Though I never searched for you proactively
on night outs, family gatherings or by the side of the street
here you are
so very far from my notion of Mr. Right
an incredibly small fish
in an even smaller pond
leaving both my brain and heart baffled
about this burning sensation I get in my ****
every time I think of you.

Marry me,
I want you to be just mine
I don't share
I'm an only child.

I like the way you
always light my cigarette before yours
check the road before letting me cross
hold the office door open
stay calm and composed
rock pink and purple shirts and ties
crack insanely hilarious jokes
talk ***** on facebook chat.

Mostly I like that subtle change in your stride
and the vengeance in your eyes
when you are angry.
Your iron grip
so painful bringing me down on my knees
leaving me breathless, craving for more.
I think you'll make an extraordinary lover
with exceptionally passionate love making skills
but I will never know...

Is when I trace the purple bruises
and the scarlet scrape marks on my arm,
longing to feel your dominating grip
disarming me one more time...

The thing that makes us intangibly connected, painfully aware and eternally unsatisfied,
each time google asks 'Did you actually mean this  you illiterate oblivious *****?',
or pin interest shows a wedge of black forest cake at midnight,
or facebook goes out of its way to advertise an ex's new relationship
only for linkedin to suggest you congratulate him on the new job.

We continue to see, hear and feel, but we cannot touch and we cannot reach,
so we search for other lost souls  within this virtual abyss,
unable to torrent love, stream joy or download content,
We have now created online forums and communities,
to share and like the pain, solitude and void.

If we lived in a non-judgmental world,
where social norm were a blank slate
free of preconceptions and expectations,
a world in which it was traditional to be liberal,
what would you do?
Would you work this hard or drive fast cars?
Would you read 50 Shades of Grey in the train?
Would you still cry in the rain?
Would you be outgoing or spend more time alone?
Would you laugh at funerals and never mourn?
Would you wear your pyjamas for Sunday mass?
Would you identify yourself with the working class?
Would you use two forks or wear socks with flip flops?
Would you avoid dating jocks?
Would you take up smoking or marry young?
Would you tattoo your face and pierce your tongue?
Would you work as a stripper whilst being a nun?
Would you form a jihad against wars and guns?
Would you become straight, forget how to pray
or wish your first born son were gay?
Would you ever fake an ******
or admit you like it rough?
Would you follow the stars and lucky charms
leaving all life's decisions to luck?
Would you believe in evolution and gravity,
or argue we're heavy people with sticky feet?
Would you avoid salad or order tofu?
Would you try to go up a dress size or two?
Would you give to charity or take up a sport?
Would you sell your house and buy a boat?
Would you order expensive wines or
write poems that did not rhyme?
What would you do?
Perhaps you simply wouldn't have a clue,
for we appear to have forgotten how to be true.
So when ever a Miley comes like a wrecking ball
we unite to share our disbelief and loathe.
As we did to Snowden and Jesus Christ,
we mock and torture and crucify.
The UN, CIA and the Vatican unite,
to teach us how to lead our lives.
For when someone somewhere breaks a norm
that someone somewhere has formed
it has become a universal priority
for the former to be conformed.

Perhaps in this non-judgmental world,
we might decide to start judging each other...

Democracy, freedom, independence and joy
have all done a full circle and stopped tonight
Now to pack that well worn bag one last time
and let go
of all the hopes and dreams
of a little house with a blue door
with icicles hanging off the roof
surrounded by daffodils as the snow melts
predicting long summer evenings in the sun
sipping ice cold beer with those who are dear.
All the friends made memeories gained
will be left behind at the start of this trip
with a one way ticket to which used to be home.
Social norm is a miserable concept
and in this fickle thing called life
the only thing that doesn't change
is apparently my race.
Because God decided to play a cruel trick
and made me brown outside and inside a Brit.
Just to thicken the plot
having been raised with morals
here I am declining
generously convenient marriage proposals
deluded by romance and sacred notions of matrimony
just to get a visa was never going to cut it.
And dear Craig from last night,
you tasted and smelt of honesty and liberation
and your embrace, like a lie in on a lazy Sunday morning
was warm, cosy and comforting
your eyes mirroring a painful understanding
of heartache and no hope of tomorrow
yet yearning to stay in each others arms
as we did on that tiny dark dance floor
even long after the music had ended.
I would have given you my number
if time hadn't failed me
if fate hadn't cheated me.
I died a little more inside watching you leave
even though we had just met
and it was one night
with alcohol running through my veins
as I drank to forget
I remember
that kiss good bye.
You lingered and I can't stop thinking
what if what if what if
what if I had time
could we have been something more
guess we will never know
instead I've got to go
leaving everything behind
except for my well worn suit case
full of crushed dreams and a broken heart
dampen and heavy with tears and fears
time to leave where I belong
and return to where I was mistakenly born.
Time to face the beginning
of the end...

Like depression or exposure to ****,
mid life crisis has permeated every age range,
unless I'm simply deranged
for it's that time of the night
and it's pouring down outside
giant rain drops hitting the glass window
and the roof
ruining the solitude
that I've started to embrace more and more
mainly because it's impossible to ignore
from the moment I wake up
and get back into bed
in between job hunting
comfort eating
procrastinating
facebook stalking
showering
whining
solitude is the one thing that has stayed all the way.
Whilst regretting life choices
doubting every decision
obsessing over Ex's
solitude is relentless
having made friends with unemployment
it has bottled the scent of the soon to expire visa
and rubbed it all over the clothes
in the suitcase
on the floor of the little box room
making everything smell of homelessness
bringing to life a far too familiar nightmare
a déjà vu
of all sixteen times addresses have been changed
in the last four years
but the worst is yet to come
as the next change could well be
to a postcode over 5000 miles away
where peers are getting married
having children
getting promoted
falling in love
whilst my social life
has conveniently been brought to a standstill
and having lost count
of all the Sunday masses missed
it is fair to presume
that all prayers would be dismissed
so what now
I'm only twenty four
with roughly three quarters of life left to go
and the only affirmation that can be made
is the years of solitude ahead

3.00 am, the witching hour,
when people wake up screaming
panic stricken and weeping
praying for a lost soul somewhere
yet completely unaware
that an hour an forty five minutes ago
cupid died by drowning
in a tall glass of something strong
into which a young lass was crying.
Every dawn at this very time
he chokes on ***** or cigarette smoke
straight after posting
a suicide poem she wrote.
As his heart beat slows
eyes close
no one notices no one knows
incidentally another John Doe.
Disturbed by love songs
all night long
rocking back and forth
losing all control
she inevitably gives in
and revives him
only to watch him die again
the next day at 1.15 am