They all ask me what I want to be after uni
It's no longer when I grow up, though how
Any can consider me so is beyond me
When I still jump onto the low fences like a cat
And traverse them in my absurd boots with barely a bow
When no one is looking, and everyone is watching, what
A fool and a spectacle I make of myself, I care little for
Until I come home, and realise I may have overplayed the clown -
But what was I made for, if not to hang upside down,
And call the world right side up that way? I implore and ignore
You, and you can heed me, or try to read me,
But you'll always need me.

And I could just send him that poem
Because I know it's up his alley
I could, but it's a love poem
And we remember well what happened last time
I sent a love poem to his alley:
I lost it, until it returned, smeared in grime,
Torn up, upon the wind that carries the tumbleweed
And all my hopeless songs that I carried at the top
Of my then hoarse voice, now silken, sleek, with the greed
Of the alley-cat who knows how to survive the outcrop
Of shallow inconveniences like love, papercuts.
And we all know papercuts only hurt kids.

I didn't want you,
I wanted love
and I have realised
that they are not the same thing.

You were a mould
that I poured my insecurities in,
a computer I tried to program.

But you are a sky,
stormy and clear and rainy and warm.

You were so blue when I longed for red.

I didn't want you.
I wanted the thought.

That the heart is troubled by the heart that is troubled
That is not your own heart’s troubles: the ecstasy doubled
And the room beats full of hearts, overbubbled
In the heat of the moment and the drama that’s cobbled
Together by them, of real sorrows that aren’t theirs to share,
But very much theirs to tear and wear and overstare,
Because the blood cares only as much to care
For the fizz of the moment, and it isn’t your hair
That is being torn; it isn’t your paean that is being sung -
It’s you caterwhauling it, as you will, lung and lung;
And deranging the song, like ten cats being hung
And their guts played alive, violins freshly strung…
But forgive me, I tell you – this is the horror
Of those who will stake in another girl’s drama.
It’s not a piece of your pie, and it isn’t mine either;
I just know what it’s like, so spare us the fever,
And spare me the fiver, ‘cos I’ll dish you no more
Than nothing and dagger looks: The heart still beats sore.

Love is like taxis
They're everywhere when you don't need it
But nowhere to be found when you do

I like the way you say my name.
It’s the only resonance I need as I lay alone in the onyx night.
I miss you the most when I feel insignificant.
Maybe just maybe, you’ll think of me when I’m not around.
Maybe you’ll remember how much you aroused my heart.
I cherished you more than I did my own sanity.

I'm a bit over the weather, really.
And last year's me may well have been
Rather under the weather, and nearly
Submerged by the deluge when it was seen
That beyond the grey was nothing:
I did not see far enough, and if I
Have seen further, it is because I
Once stood on the shoulders of giants. Nothing
To say I can't do it again, even if the ascent
Is easier said than done. Rather than a further descent,
Rather than the blocking of my sun, a sun that I
Have a right to as much as any and all that live,
I will embrace all, and thank even the rain, for I
Am really a bit over the weather, and ready to forgive.