Hears an ode to lurv,
for all you lovely people hoo I love!
Herees to that little prat of us that neds
someone elsr
to survivre.
Drink to love!
And drink again for lov!
And drink akin because of love...
You’ve gutter love love;
how else wood we execus ourselves
for sticking around?

Belly swirling, tummy twirling, chest pounding,
heart racing, head spinning, fists clenching,
toes squeezing, hands sweating.

Butterflies!

Eyes opening, mouths closing.

You give me Butterflies. I like it.

Mrs Bailey
I have a bone to pick with you.
You have taken my tie and in exchange
you've given me this:
A clip-on incarnation of communist conformity.
Good grades may be the most important thing to you,
And they're pretty **** important to me too!
But, in taking away our ties, you have taken away
a tiny bit more of what
makes me, me.
And him, him.
And her, her.

And us, us.

And I mean come on,
what difference will it make?

How is a clip on tie going to make me
a better writer?
Or a more fluent spanish speaker?
Or a
MORE
DRAMATIC
ACTOR?

How is a clip on tie supposed to
help me learn when,
all I'm doing in lessons is
scratching
my
neck?

And you're stood there,
with that broken look on
your tear stained face.
Sat there
telling me you did wrong
and I was right the
whole
time
and that you're sorry
so sorry
(and I'd forgiven you long before you'd even annoyed me)
but I won't look at you or tell you "it's ok"
because all I really wanted
was you to fight me.

And the hoodies huddle together,
because society scares them back.

Almost let it go,
that rock
I hold so close.

Almost dropped it into the fire
and let it fall;
drag me down.

Almost gave it a chance to melt
and weaken.

But no, it's still solid,
cold and rough as before.
There are cracks, but they'll wear;
fade into nothing.
It'll be unbroken again, one again.
You can't share a stone;
it has to break, and be half
of itself.

I hope you don't mind that this poem's about
you.
I hope you don't mind that I write poems...
A-a-about you...
A-all the time...
B-b-because I do...
I hope you don't mind that I stammer sometimes
when I'm nervous, or get too...
excited.
I hope you don't mind the odd innuendo,
or public display of affection.
I hope you don't mind that I'm a little
Uncouth,
and pretty **** idiosyncratic.
(I hope you don't mind that I use words like uncouth and idiosyncratic).

And I hope you don't mind that this poem's about
You.

Because I don't mind you.

You're not half bad.

You'd call it puppy love;
you'd say it was all in our heads.
But you know what?
We're wide awake sexting,
when we "should be in bed"
resting

our hearts, for long days
have left them
weak and fatigued
from trying
to function
whilst the
other is
so far
away.

Sometimes even a mile lies between us!

But when we come together (no matter the place)
we don't pay attention to time
or space
as we intertwine:
ruling eachother's hearts and heads.
But not yet beds.

But we're close.

It's been so long;
dust is gathering
on my eyes and
my embrace is
tired of having
nothing to hold.
Lips, mine are
dry and withered
like roses in harsh
summertimes and
that rotting smell
lingers on my kiss;
it's been so long.

Silver fanged I smirk,
snarl
at the bride's breath as it runs
from my stoppered lungs
in soured rasps of foul mouthed
male monopoly.

A serpentine wig, I don it
with gleeful mal intent
I keep it close -

as to look in the mirror
when summer comes to the frozen
heart.

Worries for sale:
free delivery.
Happy to sell
to anyone.
Let's start the bidding,
at a sigh of relief...

You told me you were a cowboy;
I called you John Wayne.
You said you were off to work;
there were dragons to be slain.
You taught me how to swim;
I believed you were a merman.
You fixed a creaky door;
"my favourite handyman".

You could soar with the sunrise
and dive like the moon.
You knew everything there was to know,
and you were a Christmas day tycoon.

But I've never seen you ride a horse,
and fantasy makes you yawn,
I can swim for myself,
And I heard you were proven wrong?

Diving hurts your back,
and soaring's not my thing.
But you'll always be my superstar,
no matter how we're growing.

Now... my heart has thawed;
its icy cactus spikes have split
split and formed a feather coat
strong enough to lift me off the

Ground

but... soft enough
that a passenger could wrap
wrap around it and hitch a ride,
a ride in their own car.

An... age it took for
those spikey armour plates to grow
grow and be protection to suit a
tasty looking lion tamer.

Gone.

Now... my heart has thawed;
its once frosted drawbridge is freed
freed to be lowered on its chains, rusted
by the  frozen, teary rain.

But... soon I'll put up
my fists again, ready to fight
fight because the defenses are down.
Might have to call in reinforcements.

Now... that my heart has thawed.