A year ago, I'd hate this.
It would be unacceptable to miss
A deadline I created, arbitrary
It may be, I shouldn't tarry.
But mistakes happen and frankly, a few hours late is better than never.

Fog rolls thick through pervading waves,
Obscuring the stars the heart of man craves,
My ship, lost in mist, must fade away,
Never again to see a new way
To escape from the sadness we all feel deep,
And to lose ourselves in the beauty of sleep,
But maybe that's not so bad.

We write our best art when we're sad.

Does it free you?
As you fly above the dark clouds,
Amidst wings of steel and rubber,
Dials, meters, readings distracting,
Pulling your eyes from horizons
But that's not why you're there.
It's that single moment,
Hidden above that grey barrier
When you pass a break
And look down on to the
Greens and blues and whites
Of everyday life
And at that moment.

You are free.
Truly.

When did I become
That which you wanted to hate?
When did my life mean so little to you,
That you'd pass no interest in my fate?

Was it when I became myself,
The woman I've always been?
Did you prefer me to front a constant lie
And leave my pain unseen?

Was it when I made those simple mistakes,
When my mind was revealed to be so broken?
It was never my fault that it hurts so to think,
But you'd rather I left my pain unspoken?

Maybe it was when I came out?
Revealing that unacceptable part of me,
Was it really something to despise so much;
The perfect stain on your family tree?

Perhaps it was at that funeral,
When you saw a child that couldn't seem to feel?
Perhaps if you cared to even notice,
You'd have seen that my sorrow was real?

Or perhaps I'm just projecting.

Transgender Identity.
Autism and ADHD.
Homosexuality.

These are all just excuses
From a mind begging to see
Why the one who should care
Seems to deeply hate me.

But let's be real.

Hate has nothing to do with it.


You need to care, to hate.

And you clearly never did.

A thousand things you'd never do
Have become the thousand things you're doing.

But I get it.

She means more to you than I do.
More than I ever did.
Because to you she's a woman.
And that's the one thing I'll never be to you.

A void brings nothing but pain,
This, I find, rings true throughout me.
A heart split in twain,
A stomach running empty.

Yet it's when my head feels full,
That it chooses to announce dismay;
It racks and beats against my skull,
And announces intent to stay.

A cool number
Lots of opportunity
But I'm trying to write positively right now
And it's 1am
and I have nothing.

64 Zoo Lane is playing on repeat in my head.

I know the futility of wishing for change;
Praying every day for what could never be,
It's a waste.

But I did not choose to be so strange,
It's truly a relief to me that you cannot see,
Upon what my love is based.

If you could we'd lose everything.

So far above is she,
Strewn in a chair in a chaotic workspace,
Stricken from my reach by a sheet of glass.

Can she even see me?
Penning notes and sheets of music apace,
As days and weeks, too fast, pass.

I long to know her,
I long to be her,
I long to stand by her side,
I long to become her bride.

But alas.
This art is meant for someone else.

We gather again tonight
Friends coming together
Enjoying the one hobby we all share.




So why do I feel dread?

Twice in one week,
Then never before;
Have I stayed hidden that long?
I think no o'er has seen me more;
I've made myself too meek.

Yet here I am again,
Making it all about the bad.
She accepted me for who I was;
She did not grow fearful, disquieted, mad,
To her I was a person, not a sinful stain.

In at least one place,
That store on the high-street,
I can be what I am, who I want to be.
She was someone I was happy to meet
For she wasn't disgusted to see my face.

Music of the soul
Carried aloft amidst winds
Leaves me feeling blue

When a task is repeated
It becomes monotonous
I don't want you to feel cheated,
but inspiration is not bottomless.

Sometimes, I do not want to write.
I always do, regardless.
And maybe that isn't right,
But I won't leave this challenge artless.

I'll continue to work at my best,
Even on the days like today.
Because this time won't be like the rest.

I'm going to finish this cliché.

Think of me not
As words on a page,
As pointless marks,
On a blank white sheet

Think of me not
As pretentious drabble,
Written only to make
You think of sin

Think of me not
As some ancient tale,
My relevance in the world
Now useless and outdated,

Instead, think of me
As your caring friend,
Listening to what you say
And helping you live on

Think of me not
As Poetry.

Think of me
As life

Pen touches paper
As the sun kisses the horizon
Fulfilling an empty promise
To see this ritual through

Words clumping deep in my throat
The words we promised to write together
Lost out at sea among driftwood afloat
Upon the regrets of our severed tether
A single sentence or perhaps just a word
Makes that invisible line betwixt life
And the violent death delivered on a sword
That I delivered your heart on a bleeding knife
But to dwell on that need for forgiveness
Has silenced my voice and left me falling
Deep into the black that remains of our kiss
That held the severed ropes once mooring
The fleet of our souls aloft in a sky
Littered with lanterns and stars
And I can't help but let out a cry
To reach Venus, Mercury and Mars
That I live afloat our shining allegory
Everything I do

For our Winter Story

A note, and then a tune,
Played out for me alone,
Here, under a silver moon;
Unintended romantic undertone.

A single, simple trick,
And I would be all yours;
But instead of laying your love on thick,
You choose only to close your doors.

Alas, you made me fall so fast,
But my love isn't something you'd want to last.

Even as my eyes grow ever-tired;
I'll stay awake this evening through.

I don't want to miss a moment with you.

I can see through time

Emotion flows out
Leaving behind a trickle
Of artistic pain

Upon friendship's fields
A moment of ridicule
Makes my life worthwhile

"You don't need to worry so much"
Yeah I'm aware of that. That'll really calm me down.
I'm happy you rebooked that overdue meeting for me.
The panic of waiting was getting bad.
I haven't had an attack that bad in months.
But really.
******* Stephen.

I can think of nought with more power
Than that which can convey so much.
There's beauty and simplicity to a flower,
So too in horizons, and seas, and such.
Yet it's language that hits me here,
And brings endless tears to my eyes;
They can convey such joy, rage, fear,
Emotions that I used to despise.
Yet I've learned to appreciate what's afore me.
Love has a power I can't begin to see.

And Lost Nothing For It

I Have To Say

I Feel a Bit ****.

I could write of cheer, happiness and joy,
About a victorious game, or a brand new toy,
But to do so would be to lie.

I could write of the depths of misery,
Once again venture to that deep, grey sea,
But to do so would be to lie.

Today
Was just a day
And for once, that's not so bad.

The fly flies so the spider may dine,
The bird thinks that the spider tastes fine,
For the bird the cat puts it all on the line,
The cat, now happy, makes his owner feel divine.

The owner, for his cat, works a job and gets paid,
The money is given for the owners aid,
In keeping the customers coming and the corners unfrayed,
And the patrons are pleased and happy they stayed.

As the good mood rises, good deeds are the norm,
As valets and bookkeeps remain on form,
Farmers keep their cows happy and away from the storm,
Now around their waste the flies again swarm.

There's this wonderful cycle, life breeds life, keeps it fine,
All men and all women away from tirade,
But as you lay happy, safe and warm,

I find I have no place in this cycle of life.

A heart should never feel so empty;
Or at least, that's what I've been told.

But I've had this hole for so so long now,
It's hard to imagine anything there.

I long to set these emotions free,
But my senses are growing too old.

I'll simply wipe the pain off my brow
And hope nobody sees my stare.

You stand there, in front of us all,
Proud to be exactly who you are.
You never seem afraid of the fall
From such heights above me so far;
A horizon stretches out afore us both,
But there's only one hand reaching for it.
You've one in the hand of a romantic oath,
And I've tied mine away, deemed unfit
To ever hold another so close.
You open to a full sprint, chasing the sky,
Leaving me with the path I chose;
I never had that strength to fly so high.

Hope for purest white
Deep crimson scattered atop
Life within the snow

You look the same as you always have.

So why does my heart beat so fast?

I thought myself stronger.

But none can be.

Love.

It
Truly
Is
Stronger
Than
Every

Single


One



Of

­


Us

Wherefore do you appear afore me?
Do you mean to follow where e'er I go?
My slumbers and dreams are no longer free,
If you aren't here, I fear when you'll show.

I might find it comforting, your constant
Presence keeping me here in reality,
But your mask works hard to hide your intent,
There's no room for emotion buried in your brevity.

Whenceforth do you hail from?
Where this behaviour is encouraged?
'Tis a place of oddity and them some,
I'm sure. Travel there is now discouraged.

By me, specifically.
Stop wearing those creepy hats.

It's simple to you

It's not for me

I'm sorry that that's an issue

I've wandered and wandered for such a long time,
Past the rust and the dirt and the grime,
And I cannot see the exit.

I've long forgotten the taste of the air,
The light of the sun; drowned in despair,
And I cannot smell the exit.

Food lost its taste a long time ago,
And the passage of time has stopped its flow,
And I cannot hear the exit.

The colors all faded into gray,
Nothing around to make me stay,
And I cannot taste the exit.

My heart is numb, still, in pain,
My blood has dripped into every drain,
And I cannot feel the exit.

But here I'm safe, and content to be,
To remember why you left and what you meant to me,
And I do not want an exit.

Disparate prose detailing horror and joy alike
Poetry written as I've sat at the turnpike
The emptiness of the lost mixed in
Amongst the colors of life and sin
Living my life through observer's eyes
Judging and hating my truths and lies
I see my contempt for my unlived life
Remember the light shone through my strife

It's in moments like these
When I remember your smile
When I can hear your laugh
When I can feel your hand in mine
I remember it all

A quiet moment,
Without you here it stretches
For time eternal

But this life will wait;
Pondering the horizon,
Wishing for your eyes.

A frayed tendril of pathetic string,
Run taught above my head.
A blade of dismay, terror, fear;
Standing in perfect contrast to everything I want to be.

'Tis nought more than a fickle thing,
Not a feeling to be felt or a word to be said,
Yet it continues to hinder me here.
It's the waiting doom that awaits all goodwill I'd set free.

A twang of snapped twine,
Again and again and again and again,
It all falls down yet remains in place;
Tying up it's own phantom madness to strike deep within me.

Unpredictable, I was feeling fine,
'Till the blade deemed to split me in twain,
And once again tears stream down my face.
Drowning in a selfish torrent of fog through which I cannot see.

A solipsistic onlooker
Viewing an isolated world.

It creeped through the darkness to me,
Only just perceptible to mine eye,
Yet present all the same.

As I looked closer, I could see it clear,
Clearer perhaps than I should,
I could see right on through it;
To another just behind.

There were two here all along,
Yet at first believed myself alone.
It wasn't a change in perspective,
I haven't moved an inch,
But focusing revealed more...

And more... and more... and more
Three, five, nine, eleven...
It's difficult to keep track;
Every open space occupied,
Every pocket suffocated,
Yet I somehow refused to see them.

Perhaps
These Ghosts
Are more real,
Than I gave them
The due credit;
They're everywhere
Everything.

How many years since
Since I saw your eyes gleam
You spoke clear, to mince
your words to cheerful themes.

A thousand generations
Brought your light to bear,
But going beyond it's station;
Age causes the mind to wear.

You wanted to stop.
I know you did.
I didn't want you to drop
Into the night so placid.

But now you're gone,
For a decade at last,
I hear your funeral was 'tres bon'
But I just wanted the past.

My father got mad
That my eyes were so dry,
My heart seeming glad,
But God I wish I could cry.

My heart was emptied
And my soul torn asunder,
And so my grief was muted;
One last final blunder.

It's been years upon years,
Since I grinded under your pestle.
To remember grief, I was told by my peers,
So now I'll remember you, my great grandma Ethel.

A toxic miasma
An infection in my blood's plasma
It obscures my mind from view
Impossible to push thoughts through
But my poetry will persevere
I don't care for caution against severe
Repercussions for forcing myself to think.
I will not allow my art to sink.

Heart beating faster
Only when you say my name
Like the freshest air