I've never been wanted,
not truly,
always harping on about that same ginger boy who
took my  heart and squeezed it,
tightly, until it burst

he left me to clear up the mess, naturally

I've never been wanted,
until now,
and this thought consumes me,
swallows me whole -
not with arrogance,
but with disbelief,

you see,
my head's a mess,
my heart's even worse,
etched together in haste -
you see
I am wanted
by more than one
and my heart is greedy
I want them all
totally and completely





I told you,
my head's a mess.

my lips pressed into yours drunkenly,
i pretty much stumbled through the kiss -
i didn't know whose lips where whose;
mine had lost feeling many hours before,
i just remember being close, then being entangled,
tequila kisses are the best kisses

you showed me a four leaf clover,
'budapest,' you said as though it meant something,
you were kind,
I was inebriated
I wanted to keep you a secret, I was playing games and it was
insane,
each covert kiss was more tantalising than the last

thank you for showing me a four leaf clover,
thank you for pushing me away,
thank you for being my escape for a just
*a little while

I hate myself
it's at night time the whispers are the loudest,
they speak of my indecision,
my inability to articulate my emotions,
my weakness, my futile tears, my numbness, my unfaithfulness,
I hate myself*
it's just as things are going well,
that the voices return,
from their leave of absence,
they're kind at heart, don't you see,
they allow me to bring myself up, to try,
to almost get there,
before creeping up on me
I detest what I am
the most abhorrent thing about the voices,
you really want to know?
it's not that they come from
within, though that too is tough,
it's the fact that I hear him in them, and know that he
was right all along.

I couldn't fully contemplate 'dark thoughts'
until I had them -
I never belittled them or doubted their existence,
simply their lack of presence made me somewhat
ignorant

I couldn't fully recognise them in myself,
until one night
sat alone, so so alone,
and wondering if it would ever be morning again,
and contemplating whether or not I really cared.

there's an awful lot going on around me,
and most days I love it,
this last year has been the best and the worst

but sometimes,
I can feel it creeping over me,
this overwhelming itch that can
not be scratched
it sinks deep below the surface
it's this niggling feeling that everything is the best
and the worst

there's so much going on all the time
life has a habit of feeling like a
dichotomy
one second you're so high and everything is
the best; people, love, experiences
and the next you're plummetted and reminded of
the worst; yourself

as a writer, the reconciliation of the two sides is
the best and the worst

I am a cynic,
I want good things to happen to people who deserve them,
I want to see humanity show kindness to one another,
I want animals to be treated fairly and with respect, not murdered mercilessly for our food, clothing and entertainment,
I want war to be a vacant memory,
I want the homeless to have shelter,
I'm naive.

How can I be both?

I naively ignore the contradictions of myself
I don't believe in love, I am closed off,
I can't let good people in,
and yet it is so evident that I want that for everyone else.