathe my words like air
until you swear to never read another
until my truth becomes your guide
until my next page becomes your future
until we walk, palm on paper, to the epilogue.
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 11:46 AM UTC
I will turn to go now
And walk bravely into the light
To all my loves I bid adieu
To my reasons I bid goodnight
A selfish wish to which i'd both
Love & hate for you to agree:
That if I would ever look behind my back
You would linger on for me.
I will turn to go now
And walk bravely into the light
To my past, I thank you all
To you, I say goodbye.
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 10:00 AM UTC
I'll sing to the rhythm of your walk
As you write me a poem about my feet
Tell me stories of lost confessions
And how you love the back of my knees
Whisper above the thunder's cry
Tickle my earlobes with your breath
Confuse me with your good intentions
And gather all that is left.
Move with the sway of stupid wordplay
As i count our blessings on your finger tips
The only people who can hurt us are ourselves
It's rather sad, isn't it?
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 11:31 AM UTC
It's the unlocking of a heavy door,
To a past that is long dead;
The dead thump of a dropping heart,
The cold of an empty bed.
The slides and glides of cello strings,
That linger in the dark-
A shadow of a stolen kiss,
That has forever left its mark.
Those empty nights that sat draped in darkness,
Spent listening to the rain;
Cold and crying for hollow want,
Watching the sun die over and over again.
The cold of your fingers on the nape of my neck,
Salty waves dying on the shore;
Chapped lips left half-parted,
"I can't do this anymore."
Crusty edged, picture perfect,
Skies that left me broken hearted;
sun kissed skin and star lit eyes,
Wishing you had never started.
A familiar voice you thought you'd forgotten,
the missing harmony of an old song;
The acid that drips deep inside
When you realize you were wrong.
The leaks of honey on your chin,
The end of something good;
It's the guilty pleasure in midst of the pain
Of a sin you never should.
The words you never really meant,
Lay sweet, savoured, spent.
All you heart weighed in gold,
The dying breath of stories never told.
Whispered seductions calling out,
Begging you to close your eyes-
Unclench, exhale, surrender fast;
Release and say goodbye.
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 11:27 AM UTC