Like the tide,
you, will, rise and fall, impossible to hold on to.
Just as a pattern emerges
your personality synchronises with the British weather.
Like a long summer evening in Shanghai you are warm and bright,
carefree as an afternoon breeze.
Making me smile, laugh, blush
such a tease.
Car rides into the sunset with
the windows down and the music up
sharing cigarettes.
But as you pull those dark shades over your eyes and soul
the rain begins to pour
the intimacy washes away
trust astray
several steps apart
from the inch we grew closer yesterday.
Laid back, insecure, self-centred, unreliable,
unstable, restless and emotinally unavailable
yet somehow charmingly mystic
surprisingly dashing
talented and well bred
unattainably captivating
naively helpless
shy
thus I cannot pin point why
I am drawn.
I regret not kissing you
and know I would still have
if I did...

W** hen you eventually turn up
r omance and
o ptimism would be
n onextant; long
g one.

When you looked me straight in the eye and said,
'The other night you were so drunk I thought,
"man, I could totally take advantage of her."
Could've gotten straight into your pants',
I was shocked.
I had been right all along.
All those times your eyes danced in amusement
whilst you forced your mouth to stop twitching
I already knew what was going through your mind.
But tonight thanks to half a dozen pints
you've said it all and there is no turning back.
I was shocked,
by my reaction, my immediate reply,
"so why didn't you?"
though not spoken out loud,
was clearly heard in my seductive smile.
When you put one arm around me forcing me into a hug
and tried to kiss me on the lips
I moved away.
When you grasped my wrists with your hands and pinned me down
leaving bruises in the shape of your fingers
I threatened to bite you.
When you squeezed the back of my neck with one hand
just to prove how big your palm was
I struggled to break free.
Reactions which felt were called for.
Reactions which were expected and appropriate.
But,
part of me, **** that, all of me,
enjoyed the sensation
of that feeling of helplessness
as you slowly overpowered me
the playful manhandling
the alien sense of control and authority.
Even hours later
I'm stroking the bruises on my wrists wistfully.
The back of my neck is tingling whilst reminiscing.
A part of my soul darker than your skin has been unveiled
and I'm shocked.
I would like you to do all that to me again
one on one
in an empty place
and I think I will enjoy the gentle pain.

Hey there (if you're there at all),
I sincerely hope all is well.
Guess you're really swamped with work,
honestly no need to explain, I could just tell.
See the thing is... the thing is, there is actually a thing.
Something has come up.
It's quite hard to explain cause I don't yet know what we are,
so if we are kind of a 'thing', then I want to breakup.
You don't write to me any more
and I really miss those emails
witty comments, sarcasm and ******* banter
strung together with immaculate grammar and ample clichés.
You seem to have forgotten that I didn't fall for you back then
and very little had changed since.
So three years later when you contacted me out of the blue
I was hardly convinced.
As a preplanned holiday got in our way
placing you 5 hours behind and 5000 miles apart
it was that daily email exchange over a month
which gave whatever it is we have now, its start
not calls, not facebook nor skype,
just words, simple phrases and our ability to type.
Essence of your raw personality seeped through
enticing me to a very pure, untampered version of you.
Since I returned, since we met, things haven't been the same.
Are you trying to gain the upper hand of this game?
Because, I wasn't even aware we were playing,
so technically neither can win, such a shame.
I appreciate your intellect, ambition, success
and middle class upbringing,
those random gestures of affection
and passionate *******.
I understand your commitments
and the hierarchy of your priority que
But just because I get it
doesn't mean I'll agree to put up with them too.
It's true, my future is rather blurry
but that's a different thing.
I might be chronically needy
but I'm not asking you for a ring.
I do however fancy flowers
and would really like to go dancing
a daily doze of 'you're thinking of me'
topped with very large amounts of cuddling.
If all I wanted was to get laid,
there was plenty of opportunity to be swayed.
Time to end this hand has come a little too late
with a Royal Flush in Spades.
I will miss those endearing emails,
and the 12th floor of your office with its magnificent view.
I will miss the idea of having a man in my life,
but I won't so much miss you.

Doing dishes today felt different
cause there was two of everything.
Two mugs into three,
we must really like tea.
Two big plates and little plates
and half of a left over cheesecake.
The roast from last night that I just ate
didn't have the same taste.
The extra towel drying on the rack
is triggering an irritating flashback.
Even with the windows shut and the radiator on
it doesn't feel warm.
Too much space in the bed...
enough said!
I don't so much miss you
but more the concept of you.
Just had a cigarette
and wrote this poem too.
The usual drill
you haven't replied to my text, still.
"Am I in?", you asked.
Not yet, I feel.

The moment that cold breeze snuck up on me at Euston,
as I stood on the right side of the escalator blissfully unaware,
and playfully ruffled my dangerously short dress,
is when I must have caught the scandalousness in the air.
The specks of Spring light appearing somewhat bright,
played tricks on my mind, rather late that night.
Arms linked as the stride casually synchronized,
while the start of the weekend brought the weary streets to life.
Thighs met over two Chai Lattes in the corner of a little Cafe,
as his aftershave wrestled Cinnamon into a subtle yet alluring foreplay.
The world went by completely unaware, as we
gallivanted down memory lane in search of a future under a sycamore tree.
If only the heart could be locked away in the Tower of London,
safely among fragile jewels coerced from Sunny lands.
Instead, the unfinished kiss in Leicester Square,
has confounded it to pursue a far more adventurous plan.

Bend me over and take me from behind.
My palms on the window sill, and yours against my body until,
our breath steams up every surface in the room as the night stands still.
Take your time.
Moving like a lazy ocean's wave teasing the shore, leaving me gasping for more,
one hand pulling my hair back and the other holding me tight, do not let go.
Blow my mind.
Let the beat of your heart make me grind, real fine, touch me in places no one else can find,
as beads of sweat fall from my forehead onto the face leaving me momentarily blind.
Make me moan.
Turn me around, wrap my legs over your hips and lift me right off the ground,
and as my arms grasp your neck, kiss me, before I could make a sound.
Hear me groan.
As our tongues wrestle, let my ears feel the deep growls escaping your throat,
use your every skill to give me a thrill, unleash that ****** warrior within and let him gloat.
Explode!
While my nails scratch the path to heaven on your back, and we both lose track,
and my eyes look into yours watching me watching you come to a perfect ******.
Oh, God!
Stay inside me as I shudder in ecstatic response, with my head buried in your shoulder,
caress and burn me with your macho warm embrace as the night keeps getting colder.
Smile.
A naive, genuine smile which speaks for all the feelings unsaid,
as you carry me over our discarded clothes onto the uncreased bed.
Dream.
As I watch you sleeping whilst running my fingers gently through your hair,
looking peaceful, content, mesmerizing, spellbinding, I can't help but stare.
Stay...

I'm craving a man-hug tonight,
initiated by strong arms picking up my under weight body
letting me believe I'm re-enacting the lift from ***** dancing.
And as those arms hold me close
I would bury my face in his neck
where after shave meets his soft pulse and the warmth of my breath.
This hug would be so tight,
tight enough to squeeze the pain out of my soul
and be incredibly protective at the same time
beating away the nightmares of reality late at night.
A hug that draws out all the tears that should have been cried
until my eyes run dry
and start shedding all the rejection accumulated throughout this plight.
An unconditional man-hug with its ends free,
one not subjected to a **** in my mouth
a cigarette
*****
a cigarette
couple of poems
insomnia
and a cold bed.
I crave for a man-hug that will liberate me
from the pathetic standards I've set for myself,
of how I should be treated before handing a piece of me in exchange.
One that would numb the little voice in my head
which goes on and on
about self-deprecating *******
bundling together all the mistakes made over the years
and spanking my self-confidence
until it dresses up in a short skirt and high heels
and runs into the arms of a narcissist *****.
A man-hug to step in and save the day
when loneliness breaks in,
and murders empowerment, independence and positivity in their sleep,
then opens the door to insecurity and fear,
who robs all hope,
leaving behind intolerable darkness.
I crave for a man-hug that follows through to the end
with stability and consistency,
like mom's cooking or my best friend,
or daddy's instant reaction to defend.
One that's tangible and attainable
without twirling my fingers around forgotten jewellery,
phone messages
or a drunk memory
just to remind myself what it felt like,
but only to be reminded that it can never be felt again.
Though I'm craving a man-hug tonight
I will have no luck.
Because anything with "man" in front of it,
will always just be a ****.

Uno, dos, tres,
here we ****** go again.
Mexican blood running through a Texan accent,
yet playing the same old game.
All credit for our first kiss goes to *****,
but the second, now that was fate.
You happen to pick up the phone,
when I called that night, quite late.
Weeks later bumping into you at Morrisons,
and on the way back in the bus?
I don't spend my time looking into crystal *****,
but, coincidence much?
Cuatro, cinco, seis,
where on earth did you learn to Sext... (text)?
Mr. Polite to Mr. Passionate,
leaving me on the edge not knowing what to expect next.
The hearty deep laugh followed by
shockingly ****** expertise,
and I'm hypnotized by that shower gel,
which makes your body smell like rich Earl Grey tea.
With eyes glued to those macho tattoos,
and *** flowing through my brain,
straddling you was ecstatic,
wearing not a lot more than a gold chain.
Siete, ocho, nueve,
when it ended why did you stay?
You held me,
and was still there the next day.
You hugged me,
in that warm, tight, protective kind of way,
and kept messaging back,
even after you went away.
Now all this has left me confused,
frankly I'm utterly bemused.
How ****** up am I to suspect
'being treated well' as a twisted ruse?
Diez,
hope this isn't the beginning of an end.
'Cause if you hadn't noticed,
I'm already a bit of a mess.

Ever had the feeling of being trapped in a glass box
with the air slowly running out, with every breath?
In sun, rain, snow and storm, the box gets dark or warm
but what you can do always remains the same.
Have you just simply wanted to walk away or break free?
To travel the world taming Lion cubs and petting great white sharks?
To wake up to a sunrise in a Dutch farm and watch it set over the Mediterranean sea?
To teach children in Thailand or India?
To salsa on the streets of Mexico or be blinded by the lights in Dubai?
Have you ever wanted to be border-less?
To not be punished for being born in a country
where the sun is hot and people are poor?
Have you ever just wanted to work, get a place, pay taxes,
and not ignore the growling of your stomach
so your 5 pound takeaway stretches over 3 days
postponing the date to buy the next food stock?
Have you ever wanted to check your bank account
without having your fingers crossed, because
even though you know the exact balance
you hope by some miracle it will be more?
Have you prayed for immigration to back the hell off
leaving you to make a living without risking deportation?
Have you ever got tired of playing by the rules when
the Albanian Mafia and Walmart
makes more money per hour than what you'd make in a lifetime, or two?
With heart aches and emotional games, and
attending Sunday mass becoming more of a cliché,
with rejection and doors closed,
at the cost of owning a brown passport,
with your head spinning and back against the wall,
have you wondered what life wants from you at all?
To all the women being trafficked for ***,
and the children slaving away spinning Persian carpets,
tonight it's too cold to snow outside my glass box.
Inside, it's too sad to cry...

Tonight, my snowed in heart has frozen.
It's numb, lost and broken.
With minutes left, yet no one to call,
this bachelorette lifestyle has taken its toll.
Search for greener pastures loses its charms,
on nights like this when the bed is cold.
Staring at a picture of a stranger,
I can simply sense the danger,
of rushing into a compromise,
by settling for my parents' choice,
of whom I should spend the rest of my life,
and all I can do is.... sigh.
Alcohol, an ideal solution,
but my room is painstakingly dry.
Several lighters lying around, but not a single cigarettes,
I could just cry.
Reminiscing a walk in town,
where commercialism attempts to sell love,
tying the end of Christmas to the start of Valentines,
and why I cannot afford any of the above.
Having gone astray,
losing my right to pray,
noticing how when they stay,
I end up walking away,
makes me suspect a divine intervention,
threatening a life of damnation,
with no means of escape,
because it's too late.
I'm in critical need of a saviour,
a hero, a warrior,
to feed my patriarchal upbringing,
to be that **** Prince Charming.
Enough good looks,
to keep me hooked,
and anaesthetize my heart,
for the inevitable ripping apart.
Wit enough to hypnotize my brain,
so the pain won't stop me from loving again,
and yes, that is what I want to do,
until this life is through.
My snowed in heart could do with some warmth,
someone, light a fire, soon...

'Brussels sprouts'...
The only healthy addition on a plate of Christmas dinner,
because even the carrots are tempered in butter,
but I never serve myself any,
'cause I couldn't give a **** about being healthy.
At one point I was eating roast potato with mashed potato
and everything else was covered in gravy, so...
I'm a very bad girl who avoid what's good.
I stay up real late and snack on junk food.
On night outs I drink to get drunk,
mixing all the spirits to heighten my *****.
Liver abused,
dressed to ******,
dancing like a stripper on the Vegas strip,
grinding, shaking, dropping, moving, all hard to resist.
Then there's the social smoking, and a few smoked alone.
Hush, about the latter. No one needs to know.
All the Friday nights, the strange men, in my bed.
What am I looking for? 'Cause it's sure as hell ain't ***.
Boycotting church for the past few weeks,
but my mom doesn't know so don't let it leak
that I'm a bad girl, that I've changed, that I'm lost,
that in trying to find myself, the soul was the ultimate cost.
That naive, innocent girl who ran into the world with open arms,
appears to have misplaced that certain charm.
She stares back through the mirror eyes clouded with pain,
because each time I tried to stand up society struck again.
So, I'm a very bad girl. Really very bad.
I spend my time wrestling guilt, and it drives me mad.

It all started with mixing Tequila and Sambuca last Friday night.
Then I noticed him, busting some classic moves on the dance floor.
Soon we are dancing, grinding, kissing, laughing, dancing, kissing,
he's even drinking out of my half finished cup of water, he's smiling.
"I'm a Royal Marine, not an Army boy!" he corrects. "A Commando."
We both even have the same phone! Coincidence? I don't think so.
Beads of sweat dripping from his hair onto his flawless face and neck,
yet, he smells oh so divine, "it's Gucci Guilty Intense", he explains.
I blurt out, "Hope this won't be a waste of your time, 'cause I'm not
going to sleep with you tonight!" He says, "All right", and smiles.
Mixed signals, cold bed phobia, pure drunkenness combined,
I offer him, "It's late. You can spend the night at mine, I don't mind."
"Just Scott, you won't remember the rest, it's long and complicated",
later he adds, "Good luck trying to find me without my name!"
"I'm Twenty One." "That's so young", I exclaim and he frowns.
He's cocky yet witty, and also very pretty, so I let my dignity drown.
Taking him in my mouth until he explodes like a loaded gun,
my duty to the nation's hunkiest hero was well and truly done.
"I joined two days after my eighteenth birthday", said he with pride.
"My vacation's over. I'm leaving on Sunday to Poole". I sighed.
I spent the entire night insomniac, with my head throbbing to the beat
of his obliviously, peacefuly sleeping exhaling and inhaling speed.
Close enough to feel the heat of his body, yet a million miles away,
him dreaming and I reminiscing, both awaiting the dawn of a new day.
Skipping the "thank you", "goodbye", hug or phone number, he says,
"See you around maybe", holding a rather deceitfully seductive gaze.
"Scott, we're never going to see each other again", I answer bluntly.
Mirroring my sad smile in reply, minus the sadness, he left promptly.

I wish I caught chickenpox two months and two weeks ago.
Who would have imagined the painful discomfort,
to have a direct correlation with remodelling my rationality.
Even after a speedy recovery and two weeks later, the scars
on my otherwise genetically-blessed-clear-face, and all over
my rather well shaped body symbolises a deep story.
Life is not worth wasting on those who don't care enough.
As insomnia struck night after night, mixing thoughts with
nightmares and episodes of Vampire Diaries excessively
watched through out the day on a laptop balanced on my
torso as I laid on my sick bed, I had plenty of time to think.
I thought about how Mr. X only contacts me when he
needs comfort, solace, assurance, care, all on his terms.
Mr. Y, only to gloat how he just had *** or if he needed
an ego boost, and he stopped texting all together long ago.
Mr. Z, who I thought was going too well to be true bailed
after our first date got cancelled due to me catching the pox.
All in all at every stage in my life for the past decade,
I have wasted my time on a Mr. Wrong and it's pathetic.
Apart from having a date on Valantine's day, making out,
endless string of inspiration to write shallow poetry,
I have gained nothing but heart break and sad memories.
The one time my mother would quote Beyonce to say,
they all turned out to be the best thing I never had.

Even though we have never met I want to thank you,
for all the things you did and didn't do, for not being true.
For scaring, scarring, smothering and hurting, for no cause,
for making her the women three times the one she was.
For stealing her innocence as she gave in unconditionally,
only to leave and return, threatening to abandon, ruthlessly,
as you played your psychological games, with her life and mind,
manipulating her to believe you're the best she would ever find.

The possibility of sharing ancestry with you, brings me shame,
so repulsive enough to consider changing my family name.
Knowing this relationship was destroying her from within,
being the egoistic ******* you are, continuing instead of leaving.
As she became the compensation for your childhood deprivations,
did you overlook the possibility of this not being the solution?
Draining her passion with conceited affection, at your discretion
for the sake of your satisfaction, but here's a revelation.

She was never going to cheat, deceive or leave, could you not see,
that she was not a part of the vicious cycle of your family?
On the contrary, growing up in this drama, unfortunately,
you became your father, the man you never wanted to be.
Gaining liberation, building walls of caution, she will be fine.
God and patience will lavishly reward her, when it's the right time.
I wish you wealth, health, fortune and a long life of prosperity,
because it is fairly obvious, there is no hope for you in eternity.

The kitchen scissors met my hair,
before the bathroom mirror.
I had run out of cigarettes.
He didn't text back.

The reason why,
he will never forget,
and
I will never remember,
our first kiss.

Loneliness,
disguised in high heels,
tequila
and loud music.

Eventually,
my favourite cocktail turned out to be
a Cosmopolitan.

I know a man who you can learn a thing or two from.
A master of the art of ******* and manipulation.
Someone who can make me lose complete control,
stomp on self-respect and smother all dignity.
A man who makes me want to offer him ***, along
with the rest of me and the best of me, on a platter.
One who makes me shudder with frenzy, by
merely existing. By texting. By a text. Once a fortnight.
Whilst you're the lead in a best selling fiction,
he is the only player in my fantasy. Coincidence?

*"Christian, meet Samuel."

If I were white, blond and blue eyed, with
long legs, ample ******* and sharp cheekbones...
Or
If I were icy cold, with hardly any soul, and
simply on a mission to use and discard all men...
Or
If I were a lot less chatty and far more witty, said
all the right things and didn't laugh so loudly...
Or
If I were really good at water-polo, swimming, sailing or
some sport, had mastered an art or multiple languages...
Or
If I were the kind to have casual *** and just move on
like nothing ever happened other than casual ***...
Or
If I were more of a chase, played hard to get, and wasn't
automatically responsive to all and any whimsical...
Or
If I were not Me...

                                                          ­                                                              Wou­ld you feel anything for me?
                                                             ­                                                                 ­                      Would you care?
                                                           ­                                                                 ­                                Would you?

When those two words popped up on my phone screen,
I thought of a million come backs from, "Honey,
I didn't know there was anything to replace!",
to a simple, "**** right off!"
But of course instead I replied,
"Some things in life are irreplaceable :P",
right after deleting my dignity!

I am so sick of love.
Loyalty, honesty, dedication, compassion, compromise, for better or for worse (when it's always worse)!
I am so sick of love, and all the drama that accompanies it.
Most of all what makes me absolutely ill, in a brain and heart exploding in anger and disappointment respectively, kind of way,
are the Lies!
"You're all I want", "I need you", "I need a friend", "I still love you", "I will always love you", "Is there any chance?", "Can we get back together?",
all the attention seeking, melodramatic, time-consuming crap!
Followed by guilt. That nauseous feeling of, what if? What If? WHAT IF?
Was it the right thing? Will I find another? What about the broken heart?
The sleepless nights of pondering how to end things, the poems written and unpublished, the practising in front of the mirror, cigarettes to channel the guilt elsewhere...
For crying out loud!
After years of guiding me, I should have given way more credit to my instincts.

And now for the new chapter. Embracing an old art, new to me. Currently so underrated and misjudged by priests, mothers and newly-weds.  
The philosophy of zero expectations to infinite pleasure and everything in between.
No regrets, no time wasted (and hell was my time wasted on you!#$#$#$).
Time to give up my soul to the darkness, (God, I hope you'll understand I still love and believe you, but I prayed and prayed. I can't wait any more!) and my body to the sailor boy!
Absolutely No Strings Attached.
No *******, no promises, just *** (and cuddles), a lot of *** (and waking up next to him?)
Anyway, NO STRINGS ATTACHED! [Except for the invisible, really strong one. He is irresistible after all and I'm a dreamer who never, ever learns, and follows her instincts way too much!]

One thing's for sure.
I am so profoundly sick of love!

S** un light gushing through the window on that summer afternoon, left me
A westruck as they bounced off your golden locks. You continued to create
M usic so surreal, I felt still asleep lost within a sweet dream.
U nleashing the darkest desires within my soul, you continued to
E ntrap me a little bit more every time we came into contact. Emotions,
L ost during my last battle with Cupid, were revived one by one.

R eality losing yet another battle with the phantom of the summer,
O ver-dozed on your boyish charms whilst suffering from an impatient heart.
W ild look in your eyes burns into mine, and as you speak I
L ong to kiss your lips with raving passion, hoping it would last an
E ternity and a little bit more. Maybe you will, maybe you won't, but just
S mile for now and play your music, 'cause it makes me "feel" again.

F* ickle summer [and general] pass-time. Though you hardly
A cknowledge me, I meditate on the virtual probability of our
N on-existent romance, incessantly. Just as I make an effort to
A ttempt to bury you in a dark corner of my subconciousness, *you
T ext me! Once again giving me just enough attention so that I'm
I ndifferent to your self-centred, egoistic, promiscuous nature and
C ompletely falling for you instead, as I've done, since the day we first met.

Is how I want to love you!

Ever since you kidnapped my heart and held my mind a hostage,
haunting my dreams, dominating my thoughts, driving me
insane, I've stopped caring about the future, about consequences,
about heartbreaks and breaking hearts, all I just want is you!

To hold you, to feel you, to touch you, to be touched,
frankly I'll settle for what ever you want to do with me,
or to me, as long as I can just reach out and feel your
skin, against my body I'll be happy, I'll be content.

Each time my phone beeps it feels like Christmas, and
I'm opening a pile of gifts hoping they are all for me, your
texts with a simple 'x' at the end of every message, just
lightens up my day like a child seeing snow for the first time.

So maybe there will be a next time, hopefully soon, when
I'll be a little more sober and you a little less, and we could try
again to kiss and this time make it last long enough, so I can
remember and cherish every moment of your reckless caress.

So you pulled again.
In Essex, in London, in Leeds, in Weymouth...
The list goes on.
Why do you always tell me?
I'm not jealous. You're just ******* them.
But that photo with your arm around her.
You ****** her too, I'm sure.
Complimentary of toga night you're pretty much semi-naked.
It was the two lipstick marks on your bicep that got me.
Not one, but two! On your perfectly firm, right bicep.
The one I gladly tied a blue ribbon around, whilst
my face was turning as pink as my Girl Power bandanna.
I hope you'll change back to the changed man you said you would be,
after the Fresher's fortnight is done.
If not, as opposed to ******* me emotionally,just **** me too.
It'll never be enough, but it's better than your smug texts! x

I* smoked a cigarette today.
Sitting outside alone in the cold night,
under the bewitching full moon light,
trying to endure the moment, but 'twas  windy.

Familiar triangle.* You are heartbreakingly
beautiful yet impossible to reach.
Loving you is self-destructive. Regardless,
I do and your enticement will never last.

When ever I think of you, which is all the time,
my breath gets caught up in an invisible barrier.
I  j u s t  c a n n o t  BREATH!
My body freezes and I have to hold onto the closest,
steady surface for support until my breathing pattern returns
back to normal.
Christ! I think you literally take my breath away!

Next thing I know, as my mind wonders from one thought
of you to another, my heart beat races and slows down, races
and slows down. It's completely irregular just like my breathing,
I feel blood gushing to my face, I'm blushing, then suddenly
I'm pale, as if all life is drained out of me I can hardly feel the
rhythm of my own pulse. Now when I come to think of it,
I guess this is you making my heart skip a beat!

I am caught up between memories and hopes, so very detached
from the reality, I'm laughing and crying at the same time,
and I have no words to describe how I feel or what I feel. It's as if
you've opened a portal to my soul from where words flow along with
a giant avalanche of raving emotions, it actually hurts 'cause I
wonder if you know, if you feel at all, I'm here, you're there,
nothing makes sense, it's just not fair...

Someday...
I want to live in a house with a blue door.   [My house has a brown wooden door]
By the sea, in the southern coast, with a
wooden fire to help keep warm.   [I live in the West Midlands and couldn't care less bout the fire]
Have a baby girl and a baby boy with
curly blond hair, honey brown eyes,
and fair sun struck skin.   [I have black hair, black eyes and brown skin]

Today...**
I hope you text me back!   *[I always text first]

I feel drunk all the time.

You are on my mind like a sweet hangover [if such a thing is possible].
Oh, but it must be. Your eyes, the colour of dark Amaretto, I could stare
at them intensely, casually, aimlessly, eternally, until I'm completely drowning
in your bitter sweet gaze.

Just thinking of you literally makes my heart flutter. I can feel
this giant ache, a longing perhaps pulling my heart in multiple directions.
Every single alarm bell in my brain is going off and I know
this has to stop specially since it never began, and even when I can
actually taste the foreseen heartbreak like the smell of cheap *****, I still
crave for you, the alcoholic I am.

I want to savour you as I would a glass of Baileys on a summer evening.
But right now I frankly don't care. Give it to me as a single shot of Absynth,
and I'll down it in one go, because

Baby, I'm addicted to you!

Lately I've been feeling quite numb.
From the time I wake up until,
my head hits the pillow.
I want to call you, text you, miss you, think of you,
but, instead I feel numb.

I read all the poems I wrote for you.
Heart felt, deep, passion
gushing out of every single word scribbled, but,
tonight as I'm lying on my bed,
typing away on my Android I just feel numb.

I remember the long romantic conversations that lasted forever?
Words, feelings, thoughts came easily, but now we communicate via poems.
All I know is there's something missing, and it's not you.
All I want is to write another love poem.
But I can't cause I feel numb.

The Judge, me, walks in, settles down on the bench,
a cue for the jury, me, the accused, me,
and the defendant, you, to sit down.

It's a special kind of case at the Court of Conscience today.
No representation. No witnesses. No audience. Just
the parties affected and those who arbitrate. You and me.

Crime, Falling Out of Love! Walking away, leading you on,
not giving us a second chance, wasting your time, taking you
for granted and ripping your soul apart.

The accused, Pleads Guilty. As the law requires to discount
a third of the maximum sentence, the judge and the jury,
decide that the court will recess for three days.

I'm on bail but I cannot come within eye contact of you.
My guilty heart is tagged so each time I feel your pain,
sadness or anger, it alerts my brain and shocks it!

The court convenes. The judge clears her throat.
Because she's too emotional, along with the jury,
to even talk, let alone think clearly or decide.

"We find the defendant Guilty!". Guilty of
involuntarily man-slaughtering this relationship.
I sigh! Justice does not mean fair, not in law nor life.

The judge goes on. "However in this particular case
the sentence is to be decided by the defendant."
Because the ball is in fact in Your court!

We could have had a baby.
It was just enough time to have a child, to
let it grow inside me, to see the bump get bigger, and
bigger, and for it to be born just today, wailing loudly
so everyone around is aware of its much awaited presence.

But we don't. We have ended just like that. Yes,
I ended it just like that and I'm still uncertain what
triggers a girl, me, to let go of the only man in the whole
world who loves her, you, I will never figure out.

I'm confused, lost and broken, and without the
privilege of being able to feel sorry for myself.
Fighting the hardest battle I've fought in a while,
trying to stop myself from running back to you.

I loved you. Somewhere not too deep down I still do. But,
for a while it hasn't been enough and I'll never know why,
because your sad smile and the lingering smell of your
after shave as we hugged for the last time still haunts me!

My love is like a spring.
Trickling from the core of the earth,
pure, uncontaminated and original. Just love,
and nothing less, nothing added, nothing fake.
It gushes out at the end as a great water fall,
with every single drop unveiled to sunlight,
forming an everlasting rainbow ~

My love is like a rainbow.
Purple and violet over bickering and disagreements.
Blue when you're gone and green if another looks at you.
Yellow, orange and red with affection, ecstasy and bliss.
Colourful, vibrant and dynamic; subtle yet,
painted across the sky for everyone to see.
Beyond the sea all the way to the horizon~

My love is like the sea.
Very much alive and providing life,
stretched across the whole of the earth.
Deeper than the tallest mountain, and endless.
Storms of passion and whirlpools of emotion,
Rocking everything within it's grasp, only
to reach a tranquil standstill, nirvana if you may~

My love is like attaining nirvana, but not.
Instead of freeing myself from earthly attachments,
I long to be reincarnated just to relive this life,
again and again with you, the centre
of my spider web of soul, from which
strands of joy to content erupt and interconnect,
to which I'm blissfully and willingly stuck~

My parents' worst nightmare,
becoming my most enchanted dream...

       A
    (0_0)  
       B
    h O i
w    Y      te
      i  e  
   r       n
f             d

Your eyes,

                      they're a sensational
            how                                     shade
  I love                                                        of hazel,
                                         i  r
With a mystic orange   c       c   outlining the pupil.
                                         e  l
Reminds                                                      sun­set.
                  me                         Caribbean
                              of      a

Not that I have the slightest idea, cause
I haven't been there, or anywhere near.
But, suppose anything's possible
in your Vanilla Dream Land ...

You make me worry about losing my memory.
Because right now I've reached a stage where I've forgotten to forget you,
so if I really did lose my memory I wouldn't just be losing my identity,
but also you.
And the problem is, I can live without knowing myself,
but wouldn't survive a second without knowing you.

You make me want to write poems.
My fingers crave to type endlessly until I've written more words than
the bible and the encyclopaedias A-Z combined into infinity,
but my brain numbs.
I'm bilingual but thinking of you makes me inarticulate in both, and
fluent in clichés instead.

You make me feel like a 16 year old...scrap that, a 14 year old,
falling in love for the first time, and I'm neither.
Lately I've been spending a lifetime editing photos of you and me,
on Microsoft Paint, adding hearts and stars and lipstick marks.
And tagging you in every quote, video, song and photo on facebook,
provided they have a remote connection to something romantic.

You make me want to break Pastor Aeternus ,
after 12 years of Sunday school, as a student and a teacher.
I want to travel between Testaments, arguing with prophets and saints,
trying to explain how you make me feel, crave, arouse.
Because each time we meet, even before we speak, or touch,
the demon within me is awaken, beholding the paradise in your eyes.

You make me want to ****** you, even after 4 months,
and 3 weeks, of a solid relationship.
To wear make-up and high heels, to dress up or down or... not,
provoking, tempting and coaxing to take a bite out of the same apple,
but deeper, tying you to the bed and taking you in a kitchen, just
to see that pure expression of bliss on your face.

You make me search the depth of my soul, the bottom of my heart and
every corner of my mind, for more love to give you, everyday.
Paint the future in any colour, shape or form, and when you're done,
place me in it, because I will always fit right in, just like when we spoon.
Someday, when we're standing next to God I will ask him to show you
the timeline, when he sent you from heaven into my life, because

only an Angel could make this fragile heart, fall in love again.

Two weeks ago when you popped up on facebook chat,
and arranged to 'catch up' via skype today,
I should have known.

I should have known that just as it happened three years ago,
only I would stick to the deal,
I would be here waiting, cause I keep my promises.

But then again, today is the first of April.
**** it!
"Can't believe that I'm the fool again..."

I miss you the moment you leave me.

As I watch you walk away, or you watch me walk away,
The moment I get in that bus, or you in that taxi,
When the door closes behind you,
As I watch you put your shoes back on,
The instant you sign out of facebook or hang up the phone
I start missing you...

When you're not next to me

I feel like, a cookie with no chocolate chips;
A computer without internet;
The night sky with no stars;
A train journey to an unknown destination;
A poem with the last line missing;
Both incomplete and meaningless...

Sometimes, specially on nights like this,

I wish I could stop missing you.
Stop thinking about you
Get over feeling lonely
Be fine with not having you around
Just block you out for a second.
But, then I think I would miss, missing you...

If you kiss me like no one has ever done before,
causing ripples of warmth to crash back and forth,
between my lips and heart...
If you gaze deeply into my eyes while my mind crosses the abyss,
searching the depths of my soul for beams unveiling myself,
until they reflect on my iris...
If you caress me with your gentle, refine touch,
feeling my pain, fears and uncertainties,
inducing goosebumps on my skin...
If you listen to me when I stop speaking,
grasping precisely what the silence portrays,
from the rhythm of my exhaling and expiring...
If you whisper sweet nothings in my ear,
simply letting your breath ****** my neck,
creating an aura of comforting assurance...
If you break the walls around me,
allow me to let down my guards slowly yet completely,
and make me fall in love again...

I will do the same...

When the hormones kicked in I do not know, but
somewhere in my teenage years I tripped on love.
An exchange of looks, a wave, a wink,
was all that took for my young heart to soar.

They were all northern stars,
shining brightly from a distance.
Taking me on illuminated journeys through the night,
only to get dimmer and leave me in the dark.

Some shone for longer, some twinkled brighter,
but only now do I know that sometimes the light we see,
are from stars that are already dead!
Thus, I was following death, though it seemed like light.

Maybe that's why my heart still aches,
from being lost alone in the darken sky;
why my world is filled with rains made of tears,
and emotions bursting into hurricanes.

Maybe that's why the wind refused to carry my cries,
and blew louder to drown them in it's wailing.
Maybe that's why the rainbow in my world,
is covered by dark clouds with no silver lining.

Maybe that's why like all other times,
he will not be mine; he will never stay.
Like other times I will wait for my star to shine,
almost see it, but then watch it die, again.

I am selfish!(At least I like to think I am so)
I'm sick and tired of caring about "them".
What might "they" think? How will "they" feel?
What will "they" do? What about "them"?

Well, to hell with them!
Have I not always cared? Every single minute of every single day,
I've cared, thought, wondered and pondered about "them".
I've tipped and toed around my way,
making sure NOT to fall into their bad side.

I made sure they were happy, that they were satisfied.
I tried not to make them angry. I always justified,
their judgments and their verdicts of me.
I kept colouring the pictures they drew of me.

But I don't want to impersonate anymore.
I don't want to live a lie.
I will not give up my freedom and happiness,
to satisfy a lot who do not concern me in any way.

If you think I'm too fast, too easy, too open or just plain evil,
simply keep away from me cause you cannot ever change me.
You will not emotionally hypnotize me again,
for now I have fully gained my rights to "live"!

You stupid, silly woman!
Did you not know that life is not fair?
If you did, what made you think otherwise?
Or forget?
You beg, you plead, you cry, you scream...
All this means nothing to him.
Your tears, unless they are results of drunken ***;
Your joy, unless it's because a number increased on the check;
Your emotions, unless you were faking them to make him ******;
means absolutely nothing to him.

When did he promise? Did he even mention it?
What love? There's no such thing!
Not in this deal (and yes that's all what it is! It's not a relationship!)
It's just lust, greed and a madness.
Un-satisfaction acting as an illness.

So get up, wipe your tears, put on makeup and clothes.
Stop begging for feathers from a Turtle.
Even when "The Marriage Vows" don't guarantee love,
why would he feel obliged to give it to you?
You are merely his "mistress".
His play toy; His *****!

You get nothing but the money.
Cause even at his funeral you will not be allowed to cry.
Cause you are the shadow everyone avoids.
A curse, a disease, a witch, a ****!
That is all you will ever be.

So smile now and undress for him.
Let him drive you insane.
Strip your soul apart piece by piece.
It's time to sell it, again!

"Oh, I see. It's your passion is it?
You like learning about them? Wow. You got a first?
You are planning to go into research? On that very subject?
I'm really very impressed. I see! You avoid buying products,
made using them?
You don't even consume them? That's quite lovely.
You must be really strong willed.
You like talking to people about it?
Oh yes, those big companies; definitely their fault.
You want to stop them? That's one of your goals?
Excellent. I admire your passion!

Sorry, what was that? Is that so?
You will never care for one? It's a silly idea is it?
Yes, of course, you are right.
There might be no end result.
A waste of time, money and energy.
Messing with nature it will be, is it?
A childish way of holding on to silly hopes.
Really? Scientifically you are hundred percent right.
That's nice to know. With your dedication towards the subject,
I guess you would know for sure.

Guess what!
F@#$ your passion. F@#$ your dedication.
F@#$ your knowledge and F@#$ science.
You made a choice not to care. You don't give a ****.
You know why? It's the easier way. Shortest way out.
Because you don't want to be involved,
in an 'emotional commitment'.
It's too difficult. You will never gain anything.
But there's so much to lose.

But me;
I am different. I am not afraid to connect.
Not afraid to give unconditionally. Not frightened to commit.
Cause as long as there is hope, my dream will be alive.
If or when hope dies, the pain, the memories, the emotions
and the love,
and the fact that I know I cared,
will keep me alive.

Oh and guess what...you've just lost!
You've lost again in life.
Your interests lack real passion.
Your work lacks dedication.
Your knowledge lacks emotion.
Your life lacks fulfillment.
So let me do the math.....one more second please...
Got it....
That equals to emptiness...
In fact you are already dead; inside! Lifeless...."

I'm sitting by the window, watching rain drops hit the ground
Wind is blowing harder and faster making the trees turn in rounds
I thought the sun shine would last, I thought I'd see a rainbow
But it only became darker and colder, and suddenly began to pour.

I loved watching lightning, I enjoyed thunder storms
I would watch the rain for hours from my room, which was once cozy and warm
But today for some reason it is singing a different song
It's murmuring over and over again the fact that I'm alone.

I want to dash out into the garden and start crying in the rain
Then you will never see my tears fall, you will never know the pain
Alas, I am still in my room, thus I cannot weep, it isn't the same
Cause you might see me wailing and break my heart, again!

It lasted only few days.
Almost non existent and unnoticed,
considering the long life span of a modern human being.
But it has left me with an ache in my heart,
a constant tug, **** and awakening of my extreme "singleness".

Maybe it was the smile, the deceitful truth in the eyes;
Definitely the caring, re-assuring voice and the gentle touch.
The fun filled atmosphere and the care free life style,
surrounded by youth, sun, energy, laughter and delight.

And that was you...

But on the other hand was an actual person with an actual heart;
With genuine emotions and a hope for a new start.
Willing to give, to trust and to let loose.
Fabulously charmed, ecstatic, oblivious and so very true.

And that was me...

There was you, there was me and apparently a "her".
Later I knew but I just wanted you, to love and to hurt.
There's nothing left but the memories, the disappointment and the pain.
The summer affair has turned into a cold, dark and lonely Winter's night,
and keeps haunting me again and again.

And that is us...

A life dedicated to serve both God and Man,
A Srilankan beauty with an Indian fragrance.
Came into my life like a sweet soft melody,
Teaching me the Doh, Reh, Meh of music and the depth of life.
A pianist, a perfectionist, a disciplinarian;
A teacher, a friend and a sister.
As I reached great heights and moved on,
You remained in the shadows like the wind beneath my wings.
The creator has called you back,
To enchant his paradise with your music;
Knowing that your memory will echo,
In every note of music we hear!