Life is unfair, we know that. But time is a *****. She is the bombshell that stands at the bar seductively drinking martinis and cocktails with sugar rimmed glasses through her poison-coated lips. Time is the girl you should never take home to your mother. She is the one that will tease you, and string you along. Time will make you wait, then leave you with your heart in your throat and that dry lump where your manliness and pride and your Adam's apple used to lie, and you couldn't cry but it's over before you even realise.

I was born on a hot july night but I have always found solace in the rain,
I am a snowflake rather than a hot summer breeze,
which makes me sad.
I feel beautiful over summer, and disgusting during winter,
But there is something creative hidden in the grey skies and thunderstorms,
That I miss greatly as soon as June comes around.
I can not write or paint when I feel beautiful,
I am too busy, dancing, flirting, singing.
I can not be angry when the stranger smiles at me on the bus,
Or when the man tells me I'm the prettiest sight he has seen this year,
I can only write angry poems,
about the raindrops, and lightning and the warmth of a bed, when I feel sad.
I blossom in winter.
And wilt and die as my birthday arrives.

The first verse is the sound of your groans from the kitchen during your failed attempts at making lasagna.

The second verse is the sound of your laughter while you're watching your favorite comedy movie for the fifth time.

The first chorus is the sound of the creaking floorboards as you walk towards me and join me in bed.

The third verse is the sound of your heavy breathing after we made love.

The fourth verse is the sound of you typing on your computer; all focused with a creased forehead, and occasional lip-bites.

The second chorus is the sound of you trying to explain to your four-year-old niece where babies come from.

The last verse is the sound of you saying 'I love you' on our first Christmas morning together.

my neighbours have had their pool up since summer last year
I wonder if they stole my lost strands from the shower and threw a voodoo doll into the pool
or captured my soul in a bottle as I lazily blew cigarette smoke by their window
                         a bottle
                                         a doll

that now sits, sunken, at the bottom
of their pool and, perhaps, that's why I've spent the entire time
feeling as if I am drowning.

I can see home
infront of my own eyes.

swirls of blue
that can cover every emotion
over our heads

there are deep, proud blues
that keep your head high
when you wear them
and mean that you actually smile when meeting that common enemy
that is your passing reflection

that common enemy which often haunts you
on the sides of buses
and hides in shop windows
in plain view.

there are misty blues that I see,
and with it
the smell of salt in the air
and the tenderness of your skin
the soreness of your exposed shoulders
when you put on a t-shirt
after breathing in the sun
all day.

then, there are greys,
the appeal of an oncoming storm
beckoning to you
like beautiful merpeople
singing songs to your soul,
grey
is the colour of their gravestone tides.

I can see home
infront of my eyes

no I don't see the greys
the blues
in the skies
no I'm not
confined
by London
anymore

I can see home
in front of my eyes
and home
is wherever I see
yours.

-the raindrops remind me of waking up on 4th of July feeling lonely.
-my sheets whisper your name everytime i dare to move. i ache.
-my last text from you was 8.12.13
-You are beautiful. and i am sad. We will never work out.
-sometimes i wear red lipstick to see my psychiatrist. I just want to feel strong.
-i sleep for 14 hours and wake up tired.
-the ghosts in my room tug on my curls. they remind me of You.
-i feel tainted.
-oh god, oh god, oh god.
-whilst i sleep the waves rush over my head. i feel peace.
-there have been bugs in my veins since the last time we slept together.
-i am nothing, i am nothing, i am nothing.
-i have been using clever words so You will think i still have a brain.
-i sit in the bath until it turns grey to remind myself that i am dirt.
-i can not be a self love poem.
-You left me drunk and naked everytime.
-i am the beginning of a long, cold winter.
-i am a snowflake amongst sunflowers and children playing.
-Pain. Pain. Pain.
-the ringing in my ears has gotten louder since You said You missed me.
-i will never be Sylvia Plath.
-these walls scream out my secrets.
-i would like to be naked Polaroids and cocktails
but i am £2.31 white wine and ugly obscenities.
-i am an increase of prozac.
-You always mentioned your hate for winter.
-i will crave you for eternity.
-the earth will tremble like my voice. hands. eyes.
-this rain will last forever.

Nightfall
and I cannot get over
the architecture of you

I could draw your fingerprints
from memory
with rainbow crayons

paint
how you scrunched your toes
like yesterday’s paper

whenever the water
threatened to soak
our undressed feet

We are here
talking about
anything everything

nothing at all
your words are my wine
I want to sip every drop

ask for another bottle
in the coal-black silence
and get smashed

wake up tomorrow with sand
strewn through my fringe
a silly smile or two

forget what is not
on this beach
and know only now

the tone of the waves
hue of your lipstick
beat of our hearts