I delete almost every word I write
As though I can eradicate the feeling.
But I can't. It doesn't work.
Nothing changes. And nothing feels right.

I don't know what it's like to be you
But for me,
I am sitting in this room,
With all the people I love,
And I want to cry myself to sleep in the middle of the day.

They don't notice that I'm here
But the second I go to leave they cry out.
I'm the elf on the shelf,
Or the cookies you leave out for Santa.
You know he won't eat them, I mean,
**** - he's not even real.
But you can't not have them there.
That would be wrong.
I am your favourite piece of furniture.

Discard me, and get it over and done with.
It's more humane than making me sit here and watch you live your life.

The first time I said his name, he asked me how I knew him.
I was thrown. I knew him and I knew Kim.
What we've been through -
Your family and I;
I often lay awake at night and toss and turn and sigh.
I felt like taking his head in my hands and saying
"Your brother - he was mine."
But I didn't.

He lives in the house next to my parents.
And knew me until I left. Bereft.
Then he sees me now -
and acts as if he doesn't know me.
Like he hasn't held my hand or cried,
Well that's what's really thrown me.
The tree in your garden. It's planted for him.
With me at the window, watching tiny you and Kim.

We used to sit in that garden, late into the night.
Until everyone was gone, left with nothing but starlight.
Oh, what we've been through -
Your family and I;
To this day I lay in bed and sometimes have a cry.
So I was thrown, to the bone, and feeling so small...
When I realised that in your mind,
- I didn't exist at all.

Do you ever feel overcome?

A work of art made of a million layered stencils
Where nothing makes sense until the last dot dries

Nothing, no one,
                               abstract, confusion,
                                                      ­             dot dot dot,
                                                                ­                        and then,

there it is.
                       THE MASTERPIECE.


A violent bruise of emotion that is so
                                                              ­      S T R O N G

You see colours.
                            Light peels across your eyes

Fazed. Dazed.

Feeling everything at once
                                             you take nothing in

Numb to everything
                except -
                        your heartbeat

beat
We are so perfectly broken -
                                        that it
                                                  
           ­                                        almost

                                                        looks like we are complete.

And we are.
I am.

In so many way.
                       So. Many. Ways.

But,
It's just,
            I mainlyyy

                           Kindaaa
                                         Don't feel
                                                         okay.

And I spend most of my time,

                                  Left wondering,

Is it just me?

Do you ever feel confused?

I see a million different
            r      r      r      r      r      r      r­      r      r      r      r
            o     o      o     o     o      o     o     o      o     o      o
            a     a      a      a     a      a      a     a      a     a      a
            d    d      d     d     d      d     d     d      d     d     d
            s     s       s      s      s      s      s      s      s      s      s        ­in front of me.

Yet I hesitate to move.

All are entirely d i f f e r e n t,
                                                       yet distinctly the same.

I can make out face
                                     f a c e
                                                 f a c e s
                                                             ­           in the distance.

But they merge together
                                            into every possibility.


They are:
warm.     cold.      livid.       smiling.      
                                                  ­           mine.     yours.   ours.

All  S M I L E at me.
Some show their teeth.

They are:
there.      here.    nowhere.       everywhere.        
                                           ­                                   past.    present.      future.

All  H I S S  at me.
Some have no tongues.

They are?
living.     dead.    or somewhere in-between.

Where your prejudice is my pain -

                          The grey reflected so brightly
                                        from your black and w h i t e  eyes.


In a space where your victories make me warm,

                           Or when your pain is bursting
                                         through my own heart,


Only then will we truly understand what road we should take.

For we are all one.
                    
                          We are all the light

                                                   all the dark

                                                           ­     and every road.

Do you ever feel frustrated?

I'm overcome with a million words
                                                                ­that I know I'll never say.

Time stops around me,
But my brain is  a l i v e.

Thoughts gather,                
                               and 
                                              jmup 
                                                  ­               aornud
Until I can't make sense of what I'm feeling.
E v e r y t h i n g  becomes me.
I'm a deep, wide river
                                dried up in the sun.
Somehow barren,
                              yet
                              ­        drowning.


I'm walking along this road,
                                                     not going anywhere.

I'm living each day of the year,
But it's routine, copied,
                                            routine, copied,
                                                         ­                   routine, copied

The same    t i c k,    
                                    t o c k,    
                     t i c k,  
                                    t o c k,

Until I can't make sense,
                                          Of where I'm going.

I am nowhere.

I'm spinning in every direction,

Standing on top of the world.
                                                      
                                                                ­                L O S T

But here
All the same.

Spoken Word Poetry.

Prosecute me.
Feed me to the wolves.
I cannot live
              with what I have done to you.

I am beastly.
Pale behind the curtain.
Thick with the deceit
              you have cut through.

You are calm.
In this sea of heresy.
You are the light in my day, illuminating.

That's why it's frustrating,
And grating,
When I think of us copulating.

Systematic mating.
              Somewhat creating.

All because I am hating
Who you have made me in to.

This pulsating,
              agitating,
                              being.

Alienating instead of
                          a l l e v i a t i n g
                          this excruciating complexity.  

I was detonating.

And it -
           it was fascinating.

Not it.
That was just penetrating.

Suffocating and terminating my bond with you.

Separating.

So that I could begin accelerating

And clearly  a r t i c u l a t i n g
Who I really wanted to be.

It was   i n c a p a c i t a t i n g.
And yet intoxicating.

Because you are what I want.
Despite it all.
I want you.

So prosecute me.

Please feed me to the wolves.
I cannot live with what I have done to you.

You are calm.
Whilst I am on fire.