I hate you like the hoarse, dry throated cockeral hates the rise of morning sun. A hatred that repeats itself over and over with closed eyelids. It is a strange emotion to hate with hope, as all creatures do that something miraculous will emerge from the same, tired nothingness. A foundation built on what if's and maybe's. when in reality everything always repeats, always.

There is a spider in the kitchen we're both just stood staring, it and I in a trance of who runs first? Are you dangerous or am I? I try to catch it under a glass but it will not move, are you dangerous or am I? I step back it needs time to recover, we both do. There is a spider in the kitchen are you dangerous or am I?

When I'm sad it rains,
its been raining a lot lately.
And just like that sentence I've been skirting around the edges trying to avoid direct contact with anything.
I feel like I am edgeless and not in a 'you are limitless' kind of way.
More like I have no idea who I am anymore and it scares the hell out of me!
I don't feel sad in the same way I used to when I could attach a tag to each emotion and say I know you.
I feel shattered and used like every bone in my body has come from a charity shop and I'm trying to figure out how everything works and what pieces are missing from the box.
I am drowning in my own rain and every breath I try to take to remind myself you have to survive,
fills my lungs a little more until I have to scream *******!
Bring it on,
because I refuse to die in this weather, just like the past I cannot change it but my coat has a hood and like everything,
rain is never permanent.

It is half-past one in the afternoon, I have bobbed on the sea of empty deepness like a buoyancy aid with no purpose but to bounce.
I bump into emotion after emotion like a cascade, a waterfall or a tornado just trying to score high on entropy.
I am high on emptiness yet I am full, full of all the words and memories that have been shoved inside of me like a stuffed turkey.
I cannot draw a line between one thought to the next like a connect the dots but the picture does not make sense.
I feel empty and full as if I've eaten a huge meal yet I've eaten nothing at all.
I still have hours more to digest.

My stomach gurgles day and night, it is not hungry but afraid. My fears have fallen from my mind into the pit of my stomach and I can hear them screaming to get out.

Some days poetry isn't enough, I've read enough about love, now I need to feel it.

I am suspended, trapped in this emotional black void. I cannot cheer myself up when I know you are so sad. I want to call you and fill your mouth with kisses and remind you that your track record for surviving bad days is 100%. I want to fill you up with happiness like fuel at a gas station so that you can continue this unmapped journey. I just really, really want you to be happy.

When I was little my mums friend had a piano, I remember going to her house for dinner one night and I was so excited when I saw this huge upright instrument, I'd never played with a piano before and I just thought it was magnificent. Uniquely, like most things I did as a kid, I used the piano to tell stories. I thought the deep notes on the left represented goblins and monsters and the high, light notes on the right were the fairies and princesses. I would mash the lower keys and say things like "then the big bad goblin came into the woods" and as I fiddled with the high notes I would talk about how the magical fairies saved the day. Its funny how black and white things were when you were a child, there was good and there was bad and everything had a happy ending, now as I fumble with my own keyboard years later I realise that the most beautiful music comes when both high and low are played in unison. Like ying and yang no story is ever soley good or bad, but a mixture of the two, true beauty comes when  highs and a lows are shaped as one, and that I think is the beauty of life.

I feel everything bubble up through my soul like carbon dioxide, filling up all the empty holes to the outside, and then I bleed, I bleed dramatically, I bleed emotionally, seeping emotions pour out of me. I am not normal I am a little more porous.

I wake up, instantly groan at my existence, look at all the messages I haven't received and re-read the ones I've sent. I look at poetry, the sad kind that makes me feel just a little understood, I think of 10 impossible, unlikely and outrageous things that could happen in the next few hours. I sigh and wish I could go back to sleep, I think of all the life I want to be living but am not, I think of how sad I am not fulfilling anything, yet pressured into always working for something menial. I roll my eyes and think of death, before stretching my arms and remembering, ahh its time for breakfast.

There is a room in every child's mind, we call it home,those coloured walls bright, bash, comically fashionable, Ageing but never old. We cling to them and they mould us. Home! where we seek when we wander. A room is home for a child.

You planted fear in the pit of my stomach and nurtured the seed,
now my varicose veins are green.
Watch, as I uproot this hideous ****,
that you so roughly dug inside of me.

Sometimes, mothers give birth to their past in the shape of a child. A child born to another's world is born a poet.

I can't write poetry. I just bleed poetically. Spilling dark thoughts and emotions accidentally. I can't write poetry I'm a terrible closet, I open and tumble authentically. Hoping someone out there can learn to read me.

After all you've been through why do you still look for love and men? Because you have no idea how powerful it is to enjoy something you've been taught to fear.

I hate boxes, straight edged rules and no exceptions, I love blurred visiuals the almosts and undicipherables. I crave bruises, pompous poppy signatures, signs of mischief and adventures. Do not box me or bruise me, let me be free and blurry, full of adrenaline and ugly laughter.

She had a supernatural ability to read one's mind,
and she left no page unturned,
every face she ever saw she would read and then rehearse.
She could pick at your insecurities before she knew your name, emphasise your interests make you feel you were the same.
Like a mirror, she would reveal,
and adapt to how you feel.
But mirrors are mere objects that reflect and absorb,
She never got to see herself so she lived a life ignored.

There was something about him that meant everything he said motivated me to be better, When others uttered the same it made me cry. It's as if he was saying get well soon instead of its fine you're ill.

She lived like a smudge.
Nothing defined her yet somehow, everything did.
She was hard to comprehend and easy to spill.
Her ink well personality confused all, most of all herself.
Prominent and invisible she liked to tie things up with words.
Writing poetry and imagining new worlds.
No one quite knew what was wrong with her and few dared to ask.
She got used to living with lies, she got good at making her own.
Weaving and watching she tailored her mask.
If she let you in, she would be your everything,
observant as a hawk and shy as a mouse,
she would steal your thoughts and morph them with her own.
Mirror face she reflected everything you wanted,
a personalised friendly home.
If she wasn’t so complicated and sad,  
she would be unitive.
She could be anyone but no one distinctive.
Slowly the lying and hiding started to break her mask,
melting like candle wax her brain began burning.
She couldn’t hide any longer
when she tried it was too obvious.
people stared raw and obnoxious.
Medusa exposed she tried to hide.
She hated life and it showed.
Her brain taught her ways to cope,
and some days it whispered, “just don’t”.
Nihilism is too subtle.
Her life quickly became about survival.
Trying to get to heaven seemed the most viable option,
hell had lasted long enough,
She put her life up for auction.
She never saw if heaven existed after all,
She decided if I am to live, I will live for love.

I wish you understood that this is me trying.
I'm not as perfect as you expect me to be,
I did a great job pretending,
but my will is ending.
please just let me be a nothing,
let me breathe fresh air and not be trying to prove something!
let me cry because I'm sad,  
and not have to justify that.
let me be, please just let me be!
because if I don't stop pretending,
there will be no me,
left to be.

There are a thousand things I wish you knew,  
then I remember you do,
you know a lot.
You just don't understand,
and that's a thousand times worse.

I'm spinning around again.
I'm still dreaming things I shouldn't
and drinking too much, as if it will make a difference,
and everyone can see it.
They say insanity is being in love
But insanity is hoping you might be too.

God! men are damnable creatures!
I'm beginning to see why people believe you are female.
Why did you make them so insufferably ignorant and belittling and mean!
They don't need to be that keen!
Why the attraction?
I don't understand!
Why make them fools to feed from our hands?
I like most better at a distance,
Distance enough,
So I can sniff out their intentions.
Call each one's bluff.
There are but a few I must admit
that don't gawk like sharks
at us "little" fish.
So what makes them differ
from the harshest there is
Why are some men like demons and
others well...perfect?

Hello again, I thought we had spoken about this.
The entering without knocking it knocks me out.  
I want you out, now!
You won't.
You'll hang around until February try killing me in January and give me a break at Christmas.
Like clockwork, you arrive yet every time I'm surprised because there's no way to prepare for what you're like.  
You show no remorse, no shame just a living death, full of hate. That's you.  
Now try telling someone that everything you do is you but not you and on and on it ensues.  
It's deadly, like a supplement of poison that no one sees until you go into anaphylactic shock and maybe just maybe someone will realise who knocked.  
The invisible killer that likes to watch their victims suffer, You just love the suffering.  
Just when I think the antidote is kicking in you slap me again.  
You make my home feel like a prison it's so dark so cold and there's no escape and no one can see you're not home.
Just hoping there's still a home to go to after the war.
Every year you break a little more.
Then when I'm broken I sit waiting, rebuilding, wishing.
Praying you don't knock on my door.

Black slip-on pumps blending with the black nylon tights and the hem of a petite black dress.  
Tears of distress.
Funeral attire that's what I see, when I see you.
If I said you would last much longer  
I'd be a liar.
You're fading and I'm breaking.
Don't let my last memory of you be your funeral.

I move in life like a bumbling bee,
a lost tumbleweed.
Tripping and stalling at my choices like a fool.
All the while I'm watching you.
You're gliding effortlessly like them all.
Facedown on the ground, I see you as I crawl.
Close to the earth, I can feel your path,
jetting and dotting, forward and back.
We move in life like bumbling bees,
lost tumbleweeds.
Smearing and smudging our footprints of reality.

What beautiful minds you both have,
filled with love and science.
Spilling, but you don't laugh?!
I want to listen to you read.
Read, read our ancient poetry,
I see you booted and laced in tweed.
Now, Let me read one more page of your mystery thesis
Then off to bed,
So I can rip it to pieces.

Rose-tinted is too delicate,
this was more a blizzard,
fake snow blurring everything real.
all I could do was feel.
How cold and empty it was
but to me, it was like Christmas
What could this be?
Do you belong to me?
It's all thawed out now
and it's ever so bleak
to think I believed you could ever,
ever.. like me?
oh Anna, please!
You and love will never be.

If I seem silly to you,
Its because every time I see you I'm suddenly reminded you exist in the real world too.
Dreams waking up and walking into a room of realness is enough to make anyone feel silly.

I feel uprooted,
Screaming like the snakes of medusa
too much oxygen, then not enough
The soil of life disappearing beneath me
I cannot breathe! I've been tossed.
If God wanted Roses,
I must be a dandelion.

last night I wished to die,
in the morning I ate like a queen,
dying makes you hungry.
Life feels dreamy
I keep on sleeping,
slowly fading
you won't hear me go.

One day unfortunately soon
you'll be gone.
and I can't accept it yet but you will be.
You will be nowhere and everywhere, sat on the seat in my mind but not really there or here.
You won't be touchable or audible
You won't laugh or cry or drink
you will just be a thought, a memory, a blur
and my god I don't want to lose you to a blur!
like I lost grandad
a coffin, a hand, a fleeting memory
you'll be gone
and there's just too much of you to be gone
I hope I loved you enough
Goodnight forever.

I am a pendulum.
swinging endlessly,
knocking out love and aloneness and the bit in between.  
love me, forget me, leave me be.
You are time
waiting, watching me swing
Wishing I'd stop,
On the bit in between.

like a half baked loaf of bread,
love still rising in the oven,
the warmth helps you grow.
You, a typical loaf oblivious to the hugging heat.
Doughy and innocent I wait.
Heat forming and falling.
I feel like butter melting by the stove
patiently awaiting a slice of you.

Oh, temptress! bottled thoughts
let me pour one more glass,
Of your dark red poetry.
No, let me sink in it.
Who made this bottle so magical?
The poet's alchemist!
Corked and drinkable wisdom.
let the poems flow and put me to sleep again.

Stupid red bottle,
you're not red you're green!
You don't judge how I feel,
and that's worse than living,
feeling, breathing, nothing!
just drinking because I'm not an artist, a scientist or a lover,
I'm absolutely nothing.
I'm just a red-green bottle that tastes like vinegar!

We used to play with barbie and action man.
Fake weddings, wars, hand in hand.
Even then I would dream of my Ken.
With a perfect dollhouse, lifes play pen.
You were my male role model, someone to protect me.
I did whatever you said because you meant a lot to me.
I still played with dolls when you grew out of action man.
you made me play new games, you! a real man.
I hate you with all my inner child.
I hate you even though I try to forgive you,
I cant.
I hate you for putting the action in man.

Why is the sound of two people kissing so repulsive?
That clicking icky yuckyness makes me feel sick.
Jealousy exists in dreams like an ever present message.
The bell tolling the marriage that will never exist.
Fireworks like wishes wishing that clicking was us.

Making faces in the mirror
Hoping something beautiful will surprise me
My face is still chubby
Like an adult baby
I don't look like a movie star or model
Just a square faced messy unfortunate
Is that a grey hair
You've got to be joking
Hardly in my twenties
Looking like a witch already
What if I put my hair this way or that
Or turned my face
Or ****** my cheeks in all the way?
This isn't vanity its pure insanity
My mirror must be broken

There used to be romance in everything we did.
Atleast I thought so...
Now all I see is two people sharing the same memories,
Separately.

Little girls are taught a lesson
To just say "no" when they feel threatened.
Your private parts are your own
No one will touch if you say "no".
Little boys are taught to watch pretty girls without their tops.
Girls are yours to touch and play
This is what boys call love today.

Wood dry and crackling, fireworks for two.
Flames amber auburn, Heating up the room.
Mugs of tea and old books, Reading on the floor.
Blankets thrown over our knees, Our sleepy fire roars.
Snuggled up and toasty, Our dog now sound asleep.
Sunday afternoons like this are my favourite kind of dream.

What a terrible situation you are in.
Blood hot, boiling under your skin.
Eyes not met and smiles not shared.
Little footsteps are everywhere.
Daunting doors and crowded spaces.
Filled with demons are these places.
Heart now racing tick, tick, tick!
Brain on fire get out quick!
Shaky hands and heavy breaths.
Back to safety it's time to rest.

Dear, Mr paper
I'm writing you a letter.
An ink to page bond,
To help me feel better.