In the smoke and haze
I could lie for days
Bound by dreams
Of vivacious scenes

A matriarchal mistress
From Sacher-Madoche novella
Gleaming eyes; a cruel smile
Courtesy could not last for a mile

Spank and strike,
Dearest love and goddess
Do not shirk from such duty
****** and tantalising

Bask in decadent moonlight
By the wisp of cold wind
Cure your sadism
And sate your masochism

Within piquant smell of leather
Find your balance
Between lust and love
Dealt with swift blows so keen and easy

All whilst recounting your ****** burden
Unto lovely Aphrodite
She is taken with vile passion
And laden with fur and velvet

The girl is pacing
For love she is waiting
No kiss on the lips
She is receiving

It’s cold tonight in Eden
A full moon is a spectral sight
An apple tree is in full bloom
In this garden where we may say our prayers
Dirt is caked under my nails
I’m tumblin' down, down, down
Eight feet, just for you my dear,
Lenore can’t so no
Not when the throes of passion
Are caught so deep
I’m restless against the stillness
Aching and grinding
Yet paradise is so cool this low

We watch it ache and screech,
Tortured for some mercy in its misery,
We’re not allowed to wring its neck
All because the law can love a crow

Every time I mention its pain,
I get scolded. Chastised. Reminded.
This is farming country: and no one loves a crow
They eat the eyes of helpless, newborn lambs
All because farming country loves a lamb
Especially one they can eat themselves

The call on the phone goes nowhere,
Just like that now flightless, punished bird,
Concerns dismissed by automated machines,
No one bothers to come after the tone,
All because no one loves a crow.

At the world’s edge,
Upon a steep ledge,
I must ask the everchanging blue:
Why must I fall in love with them?

Whereupon, I break bread
With my enemies
I must ask the everchanging red:
Why must I fall in love with them?

Again, and again,
It is a dinner that ever ends
It’s the common place of disaster
A comedy of manners
Drenched in sinister designs
Beyond the grinds
Of my understanding
Of the world

It’s the Theatre of the Deranged
Laughter
So much laughter
And I don’t know what they’re after
I’m the jester
Without a wry disguise
Cleverness beneath comedic idiocy
I’m the fool
In this Theatre of the Deranged

Discussions at a lopsided table
Where only those who obey the master
May talk – all else must listen
To her, to her, to her!
Gorged on foods
I never wanted
There is nothing sweet
Left for me to eat

Mouth sealed shut
Except to laugh
But there’s nothing funny
When you’re the joke
That’s gone on too long
But the party is far from over
When you’re the court jester
To the Queen who rules the world
To the King who rules the world
To the Jack who rules the world
To the Ace who rules the world
To the suit who rules the world
To the world who rules the world

To the monarchs who uphold
The declarations of entertainment
And attend the gathering
At the edge of the world
Adorned with velvet curtains
And velvet lies
In a swirling and everchanging
Red and blue
Known only as
The Theatre of the Deranged

I like to write poems about no one
Because no one means a lot to me
But the sun’s in my eye
At four in the afternoon against a blue sky
In the passenger seat of your car
And I think about how far I’ve come
I think to myself, you’re my no one

You tell me your just another face in the crowd
But your face is all that I can think about

Cold and controversial,
Or so you tell me
But you tell me I’m on in a million
A genuine kind of girl

I can’t believe its been a year
Since I was last in your car
In the passenger seat
I can drive on my own now
And now you’re just some boy
That I used to like
A Mister No One In Particular
Whom I miss
Because I write poems about no one
Who means a lot to me

I have only seen myself as a beautiful artwork once in my life,
It had been the advent lovely Spring of sweet sixteen,
There is a photo of someone else’s mind in which I am the subject, rife
With calculated gorgeousness, the white blouse and powder blue skirt
And I had been wearing black ballet flats; a day upon my feet had left me hurt
But the enchanted, oil forest before me had healed my eyes and entranced me
That pose, holding onto myself with ribbons in my hair, someone could see
A beauty that which I have never known since.

Into the heart of the Prince
Into the hearts of all the folk for she was a fairy tale heroine,
Cinderella, lovely lady of ashes, had glass slippers
And upon such toity-toity footwear, she had slipped
Yet, it had been such fragility that would unite her with her love

Will I be united with such grace, such love for myself, if I hold onto my ballet flats?
After all, I have not once seen this grace, such love for my own self since sweet sixteen
Since the foolhardy winds of chilly, oceanside Spring;
Where upon the Museum modern, I saw myself as timeless artwork
Admired and appreciated by all; much like the lovely lady of ashes whose slippers
Have walked her beloved soul into the hearts of all; into the best of time

Yet, these beloved shoes of mine
Have seen so much better of time
For I can see through the soles wherein holes
Have shown where I have worn my own souls
In bitter wanderings and light-hearted adventure; so many type of walk
For a single lass, I could not talk
Of all the places and thoughts these shoes have led me astray within
Of the beauty that had once sunken in

How am I to part?
How am I to part with such faithful companions through all my wanderings of
Yonder years soon to come asunder as I am no longer sweet sixteen,
As I am no longer before entrenched trees of oil, elevated in buildings upon
A chilly, Springtime by the sea I’ve only known in passing afternoon
In black ballet flats; not unlike the glass gussied slippers of lovely cinders

Am I not unlike Cinderella?
For whom would she be if she had not received the night of her life
As carried upon the fragile spurned glass of her magic slippers
For whom had reunited her with her love, the foot fetishist Prince;
Lovely lady of ashes would be just that: lady of ashes,
Worked to beyond the bone; dressed in rags, head in clouds,
Dreaming of opportunity squandered in her slippers of magic glass

She would be like me.
She would be like me, contemplating her toes in birdsong prose
She would be like me, wondering when she would feel as refined as a classic artwork
A beautiful timeless painting with grace and poise without rival supposed

If I part with these worn soles which have born my souls cross
My journeys long, will I ever be at loss
Over mine own image rendered beautiful: my own body rendered beautiful to my eyes?
How can such skin-deep bliss exist without my black ballet flats?
How will mine own eyes recognise my beauty
If it were not for dainty small feet slotted into impractical, magical glass slippers
In want of my dear and precious black ballet flats.

She’s the spider on your shoulder
Holding you, cold and tight
She’s all eyes, slitted blue,
And the longest legs you’ve ever seen
With flaming locks of orange
Which burn brighter than the embers
Of bridges she’s destroyed in arson
And when she smiles, corner to wicked corner,
It’s not hallowed beeswax on her lips
Which gives them that crimson hue
She’s slow and steady wins the race
That your pounding heart
Is susceptible to losing to
Saccharine sweet with a smile to boot
She will have you licking hers
Steeped in honey, polite and courteous,
She spins you into her silken web
Not even of lies, but you fumble regardless
And then she eats you whole

Today I saw a girl
She was walking
On a residential street
She looked out of place
But I knew her face
It’s a small town
So, of course, I knew her face
Of course, I know her name
She’s the Jones girl

She’s a teenager
I don’t know what she was doing
Probably doing whatever it is
Teenagers do
On a Sunday afternoon
In a small town

Platinum white hair
Piercings up her ear
Future up in the air
Scene and emo wristbands
And a graphic tee
Probably not from Hot Topic
Because Hot Topic ain’t so hot here

Here’s the thing
She’d be the It Girl
If it weren’t for her acne
If it weren’t for her height
If it weren’t for her weight
If it weren’t for her interests
If it weren’t for her hobbies
If it weren’t for everything about her
But her name
And her age

She deserves better
I don’t like her
Not personally
But she does deserve better
She deserves the city streets
There, and only there,
Can she can be who she wants to be

And if she can’t?
Then there’s no place I want to be
Not one at all
Because I want to be
Where she,
Where we all can be,
Who we want to be

Honk if you’ve seen Jesus
Elvis Presley died for your sins
Doesn’t matter who you worship
The King loves you

According to William Shakespeare,
Poor Tom had wits
And was witless
All whilst in disguise

According to David Bowie,
Major Tom left our blue Earth
And got lost amongst the stars
Becoming the titular Space Oddity

According to Led Zeppelin
Poor Tom was the seventh son
He led a life of work and play
But killed his ***** wife

According to The Cab
Major Tom would sing along
Whilst chastising the dreamer
Or, perhaps, seeing himself in young love

According to all these men
This muse man named Poor Tom
This muse man named Major Tom
All suffered an ill fate

According to I,
Arrogant poetess,
I pose a pondering:
What if they were all the same person?

I’m in love with the black leather lily
Sequin rose: she was looking so good
That rock’n’roll woman
Singing on a countryside stage
Doused in pink and blue light

I’m once bitten
But twice aggressive
I’m hungry and I’m craving
I don’t have a record
Of either the rock’n’roll
Or cell block persuasions
But I’ll be doing my time
Somewhere soon

Love bites on my neck
Imaginary and sensual
I know what I want
And I know how to get it
But I can’t seem to kick myself off
And there’s no one who clicks
And there’s no one who would meet
My tongue with their tongue
Let alone my voice, with their notes

I’m looking for something
I wouldn’t call it rare
But I’m questioning the scarcity
I want something stimulating
Intellectually and sexually
By the look in your eye
So clueless and vacant
I know that I’m not going to find it
Any time soon

There’s a feeling that I’m chasing
The humming and the strumming
Of a sanctified guitar
And the lips of a poet
Which aren’t mine
It’s electric and eclectic
A bohemian mind
But I’m stuck in suburbia

Lipstick swatches
On the back of my hand
A trio of matte hues
But the one I wear
With a virginal kiss
The colour’s called
Girl next door
But I haven’t been
The girl next door for a while now

I want to live in a big house
In the middle of a big town
And in my big house
In the middle of a big town
I want to bake biscuits in my big kitchen
And feed them to my friends
Who come to visit my big house
In the middle of a big town

Mr White Rabbit
Take me down
To where the grass is greener
And the Queens are meaner
I'll follow you anywhere
Down that Rabbit Hole

Cerulean skirts and white lace petticoats
I pout and I cry
I sulk and I lie
Eat me, drink me
I don't know what to think
But I do think
That I pout and sulk and cry and lie
Too much

Pour me a drink
Tea in a teacup
Quibbles wrought in mercury
Perhaps not retrograde
But perhaps a renegade

I believe in fairy tales
I believe in tall tales
I believe in animal entrails
I believe, I believe, I believe
In magic and in mythology

Wonderland, oh, Wonderland
Take me to Wonderland
Let me wander through
The Land of Wonderland
Come with me
Come down the Rabbit Hole

Television taught me to talk
Now I don't know how to walk
Unless I'm in high heels

Fed a pop culture diet
I don't know why,
But I think you should try it

Cruising around
In a Chevrolet limousine
Flicking through
The pages of a magazine

Silver screen beauty queen
Cult classic with a classic colt
Shooting up in the pictures
Truth and fiction in the lyrical mixtures

Televised script gone viral
High roller girl in an upward spiral
It's a glamorous soundtrack life
With a soulless soundtrack laugh

Television has all the appeal
So now I don't know how to feel
Nothing feels real
Because I don't know
What real is beyond the reel

A star-crossed son was born
To the father whom he would ****
And to the mother whom he would kiss
In incestuous, marital vow one day

Welts upon his feet
Found in the forest, a baby crying,
He grew wise and wrong
Unaware of a conspired world

When Oracles did speak to him
As drunken men and and as pretty women
He took their words upon his heart
Without eyes gouged and necks broken

Open eyes looking, truly seeing,
He did bear the revolting truth
Without nary complaint
To the Gods who cursed him

Thus, it was Laius who lived
And it was Polybus who died
And it was Jocasta who did not see
Her son at the bejewelled altar

Rather, it was Merope, with her head turned,
Who saw dear Oedipus at the altar
Obeying the Will of the Gods
But to what ends?

He was meant to punish; to defy; to incite all evils
Not adhere to this cruel destiny
And now it is the wrong mother-wife
Whom he kisses, unravelling, in linen sheets

Contemporary art
Dada and surrealism
Paint in my heart

In lingerie up on stage
It was a different age
Sultry sighs and bad mullets
It was all rock and roll

A teenage cherry bomb
A girl gone wild
Free to run away
Along a yellow brick path

I see it in the stars
Both cosmic and mortal
I feel it in the air
The world is about the shake
And I'm going to be the earthquake

Vintage as an advantage
Retro and grunge,
Shabby chic,
Whatever you call it

Like an angel, Judgement,
Calls the dead
It will be a resurrection
Singing and crooning,
Triumphant trumpets

So grab your guitars
And some mates
It's time to start a band

I’m just a postmodern bush poet
Roaming and roving rusty roads
Writing, wordsmithing, amid yellow grass
Fondling the various ******* of Mother Nature
The hills and mountains, all her nooks and crannies
Looking at peeled potato sheeps
Dreaming about what great stews they would make
Listening to a bit of AC/DC
With no wuckin’ furries
Getting eyed by work dogs
With no sense of self-preservation
Telling me I’m going to die all the same
As those rotting roos lying in the dirt
Sodomised by cars just like mine
Their pink, esoteric entrails getting pecked out
By the crows I call my friends

Red-Haired Woman I admire her
Red-Haired Woman got a mind of her own
But Red-Haired Woman got to learn to mind her own
Not everyone takes as kindly to your words
As kindly as I do
And even then, I raise doubt
Just like I raise the ace of cups

Pale as a vampire
Dressed in inappropriate funeral attire
She’s a killer queen
But not in practice
She keeps her Passion Pop
In her pretty hands with charcoal claws
Strangling the bottle’s neck
Whilst she drinks the nectar

She wears art decade black sunglasses
I see the world
Through rosy kaleidoscope lenses
I dream of marmalade skies
She speaks of vicious lies
Which might be true
But I have not a clue
I very much hope
That they are not

Because whilst I may take her words kindly
Without the slightest hint of salt
I trust that she is forever sweet
For her eyes glitter with justice
As she tells me these things
About the life I’ve led
Next to hers

I don’t want them to be true
Because if they are true
It would mean
I have not led
A life of marmalade skies
And of marshmallow pies
It would mean
That the roses I see
Are thorned after all
That the lilies I see
Adorn the funeral
Are toxic after all

Red-Haired Woman, I admire you
You're strong
And courageous
With flaming red hair
And eyes of sapphire blue
With spidery lashes of thick mascara
You do not die without a challenge
The world would be worse without you
And for that, I thank you

Rock’n’roll radio died
Between gasoline riffs
I love Texan poker
She smiled with classic liquors
Realise that I want your lips
Gamble success where strangers bleed
Roadside taboo
Lay bare, please,
I want to give you one hot date

My grandmother had the face of a duck
My mother has the body of a duck
And I am happy like a duck

I walk to the places
We never went with each other
I talk about the things
I never talked about with you
I feast without you by my side
Never once thinking of you
Until now

Ne’er before had mortality
Seemed so bleak and grim
Until I laid upon
Not your visage; pale and fair
But your casket bedecked with petals
Thinking about the light
Cast out to where your future should have been
Instead of eight feet underground

I bluster
As I try to understand
The change of fate
The whims and cruelties
Of people I don’t know
Even you

The one whom I cried for
And still continue to cry for
Because I cannot articulate
How two lovers perish
In such fateful wreckage

I think of from where I had come
And from where I must go
Periphery, you were
Periphery, you remain
Except when tears line my eyes
As I realise that the future
Isn’t as predictable as I thought

I will never hold your baby
In my arms
And you will never hold mine
But that is the domestic writing
Thinking about the future
So cloudy and grey
Even when I hold onto roses so stiffly

Roses that I must,
I am afraid,
Lay at your head and feet
Whilst you sleep within the earth
And will never take breath again
Not to sing or laugh
Like you did when we were children

When we still went to the same places
And still talked about the same things
And ate next to one another
Never thinking
The future would quite be like this
Never thinking we would be caught
In the fray of fate as things turn out
So wrong and so sad

But I continue to think of things
I could have said when you were alive
When I didn’t cherish your presence
Because memories are so easily
Made and forgotten
But please take them all
And I will continue to give
All these unspoken words you
In flower bouquets and poetry

For that is all I have
To remember you by,
My dear ailurophobe
Named grace twice
Fitting as you feel twice buried
So, I bid you farewell
With this to part us
But you will never leave my thoughts
Even as I stray along the path
And am subject to fates we never imagined

The humble apple
Is the fruit of fate
The reward for those
Who have rebelled
And for those who loved

Your love of knowledge
Is the requirement
Of my hatred
Of both you
And myself

If I was to bite into
An apple
Red, crisp, delicious
Would you believe
My love or my hate?

Regardless, I believe in my fate
Which is to somehow rise above
Petty things like the material
And to submerse myself in the immaterial
A platonic difference
I understand
Like I understand my dreams
Indistinct, wavering, but not forgotten

Therefore, I assert
That if any of us
Should take the forbidden fruit of Eden
It should be me
For my heart
Is fit to break
And my hatred
Is deep-seated

Face as pale as snow, hair like ebony, and lips red;
Red as the blood pricked from the dainty finger which bled
From the waters of a treacherous womb, the fairest one of all was born
To compassionate father, the King, and wicked *****, the Queen; forlorn
By the news from mystic mirrors vile with dark knowledge, the fairest one of all
She would be the one to rule them all beneath a gentle rule; herald of the Queen’s fall.

Though the insidious murmurs of her Mirror, upset the Queen, she did not remain
“Forlorn” for long. No, she used the time to gather magics, beneath the sane
Façade and the façade of tears when it became known the King had died
Her daughter, grown to ten and four years, to be moved off of her head
Then the Queen, the Queen alone, would have beauty and power.
To her throne room, did the Queen invite a Huntsman upon the hour
In which was meant to mourn the good man’s loss
The soul of the King immortalised in bronze wherein sickly moss
Did grow, a dour shawl that did crawl around his eyes
Much like his mistress who for fourteen years did feed him arsenic and lies.

“Take her heart so I may feast upon it; proof of her death,” did instruct the Queen
Unto her henchman, the Huntsman, she did instruct and he left. The sheen
Of determination emanated from him, illuminating his understanding that would turn.
Into the forest, he did chase the Princess until he cornered her; looming over her,
Her beauty sing sweet sorrow upon whimpering lips and a charismatic curse
Was laid upon the huntsman’s eyes
And from that, he could take no lives
So, he felled a boar and fed the heart to the Queen.
But the flesh upon her tongue, it did not taste it ought to mean.

The Princess fled further into the forest and happened upon a melancholic hut
That housed seven dwarves, wary folk at first but
Upon hearing the Princess’ begging, they let her stay and for them,
She cleaned their abode and once cleaned, the Huntsman’s deception came clean also
And so, the Queen grew vengeful and spurned a deep spell to **** her daughter, so
She travelled into the forest and disguised herself with the clothes of hags
A poor, poor hag in need of money – money for an apple red as blood
The Princess, fooled and compassionate, took from a hand with rancid skin that sags.

A single, crisp bite was all it took for the Princess with lips of blood and face of snow
To perish, from her hand the poisoned apple withered and in a glass box the dwarves laid
Her to rest, her final rest, and from her porcelain hand the apple tumbled,
And with that echoic fall, the Queen rose once more: beauty, fame, power: she has it all.

And for the existence of such a miraculous corpse to prove true, rumour became myth
And myth inspired Prince to go out and search for the truth clouded in mist
Within a deep, damp forest run foul with monstrous foliage, the Prince found her
He found her with the one of ivory face and scarlet lips; hair in inky curls
From her glass casket, he removed the lid and his decency; assailed by
The perfume of ever youthful flowers, he leaned down next to her and with a gentle lie
He told himself she was asleep. That’s all she was: a peaceful, deathly sleep;
And upon those perk, scarlet lips, he gave her a kiss that was deep.

Tongue within her cold, rotting mouth.
He kissed her and he kissed her thorough, hoping his warm breath would breathe life
Into this long-dead corpse; perfect as though blood remained in motion in her vein
But from her glass coffin, the Princess did not stir so the Prince’s ghastly act was in vain
With the back of his hand, he smeared her memory and the myth remained myth.

The poor Princess was laid to her rest, her final rest, in a glass coffin; a perfect corpse
A corpse that did not wither;
A corpse with blood red lips, hair of ebony, and skin snow white.

I carry a vial of ashes
As a pendant over my heart
Sometimes, the glass breaks
And it smears all over my art
Thus, I force myself to remember
The hatred turned into a lamentable ember

The palms of my hands ache
And I kneel in fragments of glass
Of my own creation
I fumble with the ashes scattered
I grab at it and the soil
Which all slips through my fingertips

I am a damnable, hateful person
And I carry a requiem note
Fraught with envy in my voice
I cannot see where I shall go
I have no light upon my path
But I can see from whence I came

A placid path
That has kept me safe
From the thorns and bramble of life
But alas, now I know grief
And pity is my closest companion
In the discrete absence of those
Whom I could call a true friend

However, though I know
This path, yellow brick,
I do not know where it leads
But I cannot move on
There is glass and ash on my path
And it all comes into darkness,
Like thread comes through a needle

I cry out
Again and again
My hands bleed
As I scrabble at the ground
And I know it punishment
For keeping the ashes of hatred
Rather than the petals of love
Or, perhaps, the tears of sorrow

There are a good many things
I could have chosen to keep
In the vile vial
I wear as a pendant to distort
My dear and precious heart,
So foolish and jealous

But, unfortunately,
It is ash in my heart
Ash in my head
And, finally, ash on my path
Sullying the joyful, sunshine yellow path
That leads me, the thread, the through the needle
Should I finally rise to my feet and the occasion
And choose to tread on broken glass
And search my surroundings
For something else to keep in my tender vile

If I had a car
I would want a’68 Ford Country Sedan
Big, huge, beastly
A masculine power fantasy

If I had a motorcycle
My fishnet legs would look so hot
Draped either side of its seat
And a highway to myself

If I had boat
I could go out
And I could float
On the water, on the lake

If I had a car,
If I had a motorcycle,
If I had a boat,
I would have a lot and lot and lot of debt

Gasoline pleasure becomes something more
Taboo regret with numb laughter
Pretty face with flirting eyes
You’re afraid of falling in love
Of broken hearts and broken touches
Because that’s what it means
To be a Mary Jane teenager

Like a drowning painter
In the treacherous depths
With oil paints, thick and rolling,
On a soggy canvas
Painting the sea
Your presence swells
And I paint you
Drowning me

I want my name up in lights
I want my legs up in skirts
I want, I want, I want

I want my name in the stars
I want to drive fancy cars
I want, I want, I want

Glitz and glamour: diamonds and dust
Magnetism and egotism
Connect the celebrated cosmos

Bright lights and bright eyes
People are gonna know my name
They’re gonna scream my name

I’m ready to take my chance
I’m ready to get up in stage
And I’m ready to rock my little heart out

Gonna take someone by the hand
Gonna give it a spin
Gonna see if I can win

Maybe people are just being mean
Maybe people are just being polite
But maybe people do see something
In my blue eyes
But maybe people so hear something
In my singing voice

Call it fate
Call it destiny
Call it anything ya want
But I reckon I got something
To back up the fact
That I got to stake my claim
In the game of fame

The covenant needs more blood
Or so I read
In black, white, and red
In a Billboard magazine

Rock and Roll is dying
But they’ve been saying that
Since a white man’s been lying
Since a black man’s been trying

Reckon I could be a video vamp
But I’m ugly as hell
I can’t sing, I can’t dance
But I’ll take the chance

It's not about what you do
It’s about how you do it
Live it loud
Live it proud

People prefer a fool
To a *****
Because a fool is funny
And a ***** is rude

Get up on stage
A guitar I can’t play
Slung
Across my body

Get up on stage
And maybe I could be
The one they crucify
To resurrect Rock and Roll

Big hair, don’t care
With cherry cola lips
Hotpants flatter her hips
She’s a roller derby girl
Gonna give you a twirl
Skating in a rock’n’roll rink
She gives me a wink
As she rolls on by
I think she might be bi

They say only the good die young
I don't think that's quite right
Unless I'm more rotten than you
Your lungs were polluted
Your legs were open
And yet it was your casket
Which closed first

Happy 21st birthday

I remember the date of yours every time
And I know it’s not today
Makes it kind of funny
Since you never remember mine
And it’s not today either, don’t worry

I dream about you every so often,
My beautiful birthday queen,
The beauty standard who I hold myself to,
Skinny but imperfect

In my dreams, I feel your hands on my neck
Sometimes a wedding veil or silken glove,
Strangulate me too
Choking me, you’re choking me, I can’t breathe
I can’t breathe around you living either
You throttle me with…. with… with…

Anyways, I hope nothing but the best for you,
You, insufferable *****, you,
I have never felt lonelier than when I stood beside you,
My high school bestie whom I love to bits and pieces,

But happy birthday
You deserve nothing but the best
From me and from everyone else
On this day you have to share with your sister
And a bazillion other people, too
You deserve Vanilla cakes
(Because I know you don’t like chocolate)
And silver rings and beautiful diamond things
(Silver because I know it looks better on you)
A kiss from your smoking hot boyfriend
(The one I’ll no doubt have a crush on *** laude)

And, of course, sincere congratulations from me
Your high school best friend
The girl you left behind
So that you could mack on boys
And had someone to pick up your slack
But in your absence, behind your back,
I became someone new
New and still a little – a lot – naïve
But someone wise enough to know better
Than to tell you *******
On a glittery, twenty-first birthday card

P.S. I hope you like the flowers
And that your real card finds you well
And the fifty dollar note I left for you
In the envelope, an embrace, I never want to give you

I caught her eye
Through her heart-shaped Gucci sunglasses
Cherry red lips
And just as sweet-smelling,
She smiled

With scarlet nails,
Upon a slender and soft hand
She beckoned me
I was nervous
She was gorgeous

One hand on a wiry steering wheel
Belonging to a pastel coloured Chevrolet
I leaned in through the lowered window
She smiled
Her other hand carded through
A magenta mop of messy hair
She laughed

She was a woman
Wet and wild
With a mischievous smile
And a lilt in her voice,
She asked me for my name and number
I gave her a lot more than that

The ocean’s roar
Against a dodgy seaside town
She took me for a ride
And what a ride it was
Seeing the sights
Rolling on a road
Through places neither of us know
The engine purrs
And so, does she
As she laces one arm across my shoulders
From the driver’s seat
My heart skips a beat

We holed up in a motel
She had bought the room
Days ago
With her Daddy’s credit card
Her Chevrolet parked out front
Our room
Her room
Amid plasticky ferns
And stinking asphalt
Under a hazy summer cloud

Vintage dresses in her closet
Perfume bottles
Glistening on her drawers
Elegant scents
In an inelegant room
Out the window
Encased in nautical décor
I could glimpse the sea and sand
I ran my fingers
On the edge of her bedside table
She ran her fingers
Along the edge of my spine

The bed bounced
Beneath our weight
Touching, whispering
Clothes on the floor
I couldn’t have wanted more
For she was
All for me
A first like none other

She was gorgeous
A dreamy goddess
I did see go
In a pastel pink Chevrolet
Wearing Gucci glasses
And an impish smile
On cherry cola flavoured lips
Above eyes
Which were bright
Like swirling, burning stars
A vivacious light
To count my blessings
And amorous bruising by

She's the only woman I know
Who could wear a sheer net shirt,
Bra and ******* exposed,
To a small town funeral
She's the only woman I know
Who flicks cigarette ash
Off of a no smoking sign
Embedded on a wire table at a wake

I’ve never been in movies
I’ve never shouted from on top of a roof
I’ve never had a dream come true
I’ve never had a wish come true

I’ve never been kissed
I’ve never been in love
I’ve never had a boyfriend
I’ve never had a girlfriend

I’ve never had to work a day in my life
I’ve never been rich
I’ve never been broke
I’ve never had an ambition

But I’m gonna get there
I’m gonna hold someone’s hand
I’m gonna scream from the roof tops
I’m gonna have a wish come true
I’m gonna fall in love
I’m gonna be someone

I’ve never had a life before
I’ve got one shot
I may as well
Try and be someone interesting

I take the corner too sharp
In my silver chariot
A canopy of stars
Above my head:
Illusory stardom
Conquests
Illusions of what’s to come
My head spins,
But I’m in control

High voltage chaotic energy
A live wire reverie,
Riding cool,
Living like a fool,
Freedom tastes sweet
Even in the salty heat

Like a lion in the light
I’m fierce and ready to fight
Around and around we go
An aggressive game of tick-tack-toe
Hit ‘em high and hit ‘em low
Willpower, square,
Is all that’s left,
As I steer right
But it’s all wrong
Spiritual transformation
I alchemise the feelings

They say if you can crawl
Then you can walk
And if you can walk
Then you can run
And if you can run
Then you can go
But I can’t.

I’m losing all control
Reckless determination
Causes the assertion
Of loss
Causes the termination
Of victory

Bittersweet butterscotch summers
Beachside with you
Seasalt caramel evenings with beer
So saccharine sweet

Baby, please break my heart
Chocolate mint biscuits
Break easier than my heart
I’m a lolly shop of love
And I thought I had the flavour
You would take upon your mouth
But I was wrong

Take my feelings
Snap them like honeycomb shards
I know you can do it
Nothing tastes sweet for me anymore
Please, I’m sick of stirring batter
That I cannot bake

I’m choking on bitter almonds
But I would never feed you
Cinnamon cyanide cupcakes
Take a drink from my angel cake cup
Honey lemon tea from me
Or drop the tea cup on the floor

Burn my dulcet agony
Or listen to the tick-tock timer
Because I want to close up shop
Break my candy heart
Between your teeth,
My bubblegum boy, and burst your bubble
Or kiss me with your laffy-taffy lips

Sweet temptation
And sweeter bliss
With this power over me
The choice is yours
But please, break my heart,
My sweet heart

I heard once this dumb joke
About acid taken by some bloke
And how he had a wild, wild trip
Saying that he liked long walks
On the beautiful beach
With his beautiful girlfriend
Until he finally sobered up
And was dragging a stolen mannequin
Around some three am parking lot
But that sounds pretty ideal to me
A mannequin girlrfriend
All smiles and no curves
With arms that don’t bend
And parts which are all smooth
For me to grind and groove against
Licking, *******, *******…
She sounds plastic perfect
Anyways, her name is Delores
And she likes to wear florals

You're not even listening to me
But that's okay
I just need it up in the air

It's just...
Do you know already?
Or do you no longer care?

I don't have a lot on my mind
I don't have a lot in my life
I just need to give you a small tear

How you treat me
How you treat others
It's not fair

Acceptance, not awareness
Red, not blue
Infinity, not a puzzle piece
An autistic person, not a person with autism

A cue
I missed
A clue
I never gave you

Literate
In literature readings, yes,
Literate
In social readings, no,

I misunderstood
I was not rude
You misunderstood
I try not to be rude

I am sorry
I am so sorry
I try not to cry
But your words hurt

...I shouldn't be sorry
This is who I am
A strangely wired brain
Please understand better next time
I swear I will try better next time

Lovers Lane is a dead-end road
She’s got a name like heaven
An angel on an Ouija board
She’s a diamond in the sky

I'm just another empty head
With a mouth that can talk
And eyes that can read
And legs that can walk

I ain't got nobody
Nobody but me
I look out to the faces
They don't look
Back to me

It's lonely
And I'm shaking at the knees
Look at the bright side
I tell myself
Through clenched teeth

A naive mantra keeps me going
Treat others
How you want to be treated
But it doesn't seem to work
But I try anyway

I'm an idiot
That's all I am
Behind the thinking
That you think
I'm doing

Write me a love letter
I’m sick of falling in love
I want to be adored
I’m sick of writing love letters
That never get read
I’m sick of adoring others
Just once, please,
May I be the one to read
Rather than write

How sweet it must be
To be loved by a poet
Beauty and laughter immortalised
In honeyed prose
For those
Whom you will not know
Whom you will not meet
Only those whom you will dream of
Only those who will sigh over
Your grace, your love
From the honeyed mouth
Of the poet who had chosen you
As their muse

How sour it must be
To be hated by a poet
Ugliness and rage immortalised
In destroyed prose
For those
Whom you will know
Who you will meet
Only those who will see you
Only those who will cry over
Your disdain, your wrath
From the dry mouth
Of the poet who had chosen you
As their muses

The pantheon of muses
The poet possesses
Will never reveal themselves to the reader
But the reader will already know the glory and infamy
Of the muses the poet possesses
The lovers
Perfection personified
Only known to the unconscious mind
With faces unknown
The enemies
Imps of imperfection
Already known to the waking realm
With more faces than that which can be counted

How bitter it must be
To be a poet
Glorifying and horrifying mistakes
In quickened prose
For those
Whom you love
Whom you hate
Only those who will read of you
Only those who will ignore you
My emotions, my consequences
From the careless mouths
Of the ones who had chosen the poet
As their acquaintance

The Black Swan enchants the funeral march
Dancing on a mirror
I stand and watch from the mire
She is elegance and grace

The White Swan dispels the misery
With arrogance dire
He spreads his wings
And unfurls his lies

He speaks of heaven and paradise
Whilst black feathers condemned
To brimstone and hellfire
For death is evil

But the Black Swan
She dances on
The natural course of life
Is unto death, after all

I step onto the lake
Sinking into the aching feelings
With mud and water at my ankles
I stare out into the abyss

The swans dance
Like ballerinas
Eternal
And I break the mirror

Clean, pristine and without error
The still water breaks
Ripples and ripples
Natural discordance in the halcylon realm

I turn my back
On the funeral march
The dreary procession
Ignoring black wings

I turn myself
Onto the dancer before me
She smiles, serene,
And offers condolences

The Black Swan
And the White Swan
Continue their dance
And I continue my staring

You may silence me but the air will still know
My voice, even gagged, has shaken the air
With my ideas, I have displaced all the particles around us and it will show
Every breath you take, you inhale my thoughts but you do not care
You do not seethe as you are unaware of my feelings towards you
But I? I am rife with conflict as I destroy myself to appease you

My lungs wither inside my chest
But you breathe deeper still
My pulse races without rest
Much like my mind which will
Forever pulse with ideas you will not like
Every push of blood and breath within me
Is a glimpse of my psyche
And it is there, you will find the disrupted waters of body’s sea

Deep, dark
An eternity and a half
Self-hatred swims through my sea like a shark
Though I cannot breathe or move, I laugh
Tranquillity of displaced hatred fills my veins
As I wish to be more like you
As I wish to be nothing like you

I liken myself to a weather vane
Battered every which way because I can understand why
I can understand why you should hate me; why you would hate me
I can’t help but wonder what it would be like
To tell you
To tell you that I hate you
But I will not allow you to have such wretched influence over me
I will sink into my own sea
And it will not be out of despair
I will allow the waters of change to bathe me
But rather out of a prayer
In which the deep, dark waters of the sea
Will show me the light
And to the surface, I will return, drowned and a fright

Dearest companion in my most darkened thoughts
When I look within myself and wonder if I am worthless
It is your voice which can see all sorts
Of reasons as to why I ought to be left mirthless
For I am a silly, little girl
Stupidity and idiocy
With no wisdom imbued in even the tiniest pearl
I am less than swine
Whenever I give you the time
And let you fill my mind

I don’t know much
But you know more than I could ever
And with searing, reeking breath that I will show you how I am clever
There is something that you do not know much
You do not know of me and my intelligence
Which you use the metre sticks of mathematics and beyond
But I know the elements
Of myself and to your taunts, I shall respond

I liken myself to a weather vane
Battered every which way because I can understand why
I can understand why you should hate me; why you would hate me
I can’t help but wonder what it would be like
To tell you
To tell you that I hate you
But I will not allow you to have such wretched influence over me
I will sink into my own sea
And will not be out of despair
I will allow the waters of change to bathe me
But rather out of a prayer
In which the deep, dark waters of the sea
Will show me the light
And to the surface I will return, drowned and a fright

You killed a part of me; all of me
However, from that lifeless body I did resurrect
And now my ghost will take its business elsewhere
A lost soul without any good value that anyone could see
Anyone but me for you have me wrecked
And I shall be the goddess who answers my own prayer
And you shall be the enemy that I slay
And with your blood on my hands, I will weigh
My own worth
Against the mirth
You ripped from my heart
When you took me apart
Piece by piece
I will find my new peace

Now it is your voice which shakes the air
Now it is you who disturbs the particles
But I am unaffected because the despair that is your lair
Is not the home I keep; not anymore

I'm shaking at the knees
Lucid and faint
I never asked for any these
As the blood drips taint
My silk sheets and tepid tears

Dark hair, pale skin, blue eyes
We’re too similar; you and I
Animosity unwinds