...
1.  Can someone
            anyone,
            please,
            teach me,  
            how
            to stop the running
            of blood
            from a wound?
2.   I don't like
            the way
            your body
            wears red;
            it's a warm
            stain
            I can't seem to
            wash
            from your cotton clothes
            or
            my porcelain mind.
3.  Your kindness; I have never realized
            that it was it's
            very own
            sort
            of torture.
            Even blood fell
            down;
            drained
            out;
     ­       cared
            about;
            left
            with­out;
            someone blissfully stupid
                             like me.
4.   I should've,
            I would've,
            I could've,
            listened to my father's instructions
            but I didn't.
            I still chase it,
            the second glass star
            to the right.
            I wasn't ready
            for what guilt
            I found;
            I never would've
            been anyways.
5.   Captain hook learned
             how simple
             it was;
             and used a
             black gun
             to ****** Peter,
             and rob him of his'
             favorite lost boy.
             He left the weapon
             in the sleight
             of my hand.
             "Time to grow up, my dear."
6.    Nine years later,
              between now
              and long ago;
              I still create
              after
              images
              whenever I give someone
              the power
              to mention
              your name.
7.     Father always told me
              fairy tales weren't real.
              *******;
              You were mine.
              You were real.
              I still don't listen
              to father.
8.    You are the dauntless touch,
              to my sense
              of adventure
              to my flavor
              of judgment,
              to my frigid heart of
              bravery.
              I don't have what it
              takes
              to change.
              Not anymore.
9.     One day I will join you.
               The sooner,
               the better.
               So how pointless is it
               that I write
               these letters,
               and remind myself
               that I am much older
               and very
               lonely?
              "Do you miss me as much as I
                     miss you?
...

She says
Let's go
Live in a big city
And make art and change the world.
She can say this; she is art.
But my hands are bound
With ***** hair;
They cannot make.
He says
Come, run with me
We will live on the beach
And watch films and all will be love.
He can say this; he is love.
But my heart is strapped
With suds that wrap 'round it;
I cannot love.
They say
They are leaving
To live on the hills
And sit and think about life.
They can do this; they are life.
But mine is whirring and swirling
And whirlpooling
In a black drain.
Mother says
Get a good job, and marry someone
Who thinks like you and earns like you,
Eat, and breed, so your rabbits, too,
Can eat.
She can say this; she has bred, and earned, and eaten.
But I am held
By threads that catch
And tear on the jagged edges of my body:
Shoulders and eyebrows (sinking and rising,
in submission and rebellion).
Apartments constrict and choke;
Beaches drown me;
Hills are voyeurs with sharp surveillance;
And mansions
Have golden bars, that cling too tight.
For now though
— Shampoo, soap, drain, dry —
Monotony holds comfort
And museless function runs the key that jolts me
Onwards.

The US will drive like the rest of the world,
And declare peace on the Middle East for all times ahead;
Good films and books will be successful;
And punk’s not dead.

Justin Bieber will bottom all the charts; Pink Floyd'll be back together;
Bond will like his martinis stirred, not shaken;
Race, gender, class and orientation will be nonsense words;
And there’ll be no sequels to Taken.

Teenagers will fawn reading Tolstoy and not Meyer;
Old, black men will order the "extra whip, non-fat, caramel latte, venti;"
Art galleries will be closed to people over 21;
And poets will feature in the Top 20.

There will be equal jobs and opportunities for everyone;
Humans will give up on colonising mars and the moon;
We will bring down the imperialistic, capitalist, racist, misogynistic hetero-patriarchy;
And you will love me, tonight at noon.

We will pirouette
On browned grass, until it turns
Into faery rings.

i'd sleep all day and constantly wake from nightmares
within nightmares
within nightmares
somehow couldn't recognise the reality,
lost in a blizzard of loud whispers
in a place filled with cold white coats and sick feelings
and worries painted on people's eyelids.

but now i hear your voice in the back of my eyes
i feel the words you say
i could say so many things
but my tongue is locked
my hands just shake
can't hold any letter
any vowel
the ashes of my words
are blown away from my lips

you're playing the strings of my brain
again and again
such a gentle touch,
a warm feeling that makes me forget
about the whispers and cold and worries.

i listened to your song in my sleep last night
and in a flash
the nightmare morphed into a dream
within a dream
within a dream