Rebellious
I wanted to save you
From the world that was hurting you so
So many times, so close
They say its the thought that counts
But thoughts won't stop the pain

I sound like a parent
I know that
And I'm not sorry
That's the role of the older sibling
All I want is to protect you
But you don't want to be protected

Ok.
Take your life and live it
Forgive me for the role that I played
In standing in your way
All I've ever wanted
Is for you to be happy

If you can find room for me
I'd love to be in your life
If you don't have room for me
Please
Just be happy

Gray eyes
Sometimes blue
Sometimes green
Mostly slate, no phyllite
Sometimes schist
And sometimes, when all other hope is gone
Shale

Crooked nose
Broken, bloodied
Put a band-aid on it
It's still proud
Proof of heritage and blood

High cheekbones
Finely sculpted
Match the proud nose

Thin lips
Pink, not red
Set in a straight line
Seldom smiling
Sometimes laughing

Broad shoulders
Strong arms
A chest that contains a heavy heart

Pianists fingers
Long and slender
Nimble
Quick
Bound by a ring on the left hand
Scars

Powerful legs
Sprinters feet
Bad knees
Scars

Things in between
Head and feet
Don't quite belong
But over time
Are no longer noticed

See the soul
Not the body
Live happily

I had never felt as though I could feel, and never saw that I could see.
I never smelled the spring night’s air, or even opened my lungs to breathe.
I had never lain down on the grass, to watch the leaves fall from the trees.
I was a coward -- afraid to let my senses free.
So I kept my eyes closed tight, for fear there was anyone else but me.

I couldn’t tell you what it was that made me open them that day,
There wasn’t a window in the room, but as my eyelids broke away
I swear I saw the ocean wave, and I saw winds cause trees to sway.
I heard beauty in a whisper -- and the whisper told me to stay.

The fire in my soul was growing dim, but you made it burn so bright.
Because you made me see the day, when all I knew was night.
I had thought the world was empty -- just a room without a light.
But you taught me how to see, and you taught me how to feel.
You showed me things intangible, and you showed me they were real.
You knew that I had wounds, but they were wounds that you could heal.

If for a moment I thought I lost you, it would scare me half to death --
I had smelled the spring night’s air, for my lungs now had a breath.
To turn back was not an option, for no longer was I deaf.
I now could sense the world around me, and I knew you felt it too -
But I knew that it meant nothing unless we shared the view.
So I promise you my all, and swear myself I’ll see it through.
For I first heard beauty in whisper… and that whisper came from you.

I met a man once, drunk in bar, missing some of his teeth and stinking of death
he was a Vietnam vet, he talked a crazy kind of talk that made you realize why he was alone
his hands were hard as rocks when he shook mine, his eyes looked like burned out light bulbs
what he said to me, I cannot remember, but I remember what I learned from him
what is in your soul, manifest itself, unto your body
even though you may think it is hidden
it is there plain as day
in your burnt out light bulb eye

Starbucks for the beach sleeper,
cigarettes for the cruise ship worker,
around the world a further three times more
with a six-a-day job, one on shore.
She smiled with Gatsby glare.
She smiled with  fair, tied back hair.
She smiled.
And how her love for Poe and Wilde
found its way to my ear a mere three year veer
around time itself.
Turkish delight is not a food nor a sweet
but a lady who gives a discreet smile to those she meets.
My cafe in my street has you across from me
and the books I read have you printed in an uppercase key,
black on the white and bound by the spine
for you are the cruise ship lady, the lover of mine.

Time called,
it wants its watch back.
So too did love,
it wants its fake relationship back.
Literature left a message for you,
the book you stole should be returned.
Oh! You’ve just missed music,
it said that album you murdered is pressing charges.
Time called again,
just to make sure you got the message.
Check the machine,
there’s one from Platform Eight.
Bonfire night 2011 just hung-up,
it wants you to know never to return.
An email just came through,
from that film we knew every line too.
What was that,
you use people?
Oh! Politeness dropped by,
he said he’d like to slam every door he ever opened for you
back into your face.
Wait a second,
I’ll put him through-
it’s time, he wants to speak to you-

Scribbled in a pre-*** haste
of hormones and awful
music taste,
your name on the back of a receipt
is no way to treat
a one night stand
that you met at the bar;
held hands with in the street;
and subsequently left when
the night became light and neat,
tidied up in a 10am alarm clock
call.

Could’ve waited until
we were both awake,
that way the alcohol would’ve warn off
and we could take this major issue
for what it was-
excitement;
and much anticipation; and placing into
action every lesson learnt from Nick Hornby books,
or pieces of information tucked
deep within our internet bookmark lists.

At least stay until after
Desert Island Discs
next time,
because then buses shall be running
on time, and you won’t have to risk
the public transport roulette table
that spins around this town,
this great noun in the Anglia east.

Now it's the news, and the news
is you've gone.  For a moment
I slipped back into a sleepy cement,
making for rough fingers-
that last night made the ascent
up to warmer climates.

And now back to lonelier nights
and Nick Hornby books,
afternoon wake-up calls
from Mum, back home,
asking how to download
the latest Google Chrome.