All the stars in the sky couldn't outdo your shine...
sorry, that's a cliche line
so should i compare thee to a summer's day instead?
no, sorry, that's plagiarism;
i guess i'm not as good at this as i want to be,
but it seems every time i try to tell you how i feel
the words just escape me.
There's nothing original in my head,
so i resort to using poetry
that's been recycled instead. You do that to me, you know,

you take all these impressive thoughts, long words
revised from dictionaries during high school essays where
i should have been focusing on the question
but found myself
more interested by the way words with more letters
could have so little meaning; words with less letters
could store enough emotion to fill a blank void with
billions of burning lights - you could create a universe for somebody with
just four letters, but you could
simply make a small dent within the air by using nine.
l o v e
r e d u n d a n t
nine meaningless letters for a pointless word - even
the word itself acknowledges its lack of necessity.

It was upon pondering these thoughts, just now
as i write this silly little poem that's
lost its flow, lots its rhythm and rhyme just as i seem to
lose myself when i'm around you,
that i stumbled upon a discovery

and though this discovery held no comparison
to the miracle i uncovered in
discovering your existence, and the way your eyes shine warmly like lanterns
whenever you're happy (something which consequently brightens my
dark and broody spirits, lifting them out ever so slightly from the hell they reside in),
i found it to be an important discovery all the same.

See, words and letters and literary features,
they're all so... simple, and how better to communicate with another soul
than doing so simply, in language even toddlers can understand?
If a four letter word can be more meaningful
than a word containing nine letters, then maybe less
really is more.

I'm coming to my conclusion now, just-
bear with me, here. It takes a guy like me a lot of courage to admit to what he feels.
See, i was going to write about the way your smile shines
bright and beautiful like the sun, but i realised that would mean that i'd never stand a chance
because if ever i drew close enough for a kiss

you would burn me.

So here it is. Plain and simple.

I love you.

don't reprimand me
for doing as you do.

we both wear the wounds of warriors
on our skin like faded tattoos—

warriors, not survivors,
still fighting for our lives.

don't reprimand me
for doing as you do.

i know the bitter taste of hypocrisy
as well as you do;

we perpetuate these cycles
like we just can't help ourselves

and the way you speak of yourself,
some broken poem in love with its pain, hurts me

i will be angry, and i will lash out
i do not know how to function normally

emotions?
no thank you.

sociopath, little boy, *******, pathetic apathetic *******
what a ******* i am,

what does the label matter?
all of it overrides my love; you've made that clear.

what a failure,
always breaking the things i care about

like they cost nothing,
even though i feel the debt deep down.

i try, i try so hard to fix them,
to make up for sins that i didn't even commit

but

all i end up doing is adding my own to the list.

embarking upon a further
journey down the same path

almost four years,
but now: newer, exciting routes
new junctions to
cross the t’s, dot the i’s

but the letters remain
unfinished, unlooped—though
the knots are still tangled

why’d the past have to catch up
with someone else’s love?

spare the reminder
of a lovesick fool,
not quite so much lovesick
as desperate to prove.

tomorrow never comes;
the future is today
and it’s here and now and
yes, yes, things are gonna

change for the better
the best endeavour of life so far
begins without her in it

isn’t that proof enough?

we made it.

at 5 AM i loved you again

loved the seductive sapphires of your eyes
a certain snare for fools like me,

loved the shape of your hands and
the spaces between your fingers
where mine used to be

i loved the flick of a swirl in your hair
and the thickness of it under my nails,

the husky depth of your ***** laugh
and the wonky smile it accompanied,
a crooked glint of glee

your warm body and the wiry hair of your legs,
firm abdominals and stubble barely there,
just enough to scratch my lips

at 5 AM i loved you again
but at six, i woke up

sunlight shining clarity on daylight’s disappointing truths:
none of the above counts for **** all
when it comes to exes like you

do you feel that?
the crescendo of emotion?
the crest of a wave
of inexplicable
something
that just drowns you?

do you feel it?
the weight of your own
existence?
this inexplicable urge
to lie down
and cry gently
for no reason at all?

do you feel
what i'm feeling?
an appreciation for life
whilst
hating being alive?
falling in love
with the universe
and out of love
with yourself?

do you feel that?
are you drowning in
existentialism?
does your chest
feel like it's
imploding?
are your lungs too big
for your rib cage?

do you feel it?
do you feel
what i'm feeling?
do you even feel
​​​​​​​at all?

thinking about bus drivers, lying sleepless
3 AM
wondering about drug tests,
if they can’t go to work
because they drank to forget
and they don’t want to lose their job
for unhealthy coping mechanisms
because you can drive yourself into an early grave
but you can’t take the citizens with you

she asked me what the ocean felt like,
and i talked about elegant waves,
crystal clear water and
holding star fish
in the palms of my hands

if she asked me again, i think
i would've talked about
the disappointment
that comes from being surrounded by water
but never drowning

the suicidal swimmer longs
for his lungs to soak up the ocean

he tells him he's missed him,
even though that makes no sense at all.
a smile lights up his features as he looks upon him,
hands gripping in just the right places,
firm squeezes that say: i've missed this, touching you

it only reaches his eyes because he's such a good liar
(but he does miss touching him, all the time.
loves him even when he hates him.
loves him even though he never misses him.
loves him even though he could replace him
without a second thought.)

honest where it matters, of course,
enough to convince them all
he's the epitome of truth
then later, lying through his back teeth, easily,
like chewing his favourite sweets,
no difference in expression:
insincerity masked by a perfect illusion of sincerity

"what reason would i have to lie to you?" he asks
"i don't need to lie to you; i don't care about you"
because everyone knows
the best lies are saved for loved ones
as we manipulate ourselves into believing
"this is for the best"

he tells him he's missed him,
even though that makes no sense at all.
clothes shed, a trail to the bedroom,
a private place where both can be themselves:
here, he's genuinely honest
stripped bare in more ways than one.

he tells him he loves him,
and it makes perfect sense
even though his love is tainted, empty;
better to say he cares,
but that's love for him―
as close as he'll ever be.

he smiles when he hears it,
"i love you too",
and this time it reaches his eyes,
even though his heart
doesn't race
like a lover's would.

you said you liked the way i made you feel,
said you've never felt happier than when you're with me

i said i liked the idea of you being home,
i said you could be the one that might make me fall

ᴛʜᴀᴛ ғɪʀsᴛ ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ﹐ sᴏ sᴏғᴛʟʏ sᴘᴏᴋᴇɴ
ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴀʙᴏᴏ﹐ ʜᴜsʜᴇᴅ﹐
ɢᴇɴᴛʟᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ﹐ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏғ
sʟᴏᴡ ʙᴜʀɴ
ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɢɪᴠᴇs ʏᴏᴜ ᴄʜᴇsᴛ ᴘᴀɪɴs;
ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴛ·s ᴡᴏʀᴛʜ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ﹐
ᴀɴᴅ ɪ sᴡᴇᴀʀ ɪ·ᴠᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴍᴏʀᴇ.

you said we all have trials
i think you forget
there's no court of law
for the demons in your head

and if there was, i'd be on bail
with a psych eval due
struggling to swallow sadism
and thinking of you

he told me we're toxic;
she told me you're a liar
you bring out the worst in me
set good intentions on fire

i've never burned more
than when i'm losing sleep over you
if you were petrol, i'd drink
and finally we'd be through

i can't stand the way i hate you
and i love you just as much
i'm tired of hurting
and being used as a crutch

i don't believe it when you're sweet
can't stomach it when you're mad
sometimes you're an angel
but almost the worst i've ever had

in the past, i was empty
seven years without crying
now i'm swelling with anxiety
but at least i'm trying

told me you'll never stop
god knows i don't want you to
but maybe i need it,
a break from what you do

i'm softening the tone
with half-assed rhymes
to sound like i'm okay
with the fact you aren't mine

though part of me thinks
for what it's worth
that i got lucky to miss a shot
and dodge a bullet, dodge the hurt

And now, now it's time
To get over you a second time
And it always takes so long
But if you asked, I'd say I'm fine
It's a lie but one day it'll be true
The only person I can lie to is you
Trust isn't something I can do
Promise I don't lie about important things
The lies I tell are only about my feelings
I know how I feel is insignificant
Whether or not people tell me different
You'll never ask, though, so I'll never lie
This time it's me not saying goodbye

the weight of all my previous selves
is perching at my back
if i look slumped, not steady
i’ll be fine, it’s just temporary
maybe. hopefully.
i feel so heavy

is there a future me ahead
or will i finally settle?
when i know me, when i’ve found myself
will it be set in stone
bricks and mortar
whispering promises of home

or do i wash away again
like mud on concrete?
if the rain pours, i slip away
but then, but then
it’s okay! because then, then
the sun shines on a stronger me beneath

so i think myself finally whole because
i can hold the weight of the world
i am concrete.
i am washed away.
i am resurfaced clean, if bruised,
a pathway for all to find steady feet

‘til the cracks in the concrete reappear
‘cause i know, i know
i’ll let you walk over me,
that somebody will plant a seed in me
the roots will shove up and up
break through me
‘til shattered but still existing is all i can be

i am constantly remaking myself,
constantly being remade.
is anybody anybody
if we’re all endlessly changed?
this sense of self i have this day
i have no faith that it’ll stay

how many drill bits to the brain
does it take to make concrete fall away?
how many new faces
‘til a man, this man, that man, the man
‘til I go insane?

how do you
let go
of somebody
you never got to hold?

and i only feel safe when you speak first
my welcome's only valid from the moment you say the words
and each new day needs a new renewal,
'cause i'm never sure of just how you feel
and feeling like trouble is always worse
than never gaining the courage to tell you it hurts

when you're spitting acid on my unassuming form
expecting me to know what it was i did that's wrong
i look to you, i'm helpless, so if you're leaving just go.
my head is smart, sure, my heart is stupid, though
i'll ask you to read this and pretend you never read it,
an admission of a problem - pain? i'm an addict

i'm at that point
where death is an embrace
and i crave that cold love,
but the birds are singing
their beautiful song
and it's nearly five am.

i wanna go outside
and be with them,
listen more closely
in the chill of early morning
as i pretend
it never crossed my mind:
one hundred ways to die.

they pause
and i frown against tears

please sing for me again
because i,
i don't know how to live
and your song keeps me
dreaming, of freedom
and escape
from Death's cold embrace

don't let me
stop to think
of how warm cold love might be;
do not let me
wonder about the way
Death loves me

i'm at that point
where death is an embrace
and i crave that cold love,
but the birds stopped singing
their beautiful song
and it's nearly five am.

my loved ones' dependency
is the only thing left
for me to cling on

my life: a responsibility.
good thing i'm responsible.

04:59
i'm waiting for number five

...

05:00

i feel it, it's returned
the desire i swore i'd never have again
falling into bed with her once more,
and though she hasn't kissed my wrists
i can feel the phantom throbbing;
she pulses her way through my veins, keeps me weak
has me sobbing

my sweet, sadistic lover
"did you really think it was over?"
i hoped, i dreamed
but it fell apart in my hands and now i'm down to my knees
she curls around my back, murmurs melancholy melodies 'til my head hurts and my ears ring
"i told you you'd never live without me"
perfect, twisted irony

her fingertips are scorching; i can feel the scars forming
but i'm so cold it's paralysing
the ice is deafening—i can't hear reason
her touch is the allure that leaves me reeling
i wish i had the courage to end this, but i'm a coward, scared and weak and collapsing
like lungs, and i can't breathe for screaming

i said she'd never win but losing feels so tempting

touch me not, but also do
i hate your hands but i love them, too
proceed with caution, i know not how to trust
and when i say so: stop, you must
a brush of fingers might make me flinch
but if you give a mile, i might give an inch
i know i'm difficult, there's little to admire
but if you stay, you'll see through my ire
i'm trying to learn, to understand love
to figure out that touch isn't to be afraid of
i want to learn how to be in love
and i think you just might be the one
with whom i'll make it to the long run
so touch me now, i'll touch you too
because these eyes are seeing you
and i never want them to close again
i think you're my happy never end

i miss the days when you were sweet
and everything between us was soft and new;
we had the whole world at our feet.
now we're stuck in stalemate, no clue

what to do, where to be, who we are
i miss your gentle words and honeyed kisses
how you said my eyes were like stars
but you were the one granting all my wishes

and you were shooting, burning, fast and bright
perhaps we lost touch in this way:
you were only meant to be but a moment in the night
then the sun shines and it's time to face the day

the more years i clock,
the faster time slips by
‘til my mileage feels close
to ticking past my capability,

and the clock swallows my skin
biting wrinkles into my face
‘til i can’t remember my beginnings:
can only fear my end

just twenty years, but it’s already july
summer scorches sticky smiles
masking questions behind tired eyes
“what am i doing with my life?”

too sickly an idea, to age beyond activity;
what allure can be founded in limitations?
this flirtation we have, as naïve kids, with growing up too fast
for the fear of missing out on all the fun of adulthood, of decision making
not understanding the freedom to be found in permitted passivity

before realising that brittle bones and looser skin,
and wrinkled eyes, and sunken cheeks,
the vanity within that corrodes self-esteem for every grey hair found,
is something we are far more comfortable seeing
in anybody that isn't ourselves

i felt it
right up in my feet
from the floor above
when you
slammed that door

i felt it
rattle my ribs and
shake my bones and
rattle me
to the core

i felt it
in my chest when
you said you were leaving
and i think
i got internal bleeding

i felt it
who am i talking about?
i felt it
what am i talking about?
i felt it
who are you?

i felt it
when i lost any
sense of who you
are and
what you mean
to me

i felt it
when you ruined us
and i felt it when
you touched
my soul
just to rip it apart

day and night melt into each other, and with them my muse
time becomes senseless, sense timeless, an endless scene,
sadness burns away, a wisp of smoke curling like the old telephone wire of my childhood home
but there's no connection: it disappears. and yet, it is still here
though intangible to me now, and thus i've lost my grip on things i thought i knew
nobody told me what i'd be losing once sadness loosened her hold,

my weakened clasp on creativity is a noose around my throat
i believed them when they said that art was born of pain,
i just didn't know how much of my own designs were intricately weaved
with misery, sprinkled with distress and agony
and it's not as though they left me, but they rolled to the far side of the bed
there's a gap i can't bridge, where something should be but instead nothing is

the realisation of your own dependency on despondency
is almost as gutting as the feeling in the first place.
depression's numb spells are a relief, until you start to notice what's missing.

i need a starting line so i can finish this
tell me where you end
and i begin
so i can map out the joins in our souls
and i can cut them off

emotional amputee,
the feel of your absence trips me up
but i'll learn to live without you
because i have to
and i'm stronger than this, than us

the stories i've spun━fantasy, make believe
trying to make myself believe
that there's a version of this hopeless chronicle
where the ending is happy

but we both know
i'm ******* chronic

pull the trigger.
i'll kick up the dust, a sprinting start
as if running away from problems
has a podium, has medals, prestige━
i could win the whole world
but never the spark in your eyes;
i'll never be rewarded by your lovesick smiles

so many sunsets i watched
trembling below the horizon
and wished the earth would **** me up the same,

the rush of blood in my veins,
louder than the speeding cars
drag racing through streets
and i thought to step out into the road and
let them rush me to other realms

where maybe
my fantasies
all of them, the happy endings
might be a reality

there's no honesty in honesty anymore, or at least that's how it feels
because you promised me a million things and i believed the words leaving your mouth were more to you than spitting gristle.
people like you are the reason i swore off meat; you always bite off more than you can chew then blame anyone except yourself when you choke
it took me fifteen years but i wised up to the poisons i was being force fed by people who said they wanted me healthy but really just wanted me to empty my pockets
i hope you made your fortune when you coined me false truths seasoned to look like everything i'd ever need to live,
because becoming self-sufficient was the kindest thing i ever did for myself, and now i'll never spend another penny trying to swallow self-hatred in the hopes of nourishing you with love

when they tell you to **** yourself,
you will try
you'll try anything
at least once
even if it's the last first try
you'll ever get again

the birds are calling
i feel like crying
i used to love their
morning song
and still i do, and always will
but today my mind is
ill and tired,
the love inside me
is close to expired;
i'm drained and my eyes
are as sore as paper cuts.
these birds, they sing
soaring like i wish i could
oblivious to the irony they bring
that juxtaposition of
cheerful chirps
as a young man lies in bed
and wishes for...
something he won't name.

i want to write love poetry
about you; you make me feel
ethereal things
like safety and happiness,
and warmth that sparks smiles
in split seconds at random times
no care that others wonder
‘what’s on his mind?’

and i don’t care that i can’t have you,
that there can never be an us.
i’m so content with our current content,
the bits and pieces
that make us who we are
to each other; i am happy
just accepting whatever you give
and never asking for more

where you used to rest your head
it's splitting open, there's blood in my mouth
ache and ache and ache
'til the weight of existence is numbed to mere memory
i can still feel the silk soft caress of your lips against my chest
where you used to rest your head
i could take on the world with you to anchor this soaring heart

then this anchor made my heart sore
and what's the weight of the world against the weight of your absence?
did you think about the way i'd sink and did you expect me to swim?

the way that you left me, i can't say it's alright
i miss the way i didn't dare let myself take a full breath for the risk of dislodging you
and how i never thought about the way you might dislodge my ribs
where you used to rest your head
and use them for puncture wounds made to look like an accident

i am hurt
beyond reason,
wounded
so messily
that the scars will
never heal.

but oh, i will remain so
long as the sun
greets me—
at least in passing.

i will grieve for
sun-kissed skin
that used to be mine.
i will layer up and hide
the deathly pallor
of flesh and bones and misery

our circumstance
dictates our paths
and the sun's shine
has me swallowing my complaints,
and thus:
“whether it hurts is kind of irrelevant”

yet i'm hurting all the same

god, i forgot what it felt like to love you freely
without denial, without repression
just plain, simple, acceptance.

last time, though free, it burned
my wings on fire
and so much for flying.

but now i love you
with an ache inside for how i somehow
miss what never was,
never—but almost. almost.

i love you from a distance,
love you from afar
with a gentle sort of pain
that i don't so much mind anymore

it's kind of comforting
soothing in its familiarity

i guess i didn't forget how it felt
to love you freely
not in this way, at least
because this?

despite occasional jealousy
and anxiety-wrought anger

this... this is new. and it's
okay. good.
better.
like a balm on sore wounds

where before you scorched me,
now i just feel warm
and solid. whole.

certain in the knowledge
that this, undefinable as it may be,
is a love that will define me
without consuming me

and i love this love
i love you
calmly now, a little sadly
but mostly
liberally, easily

freely

i have
no qualms
with people who
love themselves

my pause after the
“i know”
that follows my compliment
is not distaste,

rather, i have spent
so long
hating myself that
i am used to self deprecation.

i have only just
come to grips
with learning to
love myself

self confidence in you
is beautiful
but also, for now,
startling

just holding him in my arms,
i feel the broken pieces of myself
making peace with being broken
and learning to hold themselves together

that first kiss, i felt myself implode
and new roots took place, rebuilding;
rosy lips bloomed flowers within me
turning my head towards the sun

his hands became the cornerstone
of all my new foundations,
fingers slotted together like framework;
destiny drew our blueprints, heart-dotted i's

swooping curls of cursive,
i'm cursing as my stomach swirls.
i'd break my wrists writing love letters
just to stare and sketch his smile's curve

the security cameras
at the station
have it on record
that i
adore you

i wanna go over there
edison's beautiful somewhere
i don't know where that is
but lately i feel as if
it's some sort of afterlife
and i really wouldn't mind

23:46 // 30.12.17

the worst part of hating you
is how i know that i don't
not really, not truly.
only in moments,
a kind of hatred matched
only by senseless love

hatred inspired by anger
and pain, and
“******* for making me feel like this,
for making me feel this way,
making me feel so deeply—
for making me feel at all.
for making me feel. period.
*******”

i don't like feelings,
and, sometimes, i don't like you
though i will always love you
and that's the truth
so ******* it, *******

you hollowed me out
like a bongo drum
then hit me 'til your hands
were the only things i recognised
and filled me with the sound of you
and gave me a heartbeat
painful and stuttering

i lost my rhythm,
getting lost in you.
so i hate you, i swear i do
but i just can't hate you
as much as i love you
and that's the grinding truth

sad eyes with the sad smiles
sad songs and tired lies
sad boy with the broken heart
you and sorrow never to part

you are lying on your back in a bed 5,487 miles away from home.
there are geckos trilling from the corridors and the trees cast shadows in the room
above the door, the air con whirs and you shift, sticky, skin sweating against starched cotton sheets
too hot, too humid, too much

everything is too much, but at least it’s too much here instead of too much back there;
you visit temples, vast and golden in their glory, and white and intricate in their purity; ocher where the sun has kissed blessings upon their pillars,
and pretend that you too are subjected to the numinous nature of sanctums and their spirits
and pray they don’t notice that the awe in their eyes isn’t reflected in yours,
hope they don’t sense that you are not here to heal, only to stretch old wounds into splitting open anew

you are ruining your life

you are ruining your life somewhere beautiful that’s been the making of so many others’ lives
but you always strived to be different, never recognising
that agony, despair, self-deprecation, self-victimisation, suffering—they’re the most common connecting factors between all humans
you are the same as the other six billion people aching and crying and spitting anger in their sorrow,
blind to the one billion who’re trying to make the world a better place so the rest of you might smile a little more often.

one of the geckos scurries across the ceiling and you flinch,
a moment of fear for the unknown before you settle once more and simply watch his little legs fidget his body to freedom through the slats of your propped open window.
inside your chest there’s a moment of heavy silence as your heart grapples for a connection between you and that little creature
both small little things striving to survive in a world too large, too bright, too crowded yet too empty
chasing freedom like a child chases a dream.

the moment passes.
your heart regains pace and your mind whirs with the lonely static of too much me time

you are ruining your life
not realising you’re weaker to suffer than you’d be if you tried to heal

not everything i say is
beautiful or profound

i think sometimes i feel
too much pressure
to be inspiring, or thought-provoking
to evoke emotion in others

there's a lot of  frustration to be found
in being unable to
find the words
that make hearts thump and tears ****

a poet's greatest curse:
blocking your own creativity
by trying to be creative

i’ve been letting the duloxetine
melt on my tongue
in the hopes of speeding up the process
of tricking my brain into quiet

like maybe the bitter taste
will let the thoughts evaporate

what god created in seven days
a seven word summary:
it’s all a lot of needless ******.

but you’ll say these evils are necessary.

you fell in love with someone alive
now all your words are soft and sweet
and full of dreary domesticity,
so daringly delicate, like you forgot
how to write death as a love letter

my empty heart can’t empathise

your love i love, but myself i despise
for feeling robbed of your sadness,
the way its stanzas stole my breath.
what a thing to miss your loneliness
for the fear of being lonely in mine

asked this blue thing 'bout how it feels to feel,
see, i can't grammar correctly
incoherent with emotional controversy, i believe
that my humanity is now a political catastrophe
******* it, stop policing me.
dare i live my life without an explanation, how?

rearrange the order for my indignant tones
just as you misinterpret every other word

an answer to every probing curiosity--a light word
for the darkness in your intentions.
speaking in tongues, how is it that this isn't over yet?
i'm getting ... inconsistent, irrational, yellow
like sparks flickering, a pinwheel of doubt

and red for the spin of insecurity, insincerity, breaking
the protocols for social interactions,
because you tell me i am not allowed to feel, i feel

scared.

when he laughs, and that tug of lips,
the smile lines of his cheeks
they spark a flutter in my chest,

a butterfly blushes at his sunflowers

all those happy sounds
that brighten the garden within me;
i can have a summer in december

and honey soft eyes drink me deep
granting me ambrosia
for a long and peaceful sleep

in his arms i feel at ease

i feel very alone in these moments
where i don't know who to talk to,
don't know who's ready for me
or if there's anyone at all who is

times like these make me feel as though
i can help but not be helped and
i shouldn't complain, i'm not lonely
but i'm just feeling so lo

i tell my friends it's just my meds,
the dose just isn't quite right
but what if it's not? what if it's me
and my fear of vulnerability?

please, i don't want you to go
like all the others who came before
listened to me talk, answer their questions
then turned their back on us

i guess the weight of my problems
is part of the cause; i'll never cut
down to the root, because the mass
just sinks it further

and i guess the weight is part of the cause
they choose to sink or swim,
and away they go, fleeing fast
as i tread the water, breathing shallow

sometimes i hear your laughter in my head and it sends shivers down my spine
it’s two am and i’ve lost count of all the ways to say “i love you” with the swell of panic throbbing in my throat, my chest
i love you and i’m not ready to try again
i love you and i’m not sure about the proximity, how much distance i need to keep so adoration doesn’t devolve into dispute
i love you and i can’t quite figure out the ways in which i do
i love you

it’s half past two
there’s a war trapped behind the bars that jail these flower spitting sponges i call lungs
and someone is dangling the key a touch too far out of reach, my heart a nervous flutter of don’t-break-in and
wow-your-head-feels-right-on-my-chest even if i can’t breathe properly
i have roses in my windpipe and my lips are stained rouge
you’re playing loves me, loves me not with the thorns clenched between my teeth

we swapped slurry sentences in a smoke garden haze and
i remember the exact path from your brow to your mouth, travelled by my wanderlusting eyes
the shape of it slotting sweetly against mine, nicotine and gin and the relief of feelings freed
so now, in sober sunlight, away from drunken darkness, i am afraid

your eyes hold storms of unspoken conclusions that you’ve yet to say
but my anxiety has already heard and i am afraid;
when i shift my centre of gravity to sit down to earth with you, lines of my body aligned with yours
the unyielding firmness of your limbs makes my head ache and i am afraid

i look at you and fret that all those feathery words, softly spoken and taboo
were just old thoughts, splintered fragments of a past affection reminisced into a fantasy by one too many and close proximity,
just retired comforts woken from sleep in the wake of recent heartbreak

all these aches i can’t explain
the emptiness that sits so heavy
weighted in my chest, sinking stomach:
the drop shudders through my spine,
rattles through my core, teeth
clenched like fists with a dull throb
that can’t be punched away

how to say it, how to speak
when words aren’t fond of being said
and a voice that whispers my thoughts
are worth neither sharing nor suppressing
not quite worthless, but not priceless.
i can’t tell you what i’m thinking

Death doesn’t catch my eye,
nor does she make my blood flow south
i no longer want to sleep with her, i just...
think. i think about her a lot.
still kinda pretty in a perilous sorta way,
kind that gives me wandering wonders
every time i’m wracked with anxiety
and images that make my bones shake

my body is not a line you can draw parallels to
i am unfamiliar, and distinct, all curved and cracked edges
i am not straight.

my body is not a line you can draw parallels to
but i'll still find a way to sketch our similarities, a comparison;
shirts off and tracing the patterns of conventional beauty
like a dot-to-dot that doesn't align with the mass of me,
all my dips and swells:
a child that can't colour inside the lines

sometimes the ***** of my nose makes me wonder
how often i must lie to myself,
and my reflection repeats "i'm a real boy"
and we repeat, and repeat, and repeat until the mirror breaks.

i am real.
breathing.
alive.

fingertips pressed to my cheeks, and then
squeezing at the flesh of my hips
i push and stretch and pinch
this way and that
messing, fiddling, curious and carping;
but when i'm done, i don't ... do anything
other than walk away

despite the critical caricature of my image
this is not a confession of self hatred, but in fact
the opposite is true.

this is self-acceptance.
this is love.
this is learning.
this is healing.

i didn't notice when i stopped trying to please my eyes
i just know that i did
and once i focused on me, not my mirror
i was happier with what i saw anyway

see, my scars are more visible in my eyes than on my skin, but
if you look closely enough
you can see the trajectory from despair to kindness
wounds dressed with watercolours, and smiles
and a promise that i'd give myself a second chance

and life got one too