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4 am is for lovers who went separate ways,
not for the in love asleep in comforting embrace.

it’s for the broken souls wandering aimlessly,
looking for a friend, looking for company.

It's for the painful heart wrenching confession,
or moans of pleasure in the throes of passion.

But my 4am is for the one i hold so dearly,
yet can't have because he doesn't want me.
 Jun 2015 greyweather
You don't riddle my thoughts in the way that you used to,
back when all I saw on the inside of my eyelids was your face.
Slowly I have moved forwards,
I have made progress and become the person you always wanted to see me be.
But sometimes I still think of you and it feels like a weight is pulling on my heart,
and I get ****** back into the void of missing you.
It's not a feeling dissimilar to the longing of another beside you,
however paired with the craving for that person is the undeniable knowledge that they will never be with you.
It took me a long time to realise that;
you're not coming back,
you're gone forever.
They say acceptance is the first step in moving on,
but what if I don't want to move on?
You are a piece of the person I am today,
you are the part of me that glows and gives me strength to say
"I can do this."
you are the voice in my head telling me
"You are better than this."
you are the smile on my face when I realise I am on the road to recovery,
the worst has passed and one day this will all be just a memory.
So even though you're not coming back,
and even though sometimes I think of you and my eyes blur from tears,
and even though you can never see me become the person you wanted me to be,
I carry your strength and positivity with me always,
you are in my past,
but you are also a piece of my recovery,
which means you are in my future too.
To Ale.
My first real friend, whom I could trust with my life. We never got to meet but you helped me more than anyone else I have ever met. You skyped me at 4am when I couldn't stop crying and at 4pm when I was too sad to leave my room but still wanted someone to talk to. You didn't mind that I was anxious a lot, and that I often wanted to stop existing. You always stood by me and helped me, you made me laugh and feel appreciated and understood and loved. I was so busy receiving your help, I forgot to return the favour. I didn't see how much you were hurting while you projected all your positivity onto me. And so I lost you. For a long, long time I blamed myself for that. I told myself it was my fault you were dead. But now I just think that the only thing I can do is take what you gave me and use it. So I take your positivity and your kindness and I slot it into myself, like a piece of my own personal puzzle and carry it with me always. You helped me to keep going, and your memory is still helping me recover, and one day the traits of you I have held for my own will help me build the life I always told you I wanted. One day we'll meet, I'll tell you how much I miss you and I might leave you some flowers. I wish I could have touched you, laughed with you, hugged you. But saying goodbye to the plants growing where you are scattered will have to do. I love you so much. Thank you for being a part of my past, present and future. I am who I am today because of you. I miss you.
 Feb 2015 greyweather
I'm a sworn atheist, a non believer,
and yet when I think about you and your death and my loss,
a little part of me hopes there is something else.
Maybe reincarnation, or an afterlife,
even the preservation of your spirit in something inanimate
is better than the thought of nothing at all.
You were beauty and light, a bringer of smiles and happiness,
the idea that those things are only a memory now,
a sliver of something in my mind's eye,
is too much to handle.

You cannot be gone,
I never got to say goodbye.
I miss you everyday. I wish I could have saved you.
she stood outside the apartment
finger halfway up her nose
scratching with her free hand
a **** loosely encased
in patchy, ***** blue jeans
ratty sneakers with holes where
her toes and dignity poked through

usually a whiner, a brayer
a donkey among gently purring cats
calling down thunder and racket
like a motorcycle tearing circles through a lamp shop

today, of all days, she swayed

in loose waltz time
to soft piano of a long-dead Frenchman
curling down from speakers
mounted in windows
across the street

her misshapen hips and flexing calf muscles
lifting her up in a rude en pointe
somehow made elegant
by a quiet ballad, a soothing moment
on a hot August morning
in Main Street
of the hinterlands.

the marriage of people I know, and music I only think I know.
 Feb 2015 greyweather
I like to enjoy the little things when I can.

I like the feel of warmth on my back when the sun comes out from behind a cloud,
and the smell of clean bedsheets on a Sunday.
I like the happy feeling I get when my best friend rests her head on my shoulder when she doesn't let anyone else get close.
I like the feel of grass between my toes,
and the feeling fuzzy feeling I get when a cat on the street lets me pet it's head.
I like the taste of alcohol late at night when I'm only half sober but I feel completely alive.
I like how safe and loved I feel when I hug my mum,
and the pain in my stomach when I laugh too much.
I like that odd, welcome silence between friends when there's nothing to say but it's okay.
I like the comfort of my bed after many nights sleeping in foreign places,
and the taste of a cool glass of water when you're out of breath.
I like the feel of putting on my old, worn out creepers and how my feet fit them perfectly.
I like how falling snow seems to muffle everything,
and the satisfaction of beating my brother at one of his games.

Not everything worth living for is a big landmark or an event worth celebrating. Sometimes it is the smallest, most insignificant things that make you feel glad to be alive.

I like to enjoy the little things when I can.
This is positive for once
 Dec 2014 greyweather
patterns in the stars
describe all knowledge of man
just look up above
November 27, 2014

 Nov 2014 greyweather
The curve of your spine in the dark,
soft and perfectly shaped to fit just against me like two halves of a whole,
just like our lips, hands,
our hearts,
molding together as if made for one another,
but I chipped,
a piece is missing and no longer do bodies, lips, hands,
or hearts,
fit together so smoothly and I wonder whether you could have ever fixed me?
all my fault
 Nov 2014 greyweather
bcg poetry
Some days I can't stop thinking about you and some days I wonder why I start.
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