Turn the corner.

You'll find
Endless sunshine
for your mind.

I don't love you

but one fine day
I could

I look forward to joy

it's an odd feeling
To pass someone by
and to know that their favourite colour is green
and that they like only one sugar in  their tea
and to remember slurred words that fell from their mouth
and to remember
that you know your way
around the dustiest corners of their house
to know that they hate being tickled
on the curves of their hips
or to know that you've placed countless kisses
upon their hopelessly chapped lips
but mostly it's just sad
to pass someone by
and to look at them knowing
that never again
will they stop to say hi

There are planes up there
They are soaring against electric blue

They are made of such wonder

Yet all I can think is how lovely life is
Down here on the ground, with you.

You are
The first delicate ray of sunshine
On a dreary Novembers’ day

You are
The pounding rush of adrenaline
Felt at a concert barrier

You are
The reassuring smile
Treasured in the midst of calamity

You are
The warm woollen blanket
Wrapped round my shoulders at night

You are
The butterflies found inside me
At the peak of a roller coaster

You are
The first birdsong
At the end of a sleepless night

You are
Every beauty in this world
To me.

I never thought it possible to ache
for a place like a person
or time

I miss the skies wider than space
I miss endless sheets of electric blue
Blanketing my every worry
Anxiety swallowed whole
Skies that left me unknown happiness
A feeling I no longer know

I miss the leaves
crunched between finger and thumb
specks of sand and muck that stain my skin
I could live with such stains for eternity
If it meant a life simple
Amongst the trees and scorching sun

I miss the sense of knowledge
knowing I had found
Where I belong
The thrill of discovery
Upon finding a missing puzzle piece
Lost long ago
I pluck it from hot tarmac
of a street walked years before
Pocketed immediately
Never again
will I let it go

I miss cricket filled nights
And days of smiles unexpected
Warmer than the air clinging to my skin
On even the most humid of summer afternoons

I long for this place
Three thousand miles away
Please save me from suburbia
Where I can't pick apart the days

there are stains of paint trapped in the rolls of her sleeves
like the fly that lives
in my cobwebbed shed
little fragile splatters of creativity

And I can't help but notice how
The light dances on her face
Not a waltz or a ballet
But newfound art unrecognised
and a beauty all the same

all these words fall from her mouth
My neck is burned raw with garden sunshine
I can't help but feel like the heat on my skin
Has moved to my cheeks
Like the red of her lips

She's caught sight of it all
Sports a childlike grin
For the first time in weeks
It is in her eyes that it swims

And she asks what I'm looking at
And I smile then, too.

"What am I looking at?
...
Well, it's definitely not you."

There is a boy over there

            No more than seventeen

No less than insane

(To some, that is. Some who can't see.)

This boy has a friend
(And yet no friends at all)

Who wears a great big mask at night
And makes Donnie feel small

Two universes,
One fate that can't be fought

versus a lonely boy,
a lonely girl,
and all of their genius thoughts

Life is but a grade, isn't it?
A silent message drilled in every day
an unwritten rule,
Undeniably implied:
we're all just letters on
The blankest of white space.

Those jagged coloured crosses
Pierce me every time
a zero on that question,
An X through all I write
Again and again
Like a thorn through my skin
And my every fibre of confidence.
The artificial longing to improve
***** all the passion from within.

whatever happened to hobbies?
To our hopes and our dreams?
To the thrill of the stage
Or the big silver screen?

All now come second
To that letter on that sheet.
It's a new kind of sickness
chokes those who try to breathe.

lock those dreams in a safe, son,
hunker down,
Make me proud.
Those old dreams don't exist, son,
Just a grade,
in sloppy ink.

Some say
That with victory – a continuity is required.
To win, you must, win, and win again
You claim each battle as your own ‘til life
meets its end.

I bask in these triumphs as much as the next
Relish the sick clang as the hilt gripped between my fingers
Wobbles with each and every blow
To an enemy’s weakened defence

As I watch rival fortresses vanish
In the smouldering chimney puff
That follows the blaze of the bomb

                        just like that.
Boom. Do you see that? Look. It’s gone.

Last moments in castle courtyards
As medals of valour are draped
Round the veins of my neck.
(Look what I can do. I am powerful.
                                                       ­  Or so I thought.)

No soldier is prepared for this.
The battle of the mind
Sharpened sword is useless
Throw your armour to the floor
No protection can be given
Clouds swell like balloons and blacken the corners
Of your brain
Eating from the edge like parasites
And this, I fight unarmoured.
Unarmed
And petrified.

So no.
I can’t say I agree.
To me
A victory
Does not entail an ounce of continuity.

For myself, any achievement
Is a success
No matter how large
How small
How scattered or random
Or spaced over time
If I can make it through the day
With a smile on my face
Sweet Victory, it’s mine.

Every single part of you
Oh lord, it feels so foreign and new
The most refreshing wave crashed upon me.

We step slowly through stray pebbles and foam
There is so much still unexplored
Yet I have found all these little crevices

and they have started to feel like home.

Nothing can compare
To a soul as beautiful
as yours.

Not all of the stars
in the endless universes
towering above our reach.

Not every flower bursting
with a life so pure
beneath our feet.

Not a single golden ring
or a diamond or jewel
buried in the dirt.

Not even all of the love
gathered in every friend I've known
combined as one.

Not a single word
read in any book
taken from every library on this earth.

Not a song, nor a bird
A story, a kiss
A place, a jump
A lover, or a home.

Not one magnificence
I have ever laid eyes upon
Will ever compare to you.

Something good, something new
It always lies ahead for you

You sat on coloured carpets
As a child
Wondering when the time would come
To grasp certain four lettered mysteries -
Titled love, life. Both questions for another day.

You stand now on technicolour floors
Painted, though not quite as vivid
Manufactured this time round - glass mirror-bred tricks of the light.

And all those mysteries from so long ago - far off questions left for a far off day - they baffle you just the same.

High in the sky
And we’re coming down
we drink again
in our glasses we drown

it’s curious, isn’t it?
The escapes that we have found

This bliss is
temporary
But at the very least
It will dull
the sound

Within the month of December
comes a chill
It gnaws and it claws and it scratches and bites
it strikes unannounced
in the dead of night

A winter so sudden
beats me down to my knees

in the depths of December
hide the broken and bruised
in this sanctuary unexpected
I have found all of you.

Newfound beacons
Of incredible light
They stand beside me
To my left
To my right

Alone they are dim
But united
They give me paradise

I never knew that a month so dark
Could leave me
With a gift so bright.

                              She ached for identity like a lover for their flame
  but lay despairing and dejected
                                                  When she couldn’t find her name.

5:58 pm.
The tortures of the week
are bookended at last.
The sun has gone to slumber
Hoodie zipped and a layer
Of crimson lipstick;
I am out the door.

6:15 pm.
Numb hands clutch each other like lovers
there's a wind that snips like scissors
The train is late.
I wait.
Just another weekend, anyway.

6:17 pm.
Warm breath gushes from an open mouthed train
I step inside.
Bottles clink at cold feet as my bag is lain.

6:20 pm.
The train stops.
Shudders.

6:22 pm.
It's moving again.

7:00 pm.
Miles from home
I've entered my mini weekend world
That gnawing weekday feeling lifts from my chest at last

7:12 pm.
We walk, the six of us.
Up the hill,
Turn left.
And there's the woods.

7:14 pm.
"Does anyone know how to start a campfire?"
"I can't see a ****** thing."

7:45 pm.
Orange flames spit at the sky
Illuminating the branches above
A criss-cross mesh gives cover so little
To six cherry red cigarette ends.

8:32 pm.
The clinking bottles are
gone
thrown in a bush?
I think
I may
have drunk each
one. or more?
(Who knows)
I do.

8:45 pm.
I explore.
No one to guide
But five pale faces
moonlit and smiling and tripping on twigs

I finally feel I can join in their smiles, too.

9:01 pm.
I don't know these faces of moonlight all too well
But they're starting to feel like home.

10:32 pm.
A change of plan
We stagger though the door
Of her empty house.
I count 8 of us now,
I thank my lucky stars
I've spare clothes packed
And bask in the warmth
Of a new friend's house.

11:06 pm.
Sat on cramped carpet floor
I smile as the warmth fills my lungs
A buzzing high replaces faded intoxication
I pass it on
And am given a shoulder to rest upon.
(I'm so happy. Wow.)

11:48 pm.
My head is so fuzzy.
And the quiet boy from school
Sits across the room
Him and I
We're far more alike than I'd ever have known
And I'd never have known
If not for tonight.

1:15 am.
I never want this to end.

1:30 am.
She plays her hushed guitar
As I lie on her shoulder
She's so beautiful

I didn't know she could sing.

I wish she knew.
I sit back on the floor.
(She strums her guitar
And sings her last line
In a voice so **** quiet;
'Where is my mind?')

2:45am.
I never knew how different a film could be
Surrounded by friends
And high as the sky.

3:33 am.
I sleep.

5:02 am.
I wake.
The boy waves
From the side of the room
A silence not uncomfortable
It almost feels like June.

6:58 am.
I go to sleep once more.
And I'm happy.
I'm so happy.
At last.

The events of last night
tattooed on my mind

The look in your eyes
Glassy and drunken
Searching for mine

And when they met
And your lips found
Mine so feverish and
Desperate
Those few moments alone
Your tongue tinged with *****
To match my own
A kiss betwixt night
and dawn
Your arms found my waist

No words could be uttered
For fear of memories found when
we wake

my life has moved into overdrive

vision running in crooked circles faster than I can breathe

Sinister forces smothering, weighing down on my chest and
somehow I can't breathe
and all I want is rest

I am dunked underneath
Such vicious hot water and it burns
Time slows in those moments but I still can't seem to breathe
All I breathe is hot water ripped from the sea

And yet
I am alive and I am kicking
And I know I am stronger than most

All I can do is sit tight
And hope I'll find my pace
Some day

I want to be -

What?

That is the problem. I simply want to be.

To clarify -
I wish to be me.

See, me - it is  not the easiest thing to free. Eighteen years of uncertainty, of broken puzzle-piece searches through fear, love, art, what have you -

All for the chance to grasp even an inkling of identity;

Of me.

But, look -
I did it.
A start, anyhow. I saw my shadow, my outline,
and without hesitation
It was seized.
I gripped it tight
Refusing to let something sought so long
Slip through my fingers like water would fall.

Yet I lack time
I lack space
I lack ability,
Opportunity,
To break free of old restraints

Me - it is just infuriatingly

Beyond reach

I see you, me. I know what I need.

Yet I lay here imprisoned in a world worn by greed
Worked like a slave til eyes droop with fatigue

All I need is a door
A little room to escape

Room to breathe; breathing space

To find residence elsewhere;
Grab "me" on the way.

(Then, maybe then - I'll find peace. Some day.)