Here I sit
To write
and while the clouds move
The clock chimes
And I sit here
Still trying to write of you

The fan whirls while the room rests in silence
That sound used to bug me.
The silence

It felt deafening
Too overwhelming and uncontrollable to be enjoyed
It was relentless
And I hated it

I think
Because it scared me
Because silence is lonely

To be alone is one thing
There can be noise all around you
But to be lonely is another

But
Today I sat in the silence while my fan whirled around the room
And as I watched you slumber

I enjoyed the silence
It was the ambiance to the sunlight kissing your cheek
The silence will always be uncontrollable, relentless, and overwhelming.
But, those are the things I love about you too.

So I sat
As the fan whirled while the rest of the room sits in silence
And the sound bugs me no longer.

please
god please
come trace my collar with you lips and my freckles with you fingertips
because i miss the way you laughed along my neck
down that little indent in my palm
i want you to whisper to me
all we didn't get to say
as the night turns into the softest dawn

Some to appreciate beauty must see the best of the best
the immeasurable
the greatest heights
The treasure of all men
something to covet and keep hidden

And some
my dearest
can glimpse perfection
in raindrops
and dandelions
or his smile as the dawn breaks

Please tell me why the scotch
Swirling around the glass
Stokes the fires in my soul
As it swirls playfully along my tongue
To incite the words brushing against the smoke as it leaves my breath

Till the glass is empty
and fires go cold

amidst the thunder
and the wind
the churning waves
aching to break
hear me
roar
with the waters
last refrain

as the room is shaking with the sounds of laughter
full of all the people
all the things
all the excitement of new experiences
all I can do is giggle
fully aware that no one knows what each of us actually is doing
as we venture into the world

but we each know
we are not alone

I am the definition of a god’s love

I may come bearing gifts
Showering you in adoration and devotion
wrapped in the most pleasurable ways
caring for you in ways you have never known
caressing your soul in the most intimate ways

only to leave when you least expect it

left begging at an alter
I’ve vacated and no longer visit

crawl into the little tin with me
I’ll make space for you

actually I’m allergic to tin
that’s fine
I guess we’ll shudder in the freezing cold
together

Of all the colours
Between the deep ocean
And vast sky
Your eyes shall remain my favourite pairing

i no longer believe it is brave

to sit in blood soaked misery

just so i may go out standing

instead of reaching out a hand

and asking for help

to live

rattling in your brain
god the guilt
it really does go for your stomach
and you sit there
in tears
on a random Thursday
because I can’t really be the worst person ever?
and as sobs rack
and half eaten boxes of Mike and Ike’s lay scattered
I start bleeding
oh right
hell hath returned

to someone

my worst will be their best, and my best will be their 'meh'

it just means that a few of those someone's

were not meant for me

that’s just it?
isn’t it.

the little patter of rain
half eaten sandwich
and awkward angles
Squished between all the I love yous
and miss yous

hoping when you say ‘come round again!’
they get the chance to

I wanted to say something poetic.
to capture the sheer depth of emotion brought forth by that goose
I wanted to evoke the pleading in his first note
to hear the panic in the second
I wanted to let you feel the hope
to push towards the potential of having a reply
I wanted to tell you his lonliness
to hear his cry.

maybe you shouldn’t have loved me like the stars were inconsequential that night
maybe I should’ve let you worship me among the stars
taking breaths to account for all the specks of wonder and sheer depth of beauty that the stars
and i failed to see
maybe i should’ve loved me
like the stars
incalculable in its’ glory

if I shrug on the big coat
the one with wonky sides
scuffle down the roadway
every other night
if i play it really slowly
or forget to turn it down
mix up the order
with socks half sliding down

will I make an impression?
or just try the little(er) coat tomorrow.

Most days I dislike the chime of the clock
It reminds me time flies away

But today I like the chime of the clock
It reminds me that I’ve had one more moment with you.

I love when I stumble across a
moment
where you know it’s one that will be encased in bubble wrap
Preserved with the jams and jellies
Coveted on the shelf
With all the good little memories I have with you
and the way your eyes crinkle when I laugh that particular way
so I smile
and remind myself to keep extra mason jars and bubble wrap
— just for such occasions

amongst the leaves
and the whispers across the sea
in the shadows
and trailing through the trees
it was in the moonlight
the shimmer of the dawn

the echoes of your pulse
splattering dirt through the lawn
kettles screaming for release
murmuring kisses into skin

oh darling
let me hold you
forever and a day.

it’s breathtaking
how love changes
growing and morphing and blossoming as we grow and morph ourselves
love goes from mums cooking to dads cocktails to friends hugs to lovers embraces
until it morphs
into 1:48am phone calls about which car soap because he always did it and I couldn’t find it anyway
and you realize soap was what mattered
Love changes
And it’s breathtaking

flipping through pages
wondering if I lost the time
wandering around
looking for mine

watching through windows
working at waiting
will he really see me?
would he even find
a whisper of me
along the wet gravel lines
willfully — agonizingly
waiting for me?

Listening to him say “not her”
tickled something in my brain
to be loved is to be seen
but not in the normal sense
nah
in the perfect quirky out of breath hair in your face but still put together? Kinda quirky
as I savour another perfect bite
of Brie/rosemary/prosciutto
I’m left to wonder

why the hell not her

there is such a difference between laying the cutlery out on the table for everyone to see
and putting it back in the box, dropping it outside, and writing a ‘free sign’ — laying it down, and letting it go

feels lighter
free

I hated the set anyways

I’ve stopped looking at you in wonder
not because you aren’t wondrous
but because I no longer see us as too good to be true
I don’t know when it happened
Or how
But I know while you rest this afternoon with hands on my limbs
I can feel the dust settling on a midsummer dream
and while the dream remains light, wondrous and new
The home I made with you
Was built slowly through slow dances and arguments and patience
Built by long conversations and silent smiles
Home with you
isn’t wondrous, it’s a cup of tea after a long day
Home with you is a choice
and I chose you

“I guess I fumbled this didn’t I”

and thank god I knew enough to pause
and take eighty four steps back
because what would’ve had me leaping into a pit
of guilt tipped spears

had me giggling
miles away
because darling you already know the answer

and are hoping
I’ll bite

it’s not even just sleep with you.
It’s waking up to you.
It’s feeling your fingertips against my hip
It’s the safety in the middle of the night
Knowing that the monsters under the bed
simply cannot hold space
under the bed we broke
and made our own

Some days a little bit of liquor
and a bonfire with heat
makes a night to remember
and really good sleep

‘repressed rage’
she said
as I clung to the whitest porcelain
‘it’ll do that to ya’
leaning against the doorframe
and I swear I could tell you how many flecks of dirt were in the grout
For how many times
I’d worn in a spot from kneeling
‘it’ll figure itself out’
but I couldn’t hear
cause it just kept coming

I might still love you
maybe the thought of me
and you

and the good moments

maybe that’s why it’s so hard

because I haven’t stopped loving all the little moments or the smell of you

i might still love you

cause nothing tastes like that first kiss
and the longer one after that

the trail of clothes, or hat tipped back

maybe, maybe i still do,

but i can’t.

A man of many talents
walked through my door
God I hope he walks through once more

crawl to me
so I may hear you beg
and I may listen in a smoke filled bar
from a cross the room
how he felt
in another lifetime
what it was like to be wanted

Friends after work
Sipping Bellini cocktails
swapping the drinks and tales
Some are better than others
As glasses sit empty

sometimes it takes pouring gasoline
and walking away

other times

it’s meticulously, painstakingly
removing debris
on your hands and knees

and learning to try again

it is in the lull
where the littlest of toes
starts to inch away
as if it will finally meet its partner
that does not reside
on this side of the mattress
or really this mattress itself

for it is the silence that await the musical score
that always starts with how you breathe while slumbering
and the pillows themselves
seem to ache
etched in stone like medusa herself
petrified their forms as if you laid against them
edging her on

maybe it is the silence
that is petrified
you will not return
it simply misses its partnered limbs
and evening symphonies

I heard a little goose
in the starry sky
lost on his lonesome
not ashamed to cry.
He made me pause
as I had never heard such loneliness
echoing into the black expanse. his pleas,
I could feel his yearnings
the tickle in his throat
as he screamed to be heard
like that tree who fell.

I heard a little goose.
all by his lonesome
I couldn't help but notice, not a whisper of another
just his wings a flutter,
calling for another.

I heard a little goose,
I hope I am heard too.

there is something in hozier's voice
that makes me want to scrabble
to crawl
to beg
to etch my elbows with sticks and stones
leaving blood for breadcrumbs
for the scraps of reverb
and echoes of strings

god were you made for me
I’ve heard that too many times
am I just to be passed around
till I break in someone’s hands?
a china doll
no longer in use

why must we chose
to pick up the shield
of weighted fear and cemented caution
caged in what if laced around comfort
or
to wield the open palm
where everything could land
and rest in a cozy embrace
or be brushed away
with nothing but a whisper

I am sick of this
beige
of the way it sits against my chest
so that I cannot feel
too much
or even too little

I would tell time to come here so that I may dine her, in hopes to speed up the process. but she is late for our dinner once more.

And so I sit, holding a beige cup, with a beige sweater, in a beige room. Hoping it’ll ever turn transparent, so I may start again.

I miss what I imagined
not what I survived

but god does it make me feel alive
to know I made it through

in the pitter patter of the morning
I can hear my happiness
does that make sense?

the harmony starts as I hear it in the echoes of his breath
ostinato, full and lazy like a cresting wave
and in the whispers of the day
I lay awake, hearing the legatos
knowing at some point I must rejoin the world

but for now
I listen
as crescendos of happiness crest over me
and his hands staccato for me
and as his kisses draw to cadence
he whispers 'good morning'
a symphony just for me

it is in the moments where we want to scream
and yell
and wander the streets like a madwoman
screaming your declarations for the world to know
but instead
we must sit in silence
and stare at the wall
acknowledging paint flecks
like Siken said
laughing till you feel no more

as much as I love its whispers
the tangle with the heat
the littlest deaths
of everything but ego
and idolatry

the heat left scars
whispering ink
just left stains
nothing
really pretty
or even very neat

I quit drinking
and that was that.

and just like that
the world clicks sometimes
and the most beautiful humans can transcend to the most horrifying figures
producing nightmares that should not exist
that render the shadows begging for the whispers of flame
but sometimes
out of the shadows
under echoes of hymnals
lays the softest silence
extending refrains
of the purest silk
that even the sirens, they could not replicate

“oh it’s touch and go, you know”

now I understand why I hated tag.

you wanted me to grieve for you
you wanted me to baulk and mewl
you wanted me to scream and pitch a fight
you wanted me to be a scene.
but
I wanted someone who could trust
I wanted someone who could be patient
I wanted someone who had the capacity to be kind
I wanted someone.
so no
I did not scream for you
but I did put away the necklace
I did not cry for you
but I did remove pictures from frames
I did not take your list of a letter
but I did hold my tongue

I screamed in nightmares months after, realizing you wanted not the best for me, but wanted every morsel, scrap, and drop of me.  

I did not do what you wanted.
because I wanted me.

I can’t help but giggle
when you come across someone
who just doesn’t get you
and every other word
you both speak
gets lost in the cross wires
neither of your brains have the connection points to

god I felt like an idiot
sitting looking at the different strands of carpet
her hair brushed back behind her ear
when she waited
to hear me ask
“did we even have anything in common?”
she shrugged

“your curiousity”

I laughed, rolling my eyes.

“and your need to be loved”

and god I felt like an idiot

when I was little
when war was fun and fights were competitions
I never thought
about the little girl
stuck
between the lines
or the little youngling
who was neither here nor there
but simply, was
and the world called loser.