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Steph Wams Feb 2022
We read our books and pretend to
not make glances at each other.
We smile as if the pages in the book had tickled at our sides.
We write love stories in our heads and forget about the ones on the page.
An uncomfortable warmth surrounds us as we pretend not to pose ourselves in our chairs.
As if we are offering ourselves to the sun to immortalise this youthful love.
Our hands quiver as we turn each page.
Like these stories will ours come to a brief
end?
And though you and I are nothing,
destined for
deletion,
taunted by
extinction.
We pray that these feelings are more than that.
But when I see the stars in your eyes my worries float away,
for I know this love is cosmic.
I to wish for a love so sweet
Steph Wams Oct 2021
Are my tears made of gasoline?

Why do they stoke the flames of your fury?


Are my tears icy cold?

Why do they make the warmth of your love, cool?


Are my tears hideous?

Why must you always look away when I cry?


Are my tears ear-splittingly loud ?

Why do you look at them with pain and irritation?
A poem about the different reactions my family has to me crying.
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Steph Wams Mar 2021
You **** on my beliefs, you deny the existence of my gods and yet
You question my prayers.
Suspect my allies, flirt with my enemies.
Holes where there should be butterflies
Yet, you pretend to understand.
Eavesdrop on my confessions, belittle my priests
Yet you listen to your saviour with deaf ears.
You read his words with coloured glasses.
Surely, you jest, no you chastise.
Surround yourself with comfortable lies.
Your biggest problem is who am i?
But sir/ ma'am/ person, your crown is bleeding
with tears, blood and leaves.
Steph Wams Jul 2020
I have something to say.
It's stuck on my lips.
The.
Lingering.
Pause.
In each wordless
Breath.
The movement in each averted gaze.

It's the shoddy cork
holding back
Each waterfall of
Tears.
The longing sign I ask God for
then ignore.
For the thing I fear most is not
Whether I say.
It's the thought  that you have
nothing to say,
back to me.
Met with silence.
Steph Wams Jun 2020
Take the mask off when you speak to
me.
I know what you are.
No need to sugar coat those words for
me.

You're a monster, beautiful and scary
and 'twisted' into an elegant knot.
You don't have to hide from me.
The hiss when you talk is enchanting.
Don't be shamed your just like
me.

Those pointy horns create a gorgeous silhouette and
Those terrible thoughts pulsing through that deformed skull of yours.
The ones that can't be revealed even in death.
Say them. Converse with
me.
Forget the pleasantries, the politeness say them to me in your crooked way.
let us exchange our terrible thoughts.
let the world grimace and ostracise us.

Don't try to be like them
we're outsiders.
Destined to spoil there pretty picture.
Mutants. Uglies. Nut-jobs.
Destined to waltz on the edges of society.
Hanging, on loosely to our humanity.
They don't understand our song.

We'll make our own world.
Where our thoughts are so  free, they fly through  the streets.
Where we love to love and  we love too much.
Take if off, we have each other.
Steph Wams Apr 2020
I wash my brain with soap
I give it a good scrub
All the pain and the trauma
I watch as they spiral into the drain
I wash my eyes with soap
I give them a good wipe
I watch as the innocence and light resurfaces in my pupils
The bits of wickedness I have witnessed sprinkled across the tap
I wash my skin with soap    
To forget your slimy touch
To remove this human target colour that causes me suffering
I watch as the pieces of skin lay lifeless in the sink

Then I start again
Steph Wams Apr 2020
You're too comfortable around me.
When I scream that I'm leaving
you don't even bat an eyelid.
When I dress up all s e x y you tell me to move away from the tv.
When I try to spice things up
You ask me "Aren't you too old for this?"
Am I ?
Why are you ignoring me?
You're looking but are you really seeing me?
We're talking but are you really listening?
Are you still the same person who said they'd give me everything?
Why does it feel like all you've given me is a place to do your cooking?

A  punching bag to hit when you overdrink.
A piece of furniture to cover you and your mistress's d i r t y deeds.
Yet you won't divorce me and I'm down on my knees.

You're too comfortable around me.
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