I feel lost at times,
Like I'm losing my mind
Everybody else letting loose,
**** dropping, pill popping
'*****' on pelvis grinds
Joint sharing, sniffing ******* lines
Unemployed but still no one has time
Everyone is commited,
But nobody knows why.

I feel lost because
The education system taught us
Mathematics, English
And a bunch of other stuff
But not how to apply for a job
Behave in an interview or
Maintain and mindset
That actually gives a ****
How our voting system works,
Whether we elect our leaders
Or if the system is really corrupt
So was it enough?

Powerful force that can push
and pull
erode men made from stone
make heartless creatures feel
set fire to the oldest structures
family homes and baby pictures
peel the hearts skin
the love for lovers, friends and kin

The fields of love, vast and abundant
with tenderness, trust and care
they can yield families and soul mates
friends for life, stories too

Powerful force that can lift
and set down
make weak men strong
and strong women weak
flutter hearts that rarely beat
build new homes and rest the weary
play sweet songs on old heart strings
the love for lovers, friends and kin

Am I inclined to believe,
Or required to deceive
Another trick up my sleeve to make you pleased
With emotions I've presented you with
Contagious like disease
This love I'll infect you with
See how much I can give
See how much you can receive,
*I'll make you believe you can't deceive
What can see right through you

I keep thinking about sending that text
"thanks for yesterday"
whilst I suppose it's slightly less crass than
"thanks for last night"
as your reply was still heartfelt
"it was nice to have someone to waste a day with"
I kind of have to admit I read it as
"it was nice to have someone to waste away with"

I keep thinking about that night
the one I spent with you
thinking about how it didn't feel
more so than about how it felt
I keep thinking about who I am
and about how you weren't her
really, it can't be your fault though;
that the love isn't waning

I am entangled
No I'm entwined
I am pulled closer
Time
         after
Time
can you feel my pulse?
I whisper in your ear
Still pulling me in closer
I feel I think I hear
Our hearts beat a thunder
A pressure takes my breath
Our hearts beat a thunder
I move and you say
*not yet

When I see her
My whole world expands
A stranger place when she's around
Except everything makes more sense
Somehow
I feel sick for a second, like north and
South have traded places
A wonderful vertigo and I embrace this Sickness everytime
I get anxious and feel alone a lot, until the Storm in my head passes and I remember
She's mine
Clear skies tonight gorgeous

She understands me,
To the best of her ability
Better than most
And she also feels as though
If she's mine, I'm hers
And there will be no middle man
This love is not a triangle
I'm hers only
We have both loved before
Having learnt to know exactly
What we need in love and want
Thanks to knowing
The difference between
The importance of love and
The futility of want
She is my true north

Sometimes I feel like
She doesn't love me the same
Just because love is love
And we can all feel it
Doesn't mean we all feel it the same
Like when I drink and pour my heart out
She drinks and just dismisses my pain
At least that's what it feels like
But I know she wouldn't think it
She'd surely disagree

She reminds me I have no demons
That I am but a man with feelings inside
Who rejects them through pride and
A hope that I'm strong enough
To cope without them
But you can't bare the weight of love
Without the love for love itself
We have a passion for struggle
A need to see things through
So I'll be okay,
I'm always okay with you

If I die tonight,
One scary theory
Is true

If one memory repeats,
For all eternity
I hope it is about you

It would seem as though,
the cycle is never ending
and perhaps it truly is.
Trading paper sterling
just for a life worth living.
Digits and decimals,
computerised gold,
credit checks and loans.
It's breaking my soul.
Never once in school--
did they say I was a fool.
Yet clearly,
they took me for one.

Old friend,

a part of me still loves you
and cherishes the memories
that we made in youth
and then turned to cinder
I don't know how
two people so well connected
can grow so far apart
I still hear your laugh
I still feel your hugs
the fist bumps and play fights
years of friendship fading
like the smoke filled rooms
we spent so much time in
my memory is getting hazy
I hope your little boy is well
perhaps you'll tell him stories
when he's grown
of an old friend called Finley
I want you to know
I will surely cry when you die
though I doubt
that I'll be at your funeral

Mucho amor

*Finley

my dream was so vivid
hauntingly so
two old best friends and I
causing mischief
in a shopping centre
just like the old days
I haven't seen them both
in so very long
I can't help but wonder
how they are
despite the fact that
they both hurt me
very badly
I still feel the pain today
not often but the scars
are certainly still there
naturally I kept waking up
trying to escape the agony
of my prominent
but less illustrious past

everytime I fell asleep again
I found myself in the same dream
exactly where I left it
only to then wake up
hot and cold at the same time
thanks to night sweats
the strange thing is
in my dream I was happy
enjoying the company
of two old friends
despite the fact that
I kept waking up saddened
horrified and alone
I can't forget my past
I don't even want to
it made me who I am
I just don't want to relive it

or miss it

Line by line, recite my pain
Neither me, you or the world to blame
Remembering how weak I was
Forgetting how strong I am
Surrender, my talent
Giving up, never my plan

I don't want to be just another man
I want to be special and unique
Different yet the same and admirable
I want success, I want to be humble
The universe doesn't care
Nothing is planned
Since fate doesn't exist

Every day is different
Every day is the same
I make no difference to this world
I'll never make a change
If I'm honest
I myself never really liked change
Hell, I never really even liked myself

A jealous individual is me
A sad one too
"Woe is me" cliché yet true
I wake up every day and cry inside
"What am I going to do?"
Every poem I wrote sounds the same
"Oh sadness, Oh love, Oh money,
Oh baby, Oh please, Oh why"

I'm suffocated by anger
Egged on by pain
An old soul with a young face
A young man with no place
Very few friends since eighteen
All I am is a sob story
An easy to get on with drama queen

Nothing in this life pleases me more
than seeing you're smile and
hearing you laugh in the evening
even when you're laughing at me
and how ridiculous I can be
you could laugh at me on my deathbed
I'd die a happy man I can tell you that

I feel like lately I live to see you happy
when I should be living for our happiness
so that you can see me happy too
you need to know something darling
if not from me then from anyone
genuine enough to say it because its true
you are one of the most determined
and straight forward thinking people
I have ever had the pleasure of knowing

You will get where you want to be
maybe not today or tomorrow
or even a few months from now
but you will get there and
I want to be there with you
every step of the way
then when we finally get where we're going
we can look back and say we enjoyed the journey
loved it in fact, because when I'm with you
I don't understand sadness
I don't understand how darkness creeps up
and makes its way in to my life
when you shine so bright
right there in front of me

I believe in you gorgeous and I always have
I always will and I always have, don't forget
be yourself and never change for anyone
bite the hand that holds you down and
stay bright for as long as you can
because I need you to
call me selfish but I need you to
I think you never even knew that
everyone you love uses your light
to guide them home and brighten their day

The skies have changed tonight
You were once the moon
I the rise and fall of the tide
I will choke as I admit,
You have been so
Beautifully affecting me
Since I met you that night
I've been caught up in despair
I completely forgot about life
But I had you my moon
But I had you...

To lift me up
To show me my pearls
Illuminating my sea
Enjoying my curls
Reminding me often
With your glowing face
Life is beautiful

Alas, there are other oceans
Across this vast world
I know you will continue
To give life to those you
Grace with your presence

My moon,
My light in the dark
As I lay here motionless,
Tired and still
I Just don't know if
I'm envious or jealous
Of the waters you now meet

Two things are certain;
I'm happy you're happy
And memories aren't enough
A picture may outlast its camera
But I want to be eternal,
Ethereal,
Just like you are to me

Never would I ever
have imagined the weather
could affect the motion
in our ocean
after all
we set out
on our own expedition
to undisclosed locations
discovered uncharted emotions
sourced somewhere
between head and heart
we provided the water
used our own salt
and refused to part
we created something
something heavy
something light
adventurers at sea
turned gods of love
we'd make wild birds sing
who'd of thought
we'd be at the mercy
of natural things

I don't need doubters in my life
I already have every other kind
Of negative energy in it
Coming at me from all directions
Left right and centre
At work and in the street

Negativity effects us all
It is ripe and abundant
So,
If you don't believe in me
Then I won't believe in you
I'll shut my eyes and cover my ears
"Lalalalalalalalaaalaaa."
I can't hear you over all of this potential

Here's a ticket to never land
Now please kindly *******
If I say I'll do something
Best believe I'll do it
Hell,
I get off on this proving you wrong stuff
I can do it all day

So long as I breathe
and dream of you
and wake to think
of being with you
so long as I cry for us
and don't feel right
without you near
or when you don't call
or say I love you back
so long as every love song
reminds me of you
and I can't find a melody
or a perfect tune
to describe the feelings
you make me feel

I can't study
What I want to
Because I have no money
My course
Isn't eligible
For government loans
I can't get a loan
From my bank
Of nearly six years
Because I'm self employed
I write this
In a futile attempt
To stop me from crying
As I
Curse my working class
Background and
**** my underprivileged past

No place
No future
No place
No future
No place
No future
No place
No future
No place
No future
No place
No future
No place
No future
No place
No future
No place
No future
No place
No future
No place
No future
No place
No future
No place
No future
No place
No future
No place
No future
No place
No future
No place
No future
No place
No future
No future
No future

None existent words describe emotions I thought were long extinct

But the feelings still linger on

In mind and soul

No one can truly know what you're thinking

And even you may struggle to understand how you're feeling

Just know that others have been there

It's been done

So always remember

You're never the only one.

Eight years old or so
I'm condemned to a joke
but I never understand the punchline
I just figure it's all a hoax.
Padded cells and restrained holds.
Perspex acrylic windows
render my spit useless.
My captors are fully grown
but I've seen the breadth of their moral compass
They will fold on it shortly now, I know they will.
Though they never do.

I'm fifteen years old give or take
when I lose my first child.
It was never born, but I know I wanted it.
I pretend I am not sure because
there's a lot of heat and pressure
cooking my heart, engulfing my head.

Crying over the phone to my girlfriend
a painful necessity, something my soul needs.
We are too young, careless, reckless,
confused and surrounded by ogling eyes.
I haven't had a lump of hot coal in my throat before
but it sure feels like I have when I try to speak.
Especially with my parents.

Pause, rewind
I'm six years old,
my younger sister is four,
my youngest is two.
My dad enters my play room.
Proceeds to tell me he's leaving home.
He won't be living with us anymore
but he'll always be my dad and
I'll always be his favourite and only son.

Dry my eyes and fast forward, please.
A little bit past devastation,
we'll stop somewhere around reckoning.
It's right after desperation.
I am fifteen years old again, some time has passed
since my unborn child left its mother
as nothing more than matter and blood.
The mother has left me.
Probably because
she was in even more pain than I
and wanted to confide and find comfort
anywhere else but in me.
I never could heal the wounds I helped to create.

It's time for work experience, I'm sixteen soon.
That's practically an adult in the UK
I get to work Queens' College May ball.
Maybe this time everything will be okay.
Shadowing sound technicians.
Sneakily drink the free *****,
since I always look much older.
Sun rises, I'm drunk and my mouth is dry.
I think I'll walk home.

Mum picks me up, I don't even remember why.
My hometown is only five miles across
I've travelled the best of it and then some.
Yet my gaze never left the sky.
I want to escape myself so badly I leap from the moving car.
I'm crying in the car one minute,
I'm crying on a roundabout of a dual carriageway the next.
The police arrive and mum's crying now.
Begging never worked before but this time it does.
The police officer says something about section one three six
and I am taken.

Whilst I wish I could have realised sooner,
I think I get the message now.
Perhaps I was never meant to achieve great things.
Or ever meant to find happiness in my life.
It could be that I was never meant to be anything
other than what I am and what I am
is the embodiment of sadness.
Unhappiness is tangible around me.
You can feel it, touch it and see it.
I can taste it and smell it, I breathe it.

It's me.
Me and me alone, surrounded by faces but alone.
The thought of loneliness is lonely indeed.
When thoughts are just emotions' greed
and it's our own expectations of life
that make it harder to succeed.
I've travelled cold, a road with no milestones.
Only icy tipped hurdles that are mountains
and I can't catch my sadness,
and I can't catch my breath.

Was gone, I was.
Drifting and lovesick.
A turning point for me.
Dreams of my beloved
serving as some two-bit *****.
Down on her knees
on other men's floors.
Non-slip, vinyl,
carpet and tiles.
Any surface to rest her
burdens a while.

See, she can ****
and **** them, physically.
She's okay with that.
As all the while she's
mentally ******* me.
In a sick and twisted way.
I guess that's okay.
As I get physically,
and mentally stronger
every ******* day.
In almost every, *******, way.

Never felt I was a sad soul, though I carry sadness
Nor do I feel like an anxious man, though I tremble
So why should I concede to the weight of my madness?
When my thought process is that of circular ensembles;
Simply just not comprehensible in my feeble mind
If I feel heavy today does that does that make me fat?
When in carrying another's weight you could see me kind
Feeling out of place today, could this not be my habitat?
When feeling is one thing and being is another
Returning to my former self will be my endeavour
And I see no other reason or purpose to wonder
Otherwise I'm wasted, an empty vessel forever  
   Just a sad slave to the hysteria trying to find a place
   Just another lost soul, an exterior that can't be caged

If you think this isn't reality
Then *******
Accept the fact that misery
Is misery, and if that won't do
Then know that I know why
But I won't tell you.

Disturbia is my life
**** Rhianna for
Envisioning a sick truth,
Then not exposing the demon
That lied to you.

The truth, it is far fetched.

"don't come inside"
usually, in fact, almost always
I would pull out
with a split second to spare
and ******* all over her
turning her navel in to
some sort of overflow ***-gutter
proceed to roll over
panting like an old dog in the sun
roll a cigarette whilst she
wipes us both down with some nearby
toilet roll and suggest
we watch something on her laptop
this time was different though
I pulled out and she lays there
and starts tugging me off
entirely unnecessarily
as though both of our lives
depended on it
and I'm glad she did
I started spraying hot **** everywhere
and I think to myself
"I'm painting the ******* walls!"
it was nothing short of sensational

I found one of your hairs
on my shirt the other day.
I guess that it must have
fell in to my suitcase.
The one you helped me
to pack so very neatly.
Only just over two weeks
ago now you were making
sure I had all of the essentials.
In that moment, a piece of you
fell from your head and found
its place in my three week supply
of essential and important things.
Essentially redundant things.
Exceptionally worthless things.

I've felt rather alone since I left.
Despite the fact I've been with
people I love and cherish.
I guess what I'm trying to say is:
When I found your hair
it kind of occurred to me that
I brought a part of you with me.
All this way, four and a half
thousand miles, nine and
a half hours of flight.
It broke my heart all over again.

The suitcase is unpacked now.
Very soon I will pack it again.
This time without your help.
Knowing I will not be coming
home to you as I had planned
hurts like a hole in the head.
I miss your smile so much.
I miss the way we'd make
eachother feel when we're sad.
Safe, secure and forever loved.
I miss your green eyes and your
pale skin, the beautiful contrast
of your dark hair made me weak.
Still makes me weak.

There's only one thing
that's on my mind
but it's not what you think
oh, how the heart does sink

I saw a man on the bus today,
he looked like your sort.
Dark skin with darker hair and
very fine prominent cheekbones,
with just enough beard to look
scruff but smart.

Ah, to be scruff but smart,
dapper, suave and rough.
As he brushes a tuft of his hair
behind his left ear
I smile to myself creepily.
I'm not afraid to admit
I was thinking about how
I could write all this.
Then about why I thought
that he'd tickle your fancy.

I guess I didn't really.
I suppose I took to my own liking
and assumed he'd
look good next to you somehow.
I can't say I know why.
Though I believe
a straight man is entitled
to an opinion in this case.

The same way a woman might
talk about how their waitress
had stunning eyes or
wonderful hair that shines
without being even
the slightest bit greasy.

I hate my skinny frame
my bony hips and spaghetti appendages
I envy the built lads with guns for arms
those guys that can wow a girl without any charm
I heard that girls like being carried to bed
they'd more likely be able to carry me instead
and maybe that's the reason I never get any head
but jokes aside, this is a problem
men, women, boys and girls
we're all fixated on an image the media has us fed
some of us feel worthless because of our bodies
forgetting our positive oddities
forgetting the perks we have like a beautiful smile
or eyes that given the attention
hold something you haven't seen in a while
a lot of us haven't felt love from ourselves in years
it could bring me to tears
all because when we look ourselves in the mirror
we see imperfection
but let me ask you this; what is perfection?

Is it a man so jacked up on steroids he can't get an *******?
is it a girl so skinny they call her the queen of size zero?
when zero is the number of healthy teeth left in her mouth
from forcing herself to be sick after every meal?
so what is the deal
with this perfection ****?
I've had enough of it, having to listen to the girl I love
saying "oh I'm so fat" well **** me, I've had enough of that
call me unsympathetic call me a ****
I'm done hating myself, I'm learning to bounce back
you are who you are, a poet once told me to be proud of that
and that I am finally, once and for all
I might be skinny and look weak but I'll stand tall
I'm a clever guy, or so I'm told
I've got charm so I'll learn to use it
keep writing the poetry, to me it's sweet music
keep on telling myself
"I can do this, I can do this, I can do this"



**and so can you

Crunchy outer shells that hurt the gums
the unpalatable goodness that soothes us

When writing is an ominous task
you should do it anyway, the results
can be nothing short of spectacular
heart-wrenching, heart-warming,
eye opening gifts to so many
and most importantly yourself

For me the most difficult poems to write
are the ones you need to get off your chest
but can't find the words
no matter how hard you try,
you're at a complete loss
nothing matches up with how you feel
so much so that the feelings are a burden
and the weight might become too great

So you paint a picture for yourself
and all who read your work, in such detail
using all of these words that seem so
insignificant alone but work together
in harmony like a beautiful orchestra
and tell your story in such a way that
your own voice couldn't even attempt
as the words don't tremble on paper

Poetry is my therapy,
my go-to-guy
I've learnt a lot about myself
in trying to write about myself
like how when I write sometimes
I'm just stalling for time
one poem can even be an excuse
to not write another poem
because I'm not quite ready
to come to terms with the subject yet
my poetry can hide me away
create a bubble that keeps me sane
it can also be my wake up call
my long overdue pinch in the side
and expose me to the elements
the fire, wind and ice of my life

It is in the darkness,
the rain and sadness,
the heartbreak and madness
that I will grow the wings
I need to fly on the little things
that used to hold me down
I've got my life to live
with or without you, ****!
and it aches like ****, oh my ****!
"I wish you were here"
sounds nice doesn't it?
like a nice postcard
from a holiday gift shop
ah, memories, so sweet
pretty little things aren't they?

life shouldn't be like this
we all live inside of ourselves
unable to see past the blinds
in our minds that are shut eyes

well

a friend opened my eyes
made me take a good look at myself
all this time I've been thinking
I had to get the last word in
out of principle
I had to get my point across
because it was righteous

little did I know it was pride
the sickness of mankind
the sickness that leaves us blind
to this toxic state of mind
that fuels our ego
and little did he know
I had been suffering until I let go

I never could have known
Although I am so grateful
That the most painful
Significant and
Distasteful moments
In my life
Would become

Me

when I'm a wealthy man
I'll spoil you baby
every night we'll drink wine
I'll smoke my favourite cigar brand
we'll isten to to our favourite songs
upon our balcony that overlooks
the beautiful world in which we live
a party every Friday night
friends family and neighbours
will get down on our marble floor
and they will call us the king and queen
of revelry

Not even twenty-one yet crushed
by the weight of a thousand problems
Financially suffocated by a prolonged
suffering which was initially avoidable
and ultimately devastating

Since 'momma' kicked me out
I could feel the independence
Decision making and problem solving
was always something I excelled in
Though, it was always do as I say,
not as I do

"Yes mum I'm going to college, it's looking very promising yes, I love you too"

None of this will make sense to me
in five years time I'll be the same waste
of space I am today but I can't let
the people I love know I feel this way

Tormented and asphyxiated
The best of us suffer in silence
Drugs, *** and general self abuse
are the only things that alleviated
my sense of self worthlessness

The higher you are the further
you'll have to fall because right now
I am on another planet but my body
was never a temple and I can tell you
it's more like a post modern nightclub

Struggle
              Suffering
                     ­         Loneliness
                                             ­    Substance
                                   Betrayal
                           Help
          Recovery
Relapse
              Sleepless
         ­                    Hopeless
                                            Rejection
  ­                                                          Failure­
                                       Self-loathing
                  Rock-bottom

We'll call it room nine.
That's it, you'll find me.
I have faith even now.
If they don't understand
then just ask at the desk
for the guy with a fading
light in his eyes.
You can't miss me.

You could  blame everyone
Knowing you're the one at fault
You could taste the bitterness
A lifetime supply of salt

I so badly want to fit in to you
Be apart of your life
Because I love you so much
And you love me but love
Was never enough

We have different dreams
Yours are glamorous and admirable
Mine are modest and never true
My dreams always tell a story
Of a life of success with me and you

I don't see how I fit in to your dreams
We're raised so differently
We want different things in fact
I just want you and me
You want the scary life of fame
Champagne and big cities

I would live in your shadow
Without hate or jealousy
I'd father our children and love them so
We'd teach them the best of us
A bit of both and a lot of love
That is my fantasy

But I was meant for more than that
I really think I was
I don't want to carry your briefcase
Yet live separately in our minds
I've been hurt before and know
It's only a short matter of time

I've got these hands
bony, scarred, dried and cracked
and they can do great things
or so I'm told
but have you ever tried to
pick yourself up?
I mean really pick yourself up?
when you fall flat on your face
when you're **** out of luck
that requires a strength
I sadly do not possess
couldn't drag myself out of the mud
if I waited for it to freeze over
before I fell in

I've got these eyes
light brown, they're more of an amber
especially in bright light
gifted with sight and minor impairment
or so I'm told
I myself don't care to look at them
I can get lost in them though
for all the wrong reasons
but have you ever tried to
actually see yourself?
I mean really see yourself,
not the image manifested
instead, what you truly are?
I think I have but then again
I have a needed aptitude for deceit

I've got this heart
this heart that that beats
fast when I'm excited,
fast when I'm scared,
faster still when in love
and it's a big lump of muscle
or so I'm told
I guess it must be
I won't argue with that
it's heavy inside, that's a fact
but have you ever tried to
wear it on your sleeve?
the phrase is an idiom
I'll explain what it means;
to be overly sensitive or easily hurt
and have no control over emotions
or show them too readily for people to see
despite my deceit, my heart it still bleeds
that's the only reason to be careful
when you shake my hand

I've got this secret
this secret that eats its way through me
secrets are bad and we shouldn't keep them
yet everyone has secrets and we need them
or so I'm told
and I don't even know what mine is yet
though I suspect that it's that I'm sad
sad when I shouldn't be
lonely when I needn't be
but have you ever tried
to tell a secret and get it off your chest?
feel it come up from inside, make its way through you
and as it's about to come out just suddenly stop
as a gassy lump in your throat so you choke
as you swallow it down?
I have and I can tell you
it's not the taste that gets you
it's the texture

A lifetime of searching
Generations lost
Sometimes I feel like
We're all searching for something
Even those of us
That seem to have it all
Retracing our steps, backtracking
Looking under the bed and
On top of every counter

Painstaking,
Day in, day out
A memory forgotten
A lost note found
A cigarette to jog my mind
Wait I know,
Better check last year's trousers
I always leave something
In last year's trousers...

There's nothing quite like
Finding what you were searching for
There's also nothing quite like
Losing sleep at night
Wondering what it is that you are
Searching for in the first place
Asking yourself
"When I find it, will it make me happy?"
Startling, the thought that maybe
Happiness is what we're searching for
Every single one of us
Even those of us that kiss it goodnight
Or dress it in the morning
And greet it with supper in the evening


The search goes on...

feeling sorry for myself again,
surprise surprise, I think a lot
they say don't it's bad for you,
surprise surprise, I wonder still
feeling sorry for myself again,
like some crack-addled *****
frustration at every turn, as I see
the corridors of my mind; a dead end
every time, and maybe the migraines
are a true sign of recent times
pain for days, a complete sense of contempt
seeing myself so low, I must mount my eyes
high up in the trees, stitched into leaves
to look down on everything so

feeling sorry for myself again,
surprise surprise, I think a lot
they said don't it's bad for me,
surprise surprise, I wonder still
feeling sorry for myself again,
like some lonesome lowlife
I understand the kettle's whistle,
tormented and brought to boiling point,
tortured by the very talents that give it purpose
am I a kettle or a joke to you?
pain for days, a complete sense of contempt
seeing myself so low, I must mount my eyes
high up in the trees, stitched into leaves
to look down on everything so