One day I will die.
I know that's not breaking news
But the realisation made me cry
And I don't know why.

I can't stand the thought of not thinking
Not touching
Not seeing
Not breathing
I don't want the ones I love to see me dying
I want to live with them forever
I want to live a life that is beyond satisfying
Satisfaction is mediocre and boring
why would you want that?
I can even hear the corpses snoring
I want to dance in the rain with the one I love,
I don't want to watch others do it, while I am floating above!
I want to stay up all night, laughing and crying with my best friend,
Please, I don't want my fun to end.

I guess fearing death is normal
Inevitability is inescapable,
Even though I wish I was immortal.
I will just live out my days having the most fun I can,
That is really my only plan.

~T.T

I didn't sleep again last night
My eyelids are heavy and my throat feels tight
Time seems to run away
When I'm with you
My brain
Not in a good way though
My thoughts wound me as I stare out of the window
Which scares me, I think there are monsters outside
Is that childish? Or true? I Don't know, I'm too tired to decide
Even if there aren't monsters outside there are certainly some in my head
Which like to run wild as I lay still, alone in my bed
They tease and taunt me, tell me I'm unsafe
So I can't sleep, just incase.
I know these thoughts are irrational
But I'd rather lay here and watch dust particles
Float and fall and float again
Please don't leave me alone with my brain.
It is starting to get light
I didn't sleep again last night.

~ T

you walk beside me,
under a harsh but warm moon.
we barely talk. our hands glide over each other a little like a reminder.
your footsteps could be mistaken for feathers hitting the sand,
you are so heavenly.
the air is brisk and cold
just like you.
my collar bones
my elbows
my chest all rise up with goosebumps
you make my skin quiver.

I remember last year, late August perhaps.
we walked beside each other,
talked for hours.
our fingers intertwined,
your obvious presence was a soft mattress and the sweet nothings you whispered were the duvet.
you were so heavenly
and the air was warm, comfortably so,
while the gentle wind combed its limbs through my hair and around my neck.

is this what it feels like when we die?
you are not gone but you don't recognise me anymore.
you are afraid to touch me,
you barely breath a word in my direction.
I can't recall the last "I love you"
I don't want to say goodbye
I don't want you to go.

the air is cool,
you are cool.
you always have been but
now it is like I am transparent.
your ego is like the prescription glasses you can't see out of,
it blinds you.
you used to take those glasses off, once in a while,
and see me,
now you don't want know me.

it hurts to realise that this is it,
that is us.
we've run our course and this is the end.
linger for a while.
stroll with me like the good old days.
don't leave me crying yet.

~T.T

you call her a ****,
you call her a *****,
you tear her skin into tiny shreds
and then beg for more,
your masculinity is fuelled by the sexuality you stripped her of.
she has no right to be liberated in your eyes,
but your eyes also want to see what is in between her thighs,
your respect for her body only exists as long as she is your possession.

a woman is to you what a table is to a person;
something to use,
sometimes a burden.
a woman can't be outspoken without being a *****,
but if she's quiet you treat her like ****,
you tell us to fight for what we believe in,
but when we do you tell us we're complaining,
(maybe you think I'm complaining)
while you're thinking about that
please mind the wage gap,
yes the wage gap MORE THINGS TO COMPLAIN ABOUT!
I get 75 pence for every pound a man makes,
maybe I'm making mistakes?
no, no I am not.
perhaps some people have forgot
that someone's *** doesn't make them under qualified,
I think your brain is nonaligned,  
because right now in two thousand and sixteen a woman should be respected even if she isn't the ******* queen.

I hope you can see what struggles women endure,
we may as well go back years and years and knit at home while you go to war.

I'll just be over here cleaning the entire house,
oh and while I'm at it I'll clean that glass ceiling while waiting for my husband and feeding my offspring
because that's all a woman does right?
cook clean and nurture, and give yourself to your husband at night
God forbid you swing the other way!
single, or worse...
no kids and gay!

women have to fit into perfect cookie cutters.
that, and a size 6
but not too skinny though, men aren't nutters!
big *****, big *** and a small waist
your extra few inches of skin can be erased with diet pills, exercise plans and corsets!
if not, you can choose the forfeit,
of society telling you that you can achieve your dream beach body,
to catch the attention of somebody
preferably a man who can be the bread winner,
while we can stay at home, look after his kids and cook his dinner.

I'll stop complaining now and go back to concealing my blemishes and under eye bags,
while you talk to your friend about how we are still just slags.

~T.T

I wish talking to you was easy like a Sunday morning:
the mumbling and anxiety replaced with the scent of coffee and warmth,
the silence filled with my favourite people, sharing laughs and thoughts; bad television providing the backing track to our slumped breakfast.

I wish I looked at myself the way I look at you,
my eyes adopt a hazed film of adoration while they explore your every feature;
my eyes close and tears begin to stain my cheeks while they notice a new blemish, tainting my skin's purity,
piling on top of 16 years worth of insecurity.

I wish you were my medicine.
the only relief you provided was your manipulation,
you managed to intertwine your filthy little lies into my heartstrings and pluck at them whenever you wanted to and I let you.
silly girl.

I never knew how you felt.
you were ice cold, but I liked the shudder that shot down my spine when your hands met my waist.
your mystery pulled me closer, drew me in.

your lips always felt so absent.
I knew in the way you kissed me that you didn't want me the way I wanted you,
I was your entertainment
your 'she's there so I may as well'
I meant nothing to you while you meant everything to me.

three months ago,
hearing those words would have killed me.
those words would have snuck their way onto the backs of my eyelids and sat there as a reminder every time I blinked, cried, slept.
they would be the undertone of every word I said, every word I wrote
they would've eaten me alive.

look at me now.
that part of me disintegrated a long time ago,
although, that part of me was what kept the butterflies in my stomach alive and I do miss that feeling.
I miss the feeling of loving someone.
but with love comes pain and I don't know if I could have carried on living with that excruciating sensation.
look at me now.
I don't care anymore,
the tears that used to fall for you have found their balance.

of course I want to adore and to be adored;
but I'm afraid I'll only adore and will never be adored.
you ripped my life out of me, used it as your punching bag and forced it into my throat and expected my bruises to be faint,
those bruises shine a blinding violet.

sometimes I miss you and the feelings,
but I know I deserve more.
heartbreak is inevitable,
that, I know for sure.

~T.T

as a child (too many years ago) i desperately squeezed my eyes shut and wished to grow up;
'please please let me be 16' I'd protest,
'let me be me, let me be free'
I thought that these empty 16 years would somehow force me to rejoice and thank the gods for ageing,
I thought that 16 years would feel like heaven,
I thought I'd run free through a field of technicolor daisies and love myself and the sun and the moon!..

as I write this, those 16 years have greeted me a while ago.
they are not gracious or excited,
they are not godly or angelic,
they are gloomy and damp, just like the that bench you sat on to drink your coffee
your jeans now stained with moss and mould and...damp.

I thought by now I'd have everyone I need
though, I do have a precious flower whose petals are the reason my heart still thuds
that delicate flower saved me.
however, my 10 year old self would have expected that field of technicolor daisies.  
I seem to have disappointed her,
but I can't apologise because although I have engulfed her skin and bones, I am her and she is i and we are connected.

I hope to see another 16.
I hope those years give me the world.
I write this as tears threaten to stain my cheeks because all I want is for these 16 years (and another, and another...) to gift me that burning sensation right in the pit of my stomach that reminds me of how alive I am and how much more I have to conquer before I am done.

I always dance with the idea that I'm done.
the idea grabs me at the waist and twirls me around like a dainty little ballerina,
it holds me so tight I start to fall for its clutches before she or my pounding heart reminds me of what I need.

I need to live.
I need to live so exquisitely that none of my past selves will kick my shins or step on my toes as I try to proceed towards my field,
I need to experience what it is like to not care,
I need to be reckless and careless, just for a while.

I need to be me,
and i need to be free.

~ T.T

your slight presence could break me into a grin so wide I couldn't breathe and quite frankly,
I don't care,
because it's just another way that you steal my breath.

as I sigh in a room of grey,
you are the blinding ray of golden
something so precious,
my hands must feel what it is like to be intertwined with your 22 carat digits,
to be laced into your emerald encrusted heart,
to fall through your platinum, cold exterior.

that room of grey no longer prompts a sigh,
those sighs that once came as naturally to me as searching for you now does,
your breath still lingers on that spot just below my ear where your words danced into my body and to the melody of my beating heart.

you pleaded for me to remember your face
how could I forget?
the 22 carat woman who stole my breath.

~ T.T