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Jun 2017 · 305
Nothing
faithfulpadfoot Jun 2017
I am tired of caring
To love is exhausting
Yet love awakes me
I want loving to be easy
Like it was before
I knew what it was
And I want to love you
Like I did before
I knew who you were
Everything is inside me
Yet this everything is really
A nothingness
And it overflows
Into the ink on the page
Yet it is only a shadow, a copy
A copy of the emptiness
And now I just have
Two lots of zero
Which is still nothing
And I am tired
And I am caring
And I am not
Mar 2017 · 414
I do not deliver goods
faithfulpadfoot Mar 2017
I am the bads deliverer
And i deliver bads.
I deliver all the things that disappoint you, make you mad.
I drive my van right to your door, and arrive just as you leave
So i write a 'collect later' note impossible to read.
I deliver all the products that just aren't quite what you ordered,
Like a t-shirt just one size too small, or a photo wrongly bordered,
I miss one meal off your takeaway, give you beef instead of prawn,
I tell you 'between 9 and 12' and then arrive at four,
I fill a van with fragile things then hit every speed bump;
But the worst thing that I've ever done is deliver Donald Trump
Feb 2017 · 303
Writing right
faithfulpadfoot Feb 2017
I want to write the right words
But they all sound the same
And all mean nothing.
We have not invented the words
To describe the nothing I feel
That is not quite nothing
Not quite something
A full emptiness
An overflowing hole
The words aren't coming out write
Right
Write
All useless
All empty
All wrong
Feb 2017 · 260
Untitled
faithfulpadfoot Feb 2017
i ache for you
when drunk,
when the boundaries
i have built
melt and fall apart
you are all i think about.
all i can do is
melt and fall apart.
when drunk,
i ache for you.
Feb 2017 · 234
Untitled
faithfulpadfoot Feb 2017
a life without art
is not a life at all.
in my life, i can only
love other people's art
i can only
love other people's lives
my life
is not a life at all.
Feb 2017 · 694
Silhouette
faithfulpadfoot Feb 2017
Today, I am the feeling of falling, the
jolt of the unrealised last step
on the staircase.
I

Feel myself sliding
down a sheer cliff
face,   and turning
my face away from
all   of the       hand
holds and foot hold
s that could      save
me the fall.

Below me is the river, the one
you see in films, where the
crocodiles snap and scream and
the waves are shrieking too,
where the jagged, toothed rocks are reaching
up with their barbed fingers,
they pierce the air with vows to catch the fallen
and the hero can't hold on
for much longer.

But even though i try to shape these words into the silhouette of my descent, they only seem a shallow, shadow-shape i cannot make cement; and shadows cannot beat a heart with violent fear and fierce torment as my heart beats.
experimenting with shapes
Feb 2017 · 389
my heart, my heart
faithfulpadfoot Feb 2017
my heart, my heart,
it beats, and beats,
and beats around my aching chest,
my empty chest
like some cathedral
ruin'd by time like all the rest
where stained glass windows,
scarce intact,
let in the light and make it shine
and echo 'round
the hallowed halls
and sing like some old hymn divine -

and i just need
to find the words
of this old hymn, and write them down
and shape them into poetry,
so that the lark can free be flown

but all the words i write are wrong
my aching, empty, ruined words
are clanging 'round my chest like bells,
they smash the silence, break the spell,
and yet my heart, my heart, still screams
the notes of songs I cannot sing
they screech within my chest and, though i sing,
i cannot seem to bring the notes
onto the empty page;
the page is full and still i sigh.

and so my heart will shout and scream
and beat until i die.
i'm aching to create but i'm never happy
Jan 2017 · 578
Cloud
faithfulpadfoot Jan 2017
It's on days like these,
When the sky is a cloud,
That I wish I could sit
For a bit
In the sky-
And watch from a cloud
How the days go by;
How the world goes round,
And why people die.
It wouldn't be easy
Amongst all the chaos
To find any meaning
Or reason or rhyme.
Perhaps that is why
I decide to write poems;
My words all have meaning
And some of them rhyme!
Silly little poem about meaninglessness
Nov 2016 · 405
Ocean
faithfulpadfoot Nov 2016
I am, myself, an ocean.

My skin the thing on which I float,
The boat I have to travel in.
The winds are strong, and threatening

To pull me in, my little boat
Is leaking, creaking, not too long

Before I join the others
In the depths so far below.
I see their faces still, the wrecks.

The beck of land called them to death
For land is harsh, and sharp, and land
Does not provide for things you keep

Within your oceans, vast, and deep.
For I had kept a multitude
Of dreams and hopes, I wept for them

When land required they walked on legs,
And breathe with lungs they did not have.
They beckon me with marble eyes,

Towards the skies and shores of land,
But I know I can only live
Inside the ocean that I am.

But in this ocean there are things-
Dull, singing things like funeral bells,
Old memories, regrets, mistakes,
Whose weight is all too much to bear
For all the statues buried there.

They show the world, I have their eyes,
The sun may rise but it is dull,
Not singing, silenced by the sea

That ebbs and flows so steady in me.
The sun may rise but I am cold,
My boat already leaks, and mould

Has grown within this boat so long
I've already scraped and cut the skin
And let the murky water in -

And I would like to drown.
Oct 2016 · 767
i miss you
faithfulpadfoot Oct 2016
your scent is draped around my room
like fairy lights, my love;
they shine as bright as stars at night (how
darkness makes faint lights shine bright)
as bright as sun above.
remember how my skin would glow
in early morning haze?
reflecting off your sunlight heat
(your skin like cigarette smoke, sweet)
upon me you would gaze
and, like a gazania daisy,
i opened up to you (oh all
the things i told you
i think i must have told you
everything)
and now without your sunlight i
close up like daisies do.
my lips still taste your lips, though,
my hands still hold your hands;
my fingers close around themselves-
(i’m closing in upon myself
oh god, why aren’t you here to hold me?
i’m falling through like sand
into the bottom of
an hourglass)
i walk through these strange lands
(alone.)
fictional
faithfulpadfoot Apr 2016
I spoke in Winter’s frozen tongue,
In tingling fingertips gone numb,
And biting words of icy winds-
Oh, winter’s words were all I sung;

But all the tales of snow I told
Soon made my throat red raw and cold;
And, like the years make youth grow gold,
I loved how cold made warmth more bold

And so I came to hear the leaves
That fell so soft from Autumn’s trees;
They said to me ‘Though I may die
I still am moved by any breeze

And thus I dance still, after death’
And so I fell for Spring’s warm breath
And sung along to sweet birdsong;
This love of life reborn I kept

Until I felt your love; true, strong,
And warm, and sweet as all birdsong;
I fell in love with sunshine’s rays
And Summer’s days; oh, all along

I’d only loved the cold for how
It had brought us so close somehow;
Our warming hugs and clasping hands-
I only love the Summer now

And how I see it in your smile
And bloss’ming cheeks though, all the while,
Outside is cold and rain and drear;
It’s always Summer when you are here.

(I only love the cold at night
When we are drenched in soft moonlight
And all the stars, and your eyes, bright,
Can keep me warm as all daylight)
Mar 2016 · 540
To Death
faithfulpadfoot Mar 2016
Remember when I stood on building’s top
So close to your cold fingers, yet still held
By Life’s hot grasp, my heart still beating strong?
I felt you for a moment, you compelled
My toes to inch, so slow, towards the drop;
I felt your fingers round my ankles close;
I welcomed it, that feeling, and I smiled;
You blossomed in my heart just like a rose;
It rose its rate so it would sooner stop;
I closed my eyes and raised my arms to you
But life pulled back my soul from ice embrace.
I felt then this same pull that I now do,
This urge to leave behind all life can give
For freedom, ignorance, unconscious bliss.
Mar 2016 · 508
This is not love
faithfulpadfoot Mar 2016
Your love for me was like glass
Born of fire, moulded by a strangers hand,
Fragile;
Your loving words twinkled to the floor like so many stars
But all sharp edges and broken incompleteness;
And you left me to pick up the pieces,
Fingers bleeding,
And I saw my face reflected in the mess that you'd made;
Fragmented,
Damaged,
Broken,
I still haven't put myself back together.
Mar 2016 · 295
You call this love?
faithfulpadfoot Mar 2016
My body is painted with your scent,
Each bruise guarded by lipstick kisses;
The weight of your body still drags me
down,
My body just a thing that someone misses.
Mar 2016 · 601
Smile
faithfulpadfoot Mar 2016
I always smile for a little too long,
a little too strong, so that when
the fleeting happiness is gone, I am still
left with the corners of my mouth turned up, and
warmth in my eyes - I realise,
and the smile drops off, smashes at my feet
and the warmth slowly depletes
from my eyes, so I am
once again
cold.
Mar 2016 · 319
Untitled
faithfulpadfoot Mar 2016
I saw a plastic bag caught in a tree, and as it shook in the wind
it made a sound like birds' wings;
much in the same way that your words, dropping from your lips like rose petals,
sounded like love.
Feb 2016 · 735
My Stars
faithfulpadfoot Feb 2016
The road is dark, the wind is cold with frost,
I know just where I am, yet I am lost;
I cannot ask for help, although I try,
And so I look to you in the night sky;
Your light is there, so soft, and yet so strong,
My stars, whom I have loved for oh, so long;
And as I cry to you, my mother stars,
Blurred by my tears, stretch out your loving arms
And call to me 'Sweet child, you're not alone,
My child, look up, you'll never be alone'
I cried as I walked home today because of all the stars
Feb 2016 · 450
Leaving
faithfulpadfoot Feb 2016
If the right thing
is often the hardest to do
then why was it so easy
leaving you?
Feb 2016 · 255
Untitled
faithfulpadfoot Feb 2016
I hope one day
My body
Is worth something
Because of more than the fact that
You loved it
Feb 2016 · 248
Untitled
faithfulpadfoot Feb 2016
If only I could love myself
as much as you did
Feb 2016 · 385
A Meeting
faithfulpadfoot Feb 2016
I saw you yesterday,
walking down the hill in front of me;
there were three steps between us, I counted
as I avoided looking at your hair.
I remember the feel of it through my fingers,
like cool water;
I clenched my fist against it.
Your phone rang in your pocket, and your
slender fingers picked it up and held it to your ear;
my eyes couldn't tear themselves away from the curve of your hand,
I couldn't help but see the ghost of my fingers intertwined with yours,
the way we used to be.
And then I heard your voice.
I could see the smile in the way you formed the words,
and I could feel the warmth of your breath on my cheek like when we used to spend
hours staring into each other's eyes - it was all we needed.
You laughed, and my heart fluttered - I remembered
how it used to fly at the sound, and chirp like a bird in its cage.
I thought maybe I'm over you, now,
Now I can be this close to you, and refuse to touch you.
We reached the bottom of the hill, and you turned left,
and my feet turned with you
for a second;
You turned to leave me for a second time,
my God,
the softness of your skin like moonlight, blushed with roses,
and freckled with stars,
and your lips, like apples, your eyes like blooming
buds of something wonderful,
my stomach flipped as you turned towards me,
knowing that I would never be able to run away from this,
knowing how much I needed you, how much I missed you,
and knowing that I could never love another in this lifetime;
But it wasn't you at all.
Jan 2016 · 802
Première Arabesque
faithfulpadfoot Jan 2016
Like Debussy's arabesque we danced,
your feet too slow, and mine too fast,
in different times, yet
intertwined,
we cascaded like the notes
brushed by gentle fingers;
Debussy's Première Arabesque - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KL1KbhztBGg
Jan 2016 · 1.7k
You gave me flowers
faithfulpadfoot Jan 2016
The first time you kissed me, flowers bloomed;
From my heart unfurling, lilies, roses, fragile
things, so gentle and so new, so sickly
sweet, they clogged my veins with
scent, and wrapped their vines
around my heart.  I still feel
them now, slowly wilting
away to nothing, slowly
dying and decaying,
these little buds
of something
gone.
Jan 2016 · 295
Poetry
faithfulpadfoot Jan 2016
It's been ingrained in me since childhood
That all poetry should rhyme;
But if art reflects life,
Then poetry should not make sense
All the time
Jan 2016 · 384
Possibility
faithfulpadfoot Jan 2016
I see you
with this idea filling
your head, filling
your eyes with fire,
so everything around you is aflame;
You try to douse it with your words, tripping
out of your mouth like
shoelaces, your tongue
is sandpaper, wearing away
at your lips, but you don't
care;
You are smiling,
And your world is filled with possibility.
My child, to you,
everything is possible,
and you can be anything,
and everything.
Jan 2016 · 598
Ocean
faithfulpadfoot Jan 2016
Like waves she
ripples, ebb
and flow,
barely contained within
herself, but yet
she has the
strength
to carry me to shore
Jan 2016 · 751
Untitled
faithfulpadfoot Jan 2016
If she is the moon,
The light of my night,
my life,
Then I am her ocean;
she directs my every ebb
and flow
Jan 2016 · 645
Overflow
faithfulpadfoot Jan 2016
my stomach is sick, so sick with tears,
like they're filling me up after all of these years
of holding them back, filling my soul
so i suffocate and overflow,
and i want to leave, i want to escape
but there's nowhere i can truly go.

i want to drift into the stars
where it is cold, and so so far
away from this, and i am numb,
and the only thing i feel is from
the soft brush of starlight on my skin
so dull where sadness wears me thin.

i'm worn away, an empty shell,
no matter how i scream and yell
my mouth won't move, it won't obey
i wish i wish i could go away
sink to the floor, sink underneath
sink blissfully into death's smooth teeth,

he'd scoop me right into his arms
and i wouldn't scream, i'd be so calm
and smiling, i would go with death
the sadness cannot reach me there.
But up above, or down below,
right here on earth i overflow.
Jan 2016 · 319
#2
faithfulpadfoot Jan 2016
#2
every time that i cry, i drift away,
watch the legs crumble and the shoulders shake,
the heart is sore and the throat is numb,
the blood is pounding like a worn out drum,
it's a baby again, it can't stand, it can't speak,
it's wailing but its voice is weak;
i claw back in and fix the tears,
like i've been doing all these years.
i feel like two different people
Jan 2016 · 281
#1
faithfulpadfoot Jan 2016
#1
every time that i cry i drift away
and wonder how i could feel that way.
the feelings are distant, muted somehow,
i remember feeling them, but can't do so now,
and i watch with disdain as i fall apart
with cold in my soul and ice in my heart.
i'm pretty sure this isn't normal
Jan 2016 · 374
we are not things
faithfulpadfoot Jan 2016
'we are not things' they cried,
the fertile soils that held his seeds
escaped his roots, each and every bride
was yearning for flowers and trees and green
but he'd given them no water;
so they cried until they could no more,
lambs made for ****** slaughter,
they cried an ocean shore to shore
and planted their own flowers,
cared for them like newborns,
they turned their petals into power
and with a cry of 'we are people' killed him with their thorns.
based on Immortan Joe's 'breeders' from mad max: fury road
Jan 2016 · 411
Girls
faithfulpadfoot Jan 2016
i
am a cookie cutter girl
with a moulded face and a painted mouth
and a head of perfect curls.
i
am a cookie cutter girl
with a heart that loves but does not beat
a stomach that yearns but does not eat
and a head of perfect curls.
i
am a cookie cutter girl
i am everything you want me to be,
with eyes that look but do not see,
a head that nods but does not agree,
i wish above all that i could be free,
but there's nothing in my head but perfect curls,
i am nothing to you but a perfect girl.
'we are not things'
Jan 2016 · 334
Untitled
faithfulpadfoot Jan 2016
you give me the feeling
you get when you think there's one more step
but there isn't.
you give me the feeling
you get when you fall off a cliff in a dream which you think is real
but it isn't.
you give me the feeling
you get when you slip on a thick coat in the cold and you think the warmth will last longer than a second
but it doesn't.
you give me the feeling
you get when you wake up to white on the ground that you think's more than ice
but it isn't.
you give me the feeling
that there is more to your gentle glances than just curiosity,
and more to the electricity when we brush hands than just static,
and more to the soft, warm feeling of your lips against my cheek
like a star brushing the darkness of the sky on a cold winter's night,
with no one around and a velvet layer of black only broken by moonlight,
than just friendship,
but there isn't.
there isn't, there isn't, there isn't.
Jan 2016 · 234
Untitled
faithfulpadfoot Jan 2016
i want to be defined
by the letters in my name
and not the way you write them
Jan 2016 · 506
Time
faithfulpadfoot Jan 2016
Sometimes I wish I could live without
The immortal threat of time;
No ticking heart or beating clock,
Or hourly clanging chime;
No sleep to waste the night away,
No job to waste the day,
A commitment-free immortality
With no rules to obey.
I'd read all of the written books
And add more to the collection,
I'd sing and dance, enhance my skills
To the highest form of perfection;
Explore the world and all its secrets,
Unravel mysteries,
And to every lock I've ever found,
I'd hunt and find the key;
I'd watch every single movie,
1896 to now,
I'd make my own, even though I know
They'd never please a crowd;
I could make my clothes, build a ship,
Do all there is to do,
But even eternity could not beat
Just one second spent with you.
Jan 2016 · 1.2k
Productivity
faithfulpadfoot Jan 2016
i wish
i felt as happy writing my own music
As i do dancing to yours
The concept of productivity is dumb (also the small 'i' s are intentional)
Jan 2016 · 524
Dawn
faithfulpadfoot Jan 2016
The sun rises, baby blush pink,
Like tongues and fingertips and lips,
First forming sounds, like cries of song,
In innocent young bliss.
Beginning to scream, deep crimson,
Red mouth, red socks, red babygrow,
First learning to crawl, to walk, to run,
In wide eyed exploration.
Cool to a blue, like the ocean,
Blue towel, blue bucket, blue ***** and net,
First time at the beach, the sea and the sand,
A little world traveller.
Clouds block the sun, white sheep's wool,
White nurse, bleak town, white hospital gown,
First meeting with Death, too young to know,
Poor, motherless child.
Many hours pass, a clear blue sky,
Blue coat, blue shirt, school uniform,
First day at school, with a bright, nervous smile,
A grin, ‘Have fun today, kid.’
School day is over, skies dark blue,
Blue eyes, cold lips, but a warm, warm kiss,
First long-term girlfriend, with hair velvet black,
University grads.
The sky’s getting darker, deep purple,
The wedding dress and the new front door,
First proper house, with a bare wooden floor,
‘Little girl’s growing up.’
The sky turns red, deep crimson,
Red sheets, red lips, red underwear,
First time on a bed, she says with a laugh,
And a racing heart.
A sudden blackness, like blackout blinds,
Black suits, black coffin, grim funeral march,
The man with the scepter brushes past,
She’s an orphan now.
Then out of the darkness, the moon and stars,
Bright eyes, bright laughs, bright kitchen lights,
First time that she’s laughed in a long, long time,
With a drink in one hand.
The white of the moon, glowing, smiling,
White sheets, white face, white hospital bed,
First time being a mother, and holding her child,
Another day dawns.
A life can go by in a single day.
Jan 2016 · 986
Ophelia
faithfulpadfoot Jan 2016
As you lay on the water,
Flowers braided into your hair,
Your gender branded into your skin,
What did you sing?
Did you sing of your father, his wealth, his ambition,
The knife in his chest, like the knife in your back
When you realised his tenderness was to tender you,
His living, unthinking coin?
Did you sing of your brother, his sword, his strength,
and the way that you felt as he leaped into your grave,
Your heroic knight, hid you from daylight,
Using you as a way to fight?
Did you sing of your lover, who you thought was your lover,
He took your father, your mind, your words from your mouth,
Your flowers, your violets, he wilted you, drained you,
You poor, helpless fish
Out of water.
You should sing of your Queen, who scattered your flowers,
Covered your body with scent and prettiness,
Told your story, mourned your death;
And sing of you,
The serpent under the flowers,
Hissing your hatred and spite and betrayal,
For no one heard you, no one cared, no one respected your words
But we do,
As your men drag you under the water, woven into your clothes, so tight on your skin,
We hear your song,
Dear one,
Your strength lives on.
I will never not be angry.  Ophelia deserved better.

— The End —