not all earthquakes
leave you shaken;
yet show you
-you had been standing still all your life.


(you were my earth quake,you shook life into me,and for that,i thank you. )

i called him my city
and so
before our door closed shut,
he asked me one thing
why?;
"it is nothing close to the countryside" i said
"polluted,overpopulated
-filled with wretched souls and dingy structures
dusty air and noisy traffic
and yet;
ill always call it home"

Always choosing,
The fact that you love me.

Harsh words sound like,
Sweet symphonies;

Insults are merely,
Compliments:
In a language i am still learning.

The foriegness of being loved,
Is what keeps me here with you.
Realization has struck, but my body refuses to move.
Oh, what have i done?

This goodbye between us has begun to sound like
a string of
hello's,
ill be back's,
i miss you's and
I will always love you's.
Goodbye has no meaning.
None at all.
Goodbye?
Okay, lets say
'goodbye'
for a few more decades

a.m

we danced the waltz and
yes i stepped on your toes and missed a few steps
but you also held me in your arms and swayed me back and forth-
whilst you whispered sweet nothings into my ear
and
when we were at our happiest;
in sync;
to the beat;
you walked out of the room and left me dancing in circles waiting for you to come back.

every ******* thing you said to me is hidden in the syllables of your name;
and every time i call out for you it all comes back rushing over me
like a storm;
it feels like electricity snipping onto every inch of my skin
seconds of pleasure;
a thousand minutes of pain
-but its worth it when you look back at me and i can see you feel the same.

I want to lay between
the lines of your
name,
and stay there until i hear your,
voice again.
And as the rain falls in parralel lines against the window as we take flight, i
cant help but see
creases of your soul
hidden in the spaces between
each one.

i hate it;
i ******* hate the way you hold me in your arms
-and make me feel like nothing could ever matter more,
and so i sat in the rain for hours
until i went numb
felt anything but your touch;
dancing on the tips of my skin
carving courtesies in the pores of my heart
and every drop burnt like acid
-because the rain was an intruder beginning the tango
when i had only ever learnt;
the waltz
so then my bones chartered swiftly with the violin that was your voice and with the waltz that is this heart

looking back;
i hear the faint voices of my parents creep up my spine;
threatening to hurt those who hurt me
yet,
never to love those that loved me,
the contingencies of it all ablaze past me,
but i finally feel
what i couldnt see in their eyes;
the truth.

its so much more heroic to say, i saved myself. but the truth is,
oh yes the toxic truth,
here it comes,
steady your morals!
he saved me, i was burnt to a crisp..
and he took my ashes and smeared them over his heart.

Now i can feel the life in me drumming its way through my blood once again.
I wish i could say i stood on my own two feet, but i have not
i am proud of him, for saving me.
If not me,
it will be
he,
why should i be ashamed of that?

Of course, it would have been heroic if i had done it,
but i was never one to be
'the hero'
anyways.

"the locks
click click clicked
smiles here
kisses there
strangers waddled
click
this ones for us,
the metal collides
starlight hidden within it I'm sure
the promise of a lifetime
and click
click clicked
"I love you,
forgive me"
click click clicked
"Goodbye"
click
the starlight bursts in fragments of pain, falling into a river of broken promises,
click click,
clicked."

so when you walked off into the dark in the whisper of my name
i am like dust in the dirt
i have no mass no weight nothing
just waves of pain around my heart
every passing beat is like the feeling of your hand within mine being carved by nails against a chalkboard
i was wrong oh
the heart feels,it feels everything,what it feels it pumps in the blood that walks over my skin like stale memories laced in hope
the only hope i ever knew
its been months
and i still sit and write about you.

heavy metal tears wait at the edge of your eye
this heavy metal heart cries riffs of blood
the surface of your finger sways storms of stories on strings
every beautiful bruise makes a drop for you to sing,
into showers of stories,
into the hurricane of a song
sung every august, heard every june.

i used to think
my intimacy lied at the tips of your fingers
stimulated at the touch
but one night, i took my own
i asked them, why not?
they answered, as my legs spread apart, and away, from the thought of you, to the thoughts of myself.

i cant stop writing about you
my fingers are burnt by a storm of you
not one word
one phrase
one paragraph
or one poem
could incapsulate
how i feel
the words that exist
just dont comprehend
how i feel
i will make words
i will make phrases
i will make paragraphs of a language only you and i can understand in a font unimaginable by the human brain
a language from the heart
so darling
until each memory of us is put to paper
i will not stop writing
and ****
i just cant stop writing about you

theres the wild thought of this ending

and here i am,
seeing myself grieving the death of us

we are a person i have learnt to love
the friend who grows on you with time

Now, if she dies
Her love will hang over me like a heavy cloud filled with rain

Eventually it will shower memories over me
That will fall from my eyes as tears

The salt will caress my lips
And itll sting like your kiss on a snowy night

it will touch the tip of my chin
Roll down my neck

like your embrace
I will feel everything

all whilst
feeling nothing at all

again and again
and as it rains over my eyes

again

poetry
my only soulmate
ive turned to her
with
pain, happiness, lies, truth
she has given birth to a cleansed version of me
every time i came
crying to her
and wrote her into my wretched soul
hello, poetry
i know this,
that
unlike him
you will never say,
goodbye.

I, of course, was done with you
My poetry, on the other hand
She had, some of her own plans
Her own things to say, her own hurt to bleed
I said okay, I’ll hold you, until we breathe

(she has the sea beneath her lashes and fire burns above in her eyes)

shes winter
with the eyes of autumn
little apricots burnt by fire
hidden in her skull
the song from a broken box
the light in a black wave
the flame from a broken match
you're alive,but
where are you?
you look as the soul of a century filled with crippling heartache,
baby,
you look like a question,
i am asking of you now.
answer me?
- a.m

I think i need
To dig deep in
And dig out these coffins on flesh and blood you have buried within my skin
you held my wrists and closed the caskets of promise,
Nailed them down in marriage of skin and blood
that now torn bleeds like the rivers ive cried
will you take these dead bodies back
do i burn them
click this lighter wont light up
a hot bath could melt the flesh off the bones of this deceased promise
this promise called trust
respect
the promise kept was love
not love for me
but your tiny coffins
Go on. Take them. Take these bodies. Let me reclaim my wrists.

****,maybe its horrible to be lost in the thought of you.
Leaving me relentless,restless to break free.
But isn't it magic?
the veins that never shook now tangle over and under the skin i was once within.
and no matter how many times i chased the thought of you i was tangled.
and in fact you did not take my heart. My heart is here, beating;alive. Taking it would've been easier to bare.
You took what i thought could not be taken.
You tangled me within me,
when all this while i thought i was with you.
No,all this while the only person here was me.
so thank you,
for showing me that i can be a tangled mess,
that my veins can create loop holes on the surface of my bones,
that i can change and adapt and grow and be anything but ordinary.
Thank you.

STOP IT
STOP MAKING ME PICK UP A PEN
STOP MAKING ME THINK AGAIN
STOP MAKING ME LACE MY HANDS TOGETHER TO REVISIT HOW IT FELT TO BE YOURS
STOP MAKING ME LOVE YOU
STOP THE SALT OVER MY CHEEKS FROM BURNING HOLES IN MY SMILE
STOP DOING THIS
WHEN WILL IT STOP
9 MONTHS AND 5 DAYS
WHEN WILL YOU GO
I BEG OF YOU
ALL THIS POETRY IS PATHETIC
*******
I LOVED YOU
P L E A S E  J U S T  S T O P
stop not loving me,i need you to love me.

i am incapable of being left with myself
because
it is like being left
alone
with a stranger

"I sipped on your serotonin lips
like they were made to satiate my thirst
for a liquid i had only once drunk before
my palms like magnets to the moons crescent smiling down your face
my eyes sleep at the sight of stars hanging under my eyes
blue skies underline my waist
clouds of grey hang from my lashes
the blood of autumn covers my face in the night as i wake to another set of blue skies, divided, divine and heavy, opening portals of purple and green inside my skin
still sipping your serotonin lips, now serotonin arms and feet, do i dare fleet?
i change into the sky I watch, the dust on the street, the leaves i breathe, we look alike."

Its not his name i call,
but him,
because his name within itself is now a feeling,
that i feel;
for him.

"i fear.
we burnt out
and i
thereafter-
drowned in the ashes of us"

"you picked me out,
ripped from the core,
my soiled soul,left to be torn,
picked apart to pick your bones
you get,you don't
yet i lay on the floor."

Listen to me
I am not writing to be read
I am writing to cleanse you of me

and the dirt
has shaped into letters as ink all over these pages
our love has its own mind..

Let it write
let it scribble what i could not say
again

you did not love to be left
and i do not write to be read

Maybe this heartbreak should turn into lines of miserabley beautiful poetry,
but
no
i want you to read these words and see the 7 months we spent
squeezed between each s p a c e

i want someone to read this right now, and feel pain, utter, pure, agonising pain, to cry to the floor until they go numb.

I dont want beautifully woven miserable lines of poetry.
I want pain. I have pain. I am pain.

I'm your least favourite dish on the table, and i'm the one your mother makes everyday,
knowing one day you'll willingly pick up the spoon and
take a bite of whats good,
whats always been good for you.
Take a bite, go on.

I don't need his hands
it was just fingers
It was just skin
if i closed my eyes i could pretend
i was him

You thank me,
6 months too late, but still early in my eyes
and I want to thank you,
for that.

a kiss,
just one!
like dog years,
became seven
at once!

I stood out, leaning over my balcony,
cigarette in hand, my fingers searching for something to hold, a little danger, a little danger
and I smile
I take a whiff of my solitude, and I smile at how much I enjoy it,
this pain,
the poetry,
the slow fast thoughts I cant put to paper, this vain attempt at loving myself,
yet I smile as I write this because,
baby listen,
it has nothing to do with you

I am searching for all the things I had to say to you
before dissapointment came and took them from my mouth
gave them to her
disguised as love letters, from you.

For you,

I would find a softer way to say,

I love you.

giving you my love on a platter
was like
feeding a child the age old truth
as he reaches out, for a young, sweet, sweet lie
what better does a child know anyway?

(she was your sweet lie, and now shes left you with tooth ache, it wont let you sleep, will it?)

I throw my almost lovers like crumpled paper in the corner of the room, I aim for the bin but lean ever so slightly to the side so it won't ever go in.

Tip toeing back every now and then to un-crumple them and read through every crease of what could've been,
of course, its no good, again.

Thrown right back into the pile of whats no good, but here I have a fragile heart that wants the creases to change the story.

Here I am,
Here I am, wishing you would.

It is an odd time, 3:39am, no words will suffice the hunger my heart explores, as it searches for ways to love again

I dont care anymore if my art pleases you,
I dont care for my words to be an intricate weaving that will stay etched in your mind
I dont care if they heal you, hurt you
I make my art for me, it hurts and sometimes it heals
Sometimes it does nothing at all
It is art nonetheless
- A note from the poet.

We are no longer strangers, I say, as I hold my own hand in comfort.
We are friends, I say, as I weep away the past.
We are home, I say, as I finally smile, I am home.

I dont think the universe is ready
for the poetry my fingers have stored in them for when you finally leave me, hell, neither am I

We write about love,
like it is here, like it is whispering to us.
When most, who write about love,
are writing love,
instead of,
loss,
hurt,
and anger.

These words,
look a lot like the tears I want to cry.
My eyes wont budge, this heart is angry,
But my fingers type like I've forgiven you.