the bitter silky stuff
runs down my throat
caresses the crevices
of my mouth
in a way that feels
both fleeting
and concrete
and i am almost certain
that is how it is to kiss
you
only you
perhaps
all of my previous embraces
have felt transitory
and unimportant
and clumsy
sometimes
i forget that there’s tea
that’s been left
brewing
and cooling
for the last twenty minutes
and yesterday
i saw them together
and almost shouted a greeting
but again
they were fleeting
one of my classes
once revolved
around the concept
of impermanence
it is the only lesson
that’s held importance
perhaps
because
he sat perpendicular
to the wall
and the pain
my neck felt from craning
evaporated
when i’d worried
it never would
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 6:50 PM UTC
Reaching for your arm in the dark,
My shoes too clumsy for uneven ground,
And me testing your touch.
It was a year ago, now, and I have since
Forgotten the words spoken, unable
To recollect those thoughts, or to
Decipher the look in your eyes.
I will never know if it were deception
Or my own delirium. Misfortune,
I guess, our paths ever did cross.
Here's to us, to what we weren't,
Wouldn't and couldn't have been.
Here's to us, for everything felt anew
I traded blue for green when I met you.
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 10:13 AM UTC
An attack, a swarm
of winged insects against my chest.
A blur, a rush
of colours and defence mechanisms.
Fluttering across my vital organs,
and as sudden as a heart attack.
This inconsistent breathing
is waves crashing at cliffs.
No, not the rock at ground level, but
the sky high stuff.
A paradox.
A person, a girl
who craves human contact, yet
when granted, “fight or flight”
she soars.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 6:26 AM UTC
you're the type of boy
my mother warned me about, and
I worry that you don't love me
when you're sober. in westernized culture,
blue represents sadness, so when
I looked into your eyes for the first time,
I should have foresaw a broken heart.
but, you can mend broken things
with glue - **** it, glue reminds me
of how often you get high.
why do you get delirium,
when you only ever bring me down?
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 2:59 PM UTC
He always knew how to swim,
was naïve enough to believe
that he could save her from drowning.
He dived a little deeper,
explored terrain that no one
had previously dared to venture.
He became her float –
breathing air from the surface,
yes, but still,
half immersed in water.
He taught her how to swim;
he taught her how to glide;
but in doing so, he sacrificed
the air in his lungs.
She taught him how to sink.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 2:12 PM UTC
you and your
sharp limbs
are somehow
inviting &
all i can say
is that
i really want
to kiss you
kiss you
*******
kiss you
****
you are
stronger
than caffeine
than alcohol
than nicotine
but you run
through my veins
all the same
& i need you
need you i
******* need you
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 2:39 PM UTC
i want to run away
from these thoughts
of you, these dreams
of you, away from you
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 2:22 PM UTC
The doors slide open
and I am reminded of how
he sweeps his fingers through his hair.
I sigh. I hesitate.
A man with a blank face watches
as I contemplate lifting my feet
from earth that is trying to swallow me.
"one, please." I say,
only to learn that there is no fare.
I don't even know my destination -
let alone what I'll do when I get there.
I carry a box under my arm.
It holds a weight I am used to, but
one I don't want to hurl around with me
all day, every day.
My eyes meet a seat at the back of the bus,
and they do not travel elsewhere
until I meet the safety it provides.
Lying on the surface,
of the box filled with my messy thoughts,
is last night's diary entry.
The poem I keep rewriting.
A list of things I'm likely to forget,
and another of things I wish I could.
There seems to be nothing outside of my window.
Like we are the only survivors of a sinking ship.
There is a young caffeine addict,
who sits next to his box.
He doesn't face it, he pretends it isn't there.
He just jitters and sips from his coffee cup.
There is an erratic woman of thirty,
who keeps reading and rereading the contents
of her box - letters from an ex lover.
She obsessively turns over the paper,
studies his every word, tries to figure it all out.
The hopeless romantic is writing a poem
for the girl who left him.
He keeps scrunching up his drafts,
discards them in his cardboard box.
The caffeine addict has opened a window.
Paper pages flutter like insect wings.
A rosy cheeked ten year old
is next to join the voyage of the misfits.
Her box is too big for her to carry,
too heavy -
She trips.
The burden, flying from her grasp,
like doves released from a cage.
She tries to collect each piece of paper,
each doodle, each sticky note.
She is frantic.
Someone taught this girl
to be ashamed of the inner workings of her mind,
and if I have learnt anything from school,
it is that not every lesson is meant to be revised.
I glance at my box,
like a book I've read a thousand times,
I only need to skim read to get the story.
I open a window.
The caffeine addict gets the same idea.
Then, simultaneously, we throw our problems
into the air. We let them breathe something fresh.
We let them kiss the night sky.
Suddenly, our destination is bliss.
We think about the postcards
we are bound to send, from forests
and meadows and mountains.
The only constant is the self.
We can build up our walls, but sometimes,
we need to leave the door open.
My mind is a kingdom.
I am learning to roam free.
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 11:35 AM UTC
i am just a glitch in the system,
a name
on a waiting list which is too long.
i am just a name, one you can't get rid of.
so you tell me i'll wait six months,
it has been eight.
you call yourself professionals,
yet you don't seem to realise that teenagers are –
impatient.
so my mother leaves endless voicemails,
and my doctor sends a string of letters your way,
all in a feeble attempt
to hurry along the mind numbing process.
i don't expect to beat the system,
and there are countless others like me –
but isn't that the thing that scares you?
you know, there is this fashion craze,
where we tie lengths of black cord around our necks,
and call them "chokers".
i wear mine every day, and i tie it a tad too tightly,
because i can't breathe
and i've ran out of excuses as to why.
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 12:37 PM UTC
you take your morning coffee black,
and i cannot see the appeal in the bitter taste.
you start the day with nicotine, whether that be
cigarettes or cherry-flavored vapor.
you are a bad influence on me, you made me
addicted to the stuff. your eyes are
an ocean. they have seen so, so much.
your face, your body, your mind, all sharp angles -
i have learned how to safety proof myself
from your jagged edges. you, my love, are
a rose. your thorns make my limbs bleed,
and your beauty works as a band aid.
i have learned which places our bodies can
interlock comfortably. the crook of your neck,
my head against your chest, i wish i could melt
our bones together, into one perfect structure.
you were sculpted from dystopian stories, yet
you are alive, you are a tangible utopia.
tangled in the darkness, we mumble sweet promises
and careful secrets. these bed sheets safe keep
us from a world where i love yous can
never last. dear God, let this last.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 10:23 AM UTC