whoever said that love is the greatest muse,
was a total bullshitter,
for i have never been happier
in that aspect of my life

and as a result,

the ink has dried in my mind,

i am a writer no more,
just a girl in love with a boy;
how incredibly dull.

Why is it
that at 2:51 am
i am not enough?

at 2:51 am
i am alone here
not many people talk to me anymore
i haven't solidified many friendships
so everyone just
dissipates.

at 2:51 am
i can listen to old songs
that remind me of old times
and old stresses and old boys
old desperation to fit

yep

it's 2:51 am,
I am alone and that's exactly
how it should be.

It's like a scotch for an alcoholic,
Or the sun for the moon;
It's like the light for the blind,
Or music for the deaf;
It's like peace for soldiers
Or time for those running out -
That's what it's like,
To fall in love with poetry,
To appreciate the works of the greats,
To understand the beauty of interpretation -
it's nothing more and
nothing less than
an addiction

I guess if I knew what I'd wanted then,
I wouldn't be in the mess that I'm in now;
tangled in barbed wire hearts and broken
shells of promises never kept.

I guess if I had just decided back then,
to stick to the plan
to keep my heart closed off then,
I think I may have been alright and I
wouldn't feel this intense chill
through to the ends of my bones

I guess if I could have just stayed away,
remained strong as I had for all those years before
then
you wouldn't have left me curled up waiting for death
with arms wide open,
as though death is the final relief
and not plagued with regret

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.

It's as if everything begins
To
      Click
Into place,
Once the sun goes down
And each and every star appears
In a cloudless sky -
For it is then that you become aware,
There is always beauty staring upon us,
There is such significance in the simplicity of life,
Such sanctity in the minor embers of grace

It's as if everything begins
To
     Dawn
On everyone,
When dawn is as far away
As the moon -
How quaint.

There was once a girl,
And she was loved by all,
and she was beautiful,
and she was young. 

There was once a girl, 
And she was innocent, pure, 
and she was honest, 
and she laid bare all. 

There was once a girl, 
And she was beautiful,
and she was unaware, 
and she was filled,
plagued with insecurity. 

There was once a girl,
And she was pensive,
and she was overlooked,
and she was numb, 
she was broken,
yet she was still young. 

There was once a girl,
who lived a life of battle,
who drank for the pain,
who swallowed for the suffering,
who jumped for the isolation,
So that she wasn't a girl anymore.

How do you express,
that you constantly feel lunar -
amongst a sea of sunshine,
constantly bathed in their beauty,
constantly seeing their potential,
never quite making it

How do you explain,
that you feel like the remnants of
a something great,
the afterthought of a Dicken's novel,
the fading light at the end of a play,
the deleted scene of that 'classic'

How do you speak up,
when you feel like
you're just never going to be considered
no matter how hard you try -
that you're always going to be lunar
without any hope of ever shining through

Ambering leaves are what I think of
when I think of what I've lost
Yes they are beautiful
Yes they are indeed my favourite
But they are dwindling,
dying out
they are not whole-hearted or right,
they are merely decaying

maybe I don't want to fall in love,
and maybe that makes me a cynic -
but it is better that
than to risk losing the most precarious thing of all;
myself

the only real commitment which
I desire,
is to myself;
I never want to feel replaced
by another  temporary soul
a mere wanderer

Hello
Hi
Welcome, it's an invitation to my crooked soul,
To my unwilling heart

You need not know my name,
For names do not explain why I am the way I am,
Why I write the way that I do;

All you need, is a little introduction, to the things that matter -

I love the moon and the stars,
In all their metaphoric beauty,
I live for the love both within and of fiction
But I do not crave to be in love myself,
Loud and shy simultaneously,
I fight with my own stupidity
A writer without a choice,
For without it I am
A crooked soul at best

I was sad for a long time,
12 long months ticking by,
not sad all the time of course,
but the hue of my first year was definitely
tinged blue

I fell in love, carelessly,
but I couldn't quite let him in,
amongst the tears and the other boy kisses;
he just wasn't welcome in my heart
my head had overruled it.

And they say to you,
when you least expect it, it will happen
and it did
someone else came and kissed me better,
patched me up and
made my kidneys shiver

And now, I'm not sad anymore,
I am still lost and misguided for sure
but I have all of these lovely feelings
hanging above me like a starry night
And I am riddled with cliche,
I want him and only him;

this is an ode to sadness,
for it treated me well;
it taught me to let people in,
whilst maintaining a cynics heart and
a fickle brain.

this is an ode to sadness,
I am just sorry to the boy I loved at the wrong time.

make it stop, please,
for I am running out of time,
I am losing all abilities,
to control my petty mind.

shut it down, I ask,
with total earnest,
for I am disillusioned,
by the extent of the wreckage,
within myself.

end it all, I pray
to anyone who will listen,
for I am not sure who is even there.
    and thats the point, I implore
    I am not sure,
   who is there and who is not,
   what is real and what is misguided fiction,
   who I am and who I want,
   to be.

make it stop, please
for I am running out of time,
I am losing all abilities,
to control my petty mind.

Scrambling,
Desperately seeking to return -
to the world I once knew,
the world once so familiar
now it's terrifying.

Lost,
Determined to retreat -
to a place I once loved,
a place where I once was a perfect fit,
and I no longer belong.

Frozen,
Seeking myself -
in a time where I was
confident,
strong,
fearless,
all qualities which have since been
stolen from my soul,
whisked away into the winter night.

And in the beginning,
there was hope,
there was innocence,
there was fearlessness,
Uncontrollable naivety of youth

And then - as the path of life twists in a labyrinth of mystery;
there was the fear of the unknown,
there was the loss of others once deemed vital,
there was the darkness cast into the sunlight -
The weathering of life had begun

And in the end,
there was sorrow and regret,
of actions not taken,
of words unsaid.

And there was pain,
For in the wake of destruction,
There was a replacement of hope with anguish,
of innocence with weariness,
of fearlessness with danger,
Uncontrollable transformation: as from caterpillar to butterfly.

Confounded,
I don't know anything,
detached
from my
self
desperate
to be of value,
written,
******* words of *******
depleted
I continue to etch words on to paper,  
hopeful
of a reconciliation between my
self
and the words
I project.

There was once,
a friendship bound in four,
entwined with trust,
fueled with love,
compiled with ceaseless chatter.

  Once broken,
Each bond shattered
beyond the point of rectification,
There could be no going back.

             And yet, at one point
                    or another,
                          they each pined
                                     for their remnants of youth.

Reunited only once,
A friendship loosely tied,
Stilted -
Ceaseless silences,
Entangled in doubt;
tainted with judgment,
Refracting the similarities of a friendship,
once bound in four.

I wish there was a way
to deploy the emotion,
let it tumble from my ragged chest,
let the world fight my sorrow,
my tainted facade,
my lonliness,
my separation,
In the hopes of closure:
The chance to stitch my chest
And once more
Make it whole

Children are born;
Perfect,
Flawless,
Well at least that's what they say.

One thing that cannot be denied,  
is a child's innocence.
There is no child that is born tainted,
By the circumstances of life;

A child is pure,
And they shall remain so,
Until life poisons them,  
In a unique way.

Thus, remember this:
Silencing innocence
Only magnifies,
intensifies,
the evils of this world
and the poisons within us all.

I do not have dreams about the boy
that I have,
that loves me and holds me,
the boy I know I do love,

Instead, i dream fondly about the has-been boy,
The one who tore me down,
Confirmed my cynicism,
Shattered my already tumultuous relationship with love and ***

Yes, i dream about the has-been boy,
But worse still are the dreams of the could-have-been boy;
These dreams are different;
They concern the physical, they remind me of the brushes,
The near misses,
These are the dreams of lust and ***

I do not have dreams about the boy
That I have
For i am secure and happy there - and my shattered conscious cares little for contentedness,
i can not dream about my hearts satisfaction,
i must be craving.

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 is so much guilt for
the dead,
as though to not pity them,
is to erase them completely.

we fear for
the dead,
as though they are lost
and afraid,
as though without our
dulcet whisperings,
they shall be alone in the dark;

I think that we should smile for
the dead,
after all,
they probably do not care
as they are too busy
decaying,
as we're wilting.

Plagued
by the incessant beauty
of the moonlight;

Delicately destroyed
by the unforgiving kindness,
of the stars,
who continue to flicker
no matter what they face
when our back's are turned.

It is the beauty
and the kindness
of these things;
that make me weak,
for in beauty,
and in kindness,
there are no faults.

when you know, you know,
that's what everyone says
so I think I know, you know,
and now of course,
I am going to run from that
hard and fast
just because
I am on
self
destruct.

Disappointment
Is something that I have
become accustomed to,
daily life generally is.

Though, there is one thing that I
cannot accept,
cannot fathom,
cannot comprehend.

How is it that I,
portray images,
of people how I want them to be,
build them up in
frantic fantasy;
only for reality to shatter
each fragile fragment.

Disappointment
is something that I have
become accustomed to,
because I am it's greatest creator.

Why is it that we always want what we are not?
I so desperately wanted to be in love,
I was so sure I would be happy;
but I'm not.


All it has done is shift my discontent,
from that empty void of a boy
to myself -
and you don't need me to tell you,
discontent of self is far worse

I think too much,
much too much,
that I know;
guilt, sadness, worry all wash over me

and yet I am decidedly
content
I present myself as thoughtful
yet happy and if anything,
a bit dull

at the minute,
i'm running away from my head,
from my dreams,
from my plaguing personality,
rotting away at those I love,

let me tell you something,
there's a place I'd like to be right now,
and it's alone,
with my fingers and toes and inner thighs just
tingling.

It's only now,
that I can see the
emphasis; that has been placed
upon the negativity
within our lives

We're so often
infatuated
with other people,
and their powers and thoughts -
as though they are of
greater significance to us

Perhaps we had better,
take a step back:
glance over the large issues
pay attention to the subtleties
of unnoticed beauties;
to value ourselves,
allow ourselves to be more than
mere consequence,
to become a true soul,
holding just as much
importance -
beauty

how torturous
that memories are
inextricably linked to people
things
entities -
how cruel,
that we are unable
to untangle them from
one another
with the same ease as
said entity
erased themselves from
our lives.

You swore you'd always be there,
That you'd never change,
Psychotic delusions,
playing through my mind -

You promised it would never dim,
That you'd never seek the darkness;
Remnants of a past self,
haunting through my soul -

You forgot, of course,
That you were me,
And I am you;
We are just different forms
Of this one particular life

You should remember this:
Life is but a story,
retold and
replayed ceaselessly

And it's okay to constantly focus on the road ahead
Whilst relying solely on your past self,
As long as you remember that they
are entwined.

Love is flung around,  
Everybody says it,
Everybody wants it
not me.

I don't want love,
Love is ephemeral,
Love is invasive,
It pushes everyone else away,
Makes you feel invincible,
Before ripping you apart,
Leaving you desolate and isolated,
With the remnants of your former self.

what should i believe in?
could it be religion,
a thing i was raised with,
but now i question,
ironically,
religiously.

what do i believe in?
could it be in nothing,
and no-one,
thinking that we are
mere mortals,
and there is nothing for us after this.

what can i believe in?
when the god i have been told
loves us all,
shuts out so many people,
for their wants,
their desires,
their love

what is left to believe in?
i guess only myself,
and what a terrible
terrible weight
that feels.

Pray,
Take thy faith and
Place it in me;
Give me your devotion
Call upon my doubtful mind
Direct me unto peace
For I am faithless.

There are so many things happening around me,
People are living their lives accordingly,
And they seem to not struggle,
Or falter.

I don't mean to sound ungrateful,
I know what I have;
i know how it feels to be in love,
I know how it feels to be settled.

Better than that,
I am accepted as I am,
and at face value,
I have my charms.

What is troubling me,
is the ceaseless confliction,
I am indecisive.

Yes I have found love and
I am content?

Yes, I know that he is ideal.
But my inebriated, fickle soul wants
exactly the opposite.

I get a rush,
blood surges to the surface,
vibrating throughout,
when I brush past boys I don't love,
boys that I don't need;
I feel like myself again.

I don't mean to sound ungrateful,
I know what I have.
He is wonderful, he is whole -
he accepts me for who I am;
it's just a shame that I do not.

You do not say my name anymore;
It's as if I've dropped off your radar -
The two syllables which form my name
Erased
As though if you don't say it,
I'll cease to exist

You do not call my name anymore;
Although I am ever-present -
I do not intend to
Disappear
Even if you won't say it,
I'll not cease

You do not want me anymore;
And it's there that you have lost -
In order to repel this fickle heart,
You must crave it
With total earnest
And sincere desire.

More fool me,
For thinking I was a good enough person
For thinking I deserved to be loved,

More fool me.
I've spent all this time blaming you
For wanting nothing to do with me
But it's my fault
I ruined us when I did it

More fool you,
For ever bothering to give me a chance at all.

this time last year,
you tried to scoop my heart up,
I threw it at you.

this time last year,
you liked me for who I was,
and I was terrible.

this time last year,
you thought you could love me,
and I was fickle.

last summer,
you thought it was our time,  
and I knocked you back.

last summer,
you wanted me more than before,
and I went along with it.

this autumn,
I hesitated before I left, did I love you back?
the answer is probably yes.

this autumn,
I walked away from you,
and fell for somebody else.

tonight,
I know that I made the right choice,
I love the boy I chose,
but this poem is for you
because I loved you also;

*and I probably always will.

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 am not one whole person,
of that I'm certain;
there's a confidence within me,
an arrogance almost -
matched against a crippling shyness,
uncertainty of every judgement, I may make;

there's creativity,
it runs through my bones,
sending sparks and shivers accordingly

there's a loving mind
for those closest to me,
and for those things most intriguing
this is matched with my cynic's heart;
a fatal flaw,
I am cold within
for it is easier, there is no pain - that is
numbness

I am not a whole person,
I am incomplete,
I am not simplistic,
I am fragmented

You misunderstood my darling,
come closer, I'll whisper it to you;
closer now,
draw  in once more,
I crave nothing more than your twisted temptation -
close enough?

*******

You did hear me correctly darling,
there was no stutter,
you are deserving of nothing less,
that's just it you see,
you deserve less than nothing
for you care for no-one
for destruction forms your entertainment

You got it yet?
Don't you dare think that I feel anything
I am neither angry nor sad,
I do not hate you,
I am indifferent
sorry for the victimisation.

To say that,
All one wants
Is to be loved
Is quite a lie

To say that
All one needs
Is to find their lost soul,
Is to discover completion
Is not true

And to say that,
All one has
Is an ability to seek and search
Is an ability to love and be loved
Is utter *******

For,
Love is an acquired taste
Some would say its bitter
Others argue it has a sour note
And some, they find it tasteless
and therefore pointless