When your favourite song came up on my Spotify,
I froze.
For just over 4 minutes I couldn't move,
I couldn't think,
I could barely breath or even blink.
I felt cold, abandoned, disoriented, hopeless,
like the moment I knew we were done.
I'm holding on to Winter,
but there's the sun.
It hurts more than anticipated,
but I'm not deleting the song.
Shuffling between self destruction and being strong,
I must go on.

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 knew, if you even had the slightest idea
how incredibly fragile my smile is,
how acute my craving for affection is,
how lost, broken and lonely I feel,
how every bone, every single cell of my body aches to just feel your warmth,
how emotionally hungover I get each time I close the door of your flat behind me,
I wonder if I'll still be your Friday night girl...

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!

To be perfectly honest this was one of the more difficult poems to string together for the sheer fear of possibly jinxing it,
as there appears to be a pattern to every story involving a boy and me lately,
which begins with the same overrated butterflies in the stomach sensation followed by a poem,
sleepless nights, cigarettes, ***** and a tragic ending.
So having reached the poem stage my instincts and the part of my brain receptive to pain are already bracing themselves,
I can feel them clenching in my gut.  
As this three nights stand situation burns the lines between a *******, friendship with benefits and something to the extent of a budding romance,
my expectations are protesting against being so fiercely oppressed,
frankly they are getting out of control,
as the dislike of not wanting to be clingy, chivalry of not wanting to subdue to any labels nor the fear of yet another heartbreak itself,
are no longer sufficient to keep these rising hopes in place.
Ironically, when I think of you I think more of who I become when I'm with you, than actually you,
even though I do sincerely adore you. Very much.
I'm bemused by how comfortable I feel in my own skin,
naked and burnished, next to your warm, ivory touch.
Each time you trail your fingers down my body and take in a quick breath as if you were seeing me for the very first time,
I treasure the look in your eyes for later in the week when the going gets tough.
I idolize your rough, blistered, bleeding palms with all its calluses for they mirror my own much subtle bruises,
representing our shared interest, commitment, strength and transformation.
Your new found superpower to completely eradicate my necessity to socially smoke when socializing with you, speaks for itself really,
and we haven't even got to the laughter, the banter, the top notch sarcasm, the conversation, the warmest embrace,
breakfast ending in a ridiculously serious spectacle of coffee making,
which I thoroughly enjoy from the best seat in the kitchen wearing your shirt which fits me far more perfectly,
and the skip in my step as I head home.
So when the day comes for the revolution, of my expectations, overthrowing this rather tiresome governance of fear,
I just might pop the question, will you be my forever one night stand? ,
in the hope that you might just say yes...

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~

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

The harshest truth about unrequited love is
when all is done and dusted
hands washed
rejection accepted
there is nothing left.
All the talk about memories made,
to have loved and lost than not love at all,
to have made a friend forever,
is a load of ******* to be honest,
like your puppy who was sent to a big, happy farm in the country side,
like Santa Claus,
like telling yourself in the mirror over and over again "you are over him. you are happy".
So when he's sat cross legged on your bed calculating the final chess move to checkmate with a devilish look in the eye,
limping around on a sprained ankle after football,
explaining how light works,
cutting an extra large pizza into four and folding each quarter in half before devouring it,
moving close to show a ******* star pattern only he can see,
giving a pair of ******* gloves for Christmas cause your favourite pair was lost on a night out in October,
always lighting your cigarette first,
casually mentioning over dinner how he might move to Belgium next spring for an internship,
you have no say. You have no right to feel.
You have no right to say how you feel.
So you pretend,
admiring the ******* star patterns you could never see in the first place,
acting tensed when he hugs,
congratulating him on the amazing job opportunity taking extra care to make sure your smile is wide and reaches your eyes.
You pretend,
putting to use 16 years of professional drama training,
regardless of having an out-of-body experience each time he does something that takes your breath away,
where you watch yourself crumble to the floor, face flat, gasping for air, one hand on the chest and the other over the mouth,
while you stand strong, smoking and smiling,
listening to him talk about electricity, FIFA  or something,
all while watching yourself die, from the corner of your eye.
Unrequited love is superbly overrated,
by poets, artists, writers and all those who have loved and lost.
In reality it's a simple phenomenon which drives one to the mental intersection of insanity, self-destruction and creativity,
caused by a sense of ownership one feels towards another which is nonexistent, not reciprocated, not mutual and really ****** up.
So really don't get up or stand up,
infact don't even bother to feel,
cause you really have no rights...

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!

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.

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.

Having googled and failed to find the right metaphor
to express this all too familiar phase in life,
the alarmingly low levels of self-esteem
conveniently stepped up to suggest,
a fresh pineapple at the local supermarket
during the harshest of Finnish winter.
Its exotic and festive look draws attention,
everyone wants a bite but no one knows how the **** to peel it.
So they observe with great curiosity from just far enough,
to avoid touching the prickly leaves or skin.
The go to center piece of any, maybe just hipster, parties,
misplaced on top of an excruciating variety of pizzas,
spiking Sangria since the beginning of time,
and most appreciated upside down on cakes.
It draws attention and triggers discussions,
but no one knows what to do or how to feel about it,
except to watch with keen interest from a dramatized distance,
and take the canned stuff home instead.

The 2500 km between us seems unreal,
when the picture of you in my mind, almost tangible,
keeps me grounded on most days.
Trekking across the corporate bog clinging to dreams of a country life,
with a peculiar combination of smug sheepishness,
provoking instincts to ravish or protect, I cannot decide.
The way you have with words is supernatural,
because your eloquence leaves me hypnotized,
the best case of spellbound I have ever been.
You had me at your first email,
keeping me sane and driving me insane,
you are, my favourite kind of perfect.
You've managed to lower all my guards,
breakdown all the walls, and
gather up a life's worth of insecurities into a ball.
Just as I stopped walking around on tip toes,
you've shattered it to a million shards,
and now I'm lying bleeding on the floor.
I'm drowning in air, waking up to a nightmare,
lost in my mind, paralyzed in my senses,
so much for believing in second chances.
Touché,
for perfectly blind siding me,
I couldn't save myself.

It all comes back to you.
A premature declaration of love,
hundreds of cigarettes,
several one night stands,
many bottles of *****,
sleepless nights,
pep talks,
and six months later,
I still miss you when you are gone.
The hopelessness that surrounds me when the comfort of your presence in our apartment building is absent is almost indescribable,
if it weren't a precise forecast of one millionth of despair I'd feel when you eventually leave for good.
That despair I'm certain is going to feel like a gun shot would to the spleen.
I know I'm not your type of girl,
considering our only common denominator is nicotine,
when we cannot even find a film or a song we both like,
let alone anything in between.
It is evident you are far from my ideal type of guy, except
I think you are the guy.
Mixed signals and star patterns apart,
when you helped unzip that play suite,
there was nothing confusing or unclear about the shock of electricity that followed your touch from my neck to the waist down my spine.
They all say we look great together,
and I always think only if how great I felt when I was with you could be painted, photographed or just captured in some mainstream form for them to see,
the definition of absolute greatness.
But I am not much more than the smartphone you leave in your room,
the same owner and little use.
I dislike physics and gaming, as much as you detest large crowds and dancing,
but I idealize the thought of being different together,
which I know you don't.
Metaphorical or not you wondered out loud what it would be like,
so let me tell you,
I will be the lights out and shy kind of girl,
I will be submissive, amateur and giddy,
it would be absolutely indescribable, except
I am certain it will resemble the first time one sees the Northern Lights only a million times more incredible,
when you must truly experience it to know the feeling.
The fact of the matter is I obviously never stopped needing you, and
apparently didn't succeed at not showing it either.
The bottom line is when you are not sleeping in your room two floors above my own,
I really miss you very much, and
it's a lot worse than missing you when you are casually sprawling across my bed.
I wonder if you maybe feel one millionth the same...

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...

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

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!

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.

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!

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...

There's something so fundamentally romantic about a broken man
or should I simply say, "I dig that!"?
A man tormented by the demons of a shattered childhood, or
a shattered heart on which a pair of expensive pencil heels, the shiny black kind with a blood red sole, has stomped all over.
Or maybe shaken to the core from the long cold nights and
scorching days spent at a military base with gun fires and screams
ringing in his ears even after all these years.
I long to hold him,
as he twists, mourns and shivers through the nightmares,
I want mine to be the only embrace that makes them all go away.
When those scars hurt, or the injury from the practice session
is not as unbearable as the fear of not being able to play again,
I just want to hold his hands as they grip mine so tight,
almost in an attempt to transfer the pain.
When that fever is burning so high he's going in and out of reality
with a wet cloth on his forehead all bundled up and drugged, I want
my name to be the only thing he calls out.
Every now and then when he breaks down in the shower crying
his heart out, or explodes with vengeance in his eyes ready to hit,
destroy or ****, I want
my palm pressed against his heart to make the storm pass.
When he becomes unsteady and slurry, with the smell of Whiskey
overriding the aftershave, I want to be the one to take him home
and tuck him into bed.
I want to know, see, hear and feel all his pain, his fears, his
darkest moments and be the remedy, his only escape.
I don't want to fix him. Or change him. Or save him.
I want to be his lifeline, his anchor to the mortal world, and
rope ladder to heaven.

You said confidently
"I know you'd like me even if I were fat",
ogling at my tiny waist,
long legs
and firm ***.

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...

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.

*****,
cigarettes,
knives,
many options,
when you are not one.

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...

Among many other things summer nights are so profoundly exhausting in this part of the world at least,
as the sun battles ferociously with the night,
refusing to set, protesting to go down quietly,
mocking late evenings with brilliant rays of light,
tricking the minds of us mortals,
particularly the birds who naively sing mistaking the time of day.
The breathtaking view, apart from its beauty and poetic inspiration, is tormenting,
creeping in through tightly shut curtains,
making those trying to get a good nights rest or a good old lie-in stay awake out of guilt,
almost as an unspoken but mutually agreed sense of duty to capture and preserve every beam of light while it shines.
Ironically, some of us prefer the bitter winters and have little reason to stay awake,
and most definitely have enough tan to feel outcasted from the entire Nordic population,
so excuse the nights owls, bats and myself for wishing the summer sun to set already...

I felt it after a little while,
and not at the very first glance.
I just began to realize.
that I'm given another chance.
Now I want this divine moment to last,
to be lost in this sweet romance.

So please for me, will you save your last dance....

Slowly but yet steadily you are
waltzing into my dreams.
Words alone cannot explain,
how ecstatic it makes me feel.
I could feel myself swaying away,
and my heart begins to leap.

Tell me, would you hold me for this dance..........

I'm too scared to open my eyes,
for I dread the reality.
Frightened that I'll lose you cause,
you seem too perfect for me.
All I want to do now is
to live in this sweet romance.

Would you say "I love you" while we dance.....

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...

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!

To get to sleep tonight
on the same pillow
your head had laid
moments before
knowing all I'll ever have
is your lingering scent
and my imagination...

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"!

Though I'm confident I know every inch of you by now,
I'd rather not say 'like the back of my palm',
for the familiarity is more tantamount to the air that I breath.
If I were to describe you to a sketch artist,
I would be stumped, completely lost for words.
If I were pressed I'd ponder for an eternity,
and reluctantly begin with your eyes, if pressed some more.
I would say they are dusty blue and deep, deep not in the hue
but the capacity for me to get lost in them forever.
The beard, rustic and playfully speckled in shades of crimson,
is a tug of war between a starving artist and an ancient Greek philosopher.
Freckles in-between resemble the night sky with my favourite constellation,
plus a few more stars scattered for that extra sparkle.
Those ridiculously long eye lashes completely wasted on any other man,
forcing me to restrain blinking in your presence,
so I would not miss a single time you blink,
hence witnessing third of a second of divine artistry.
You are indescribable and defining you as perfect would be an extreme misstatement,
for you are not the ultimate level of mortal physical attraction.
You are a memory, a vision and an everyday feeling,
inherent yet I relentlessly pursue and strive to own.
You could make raging atheists superstitious,
whereas for me you are salvation.  
So if I were truly pressed to describe even vaguely the way you look,
it will have to be in animated glossolalia, or resort to a quick intake of breath
followed by a wistful sigh and gazing dreamily into the abyss.
On most days I think you are my every dream,
but here you are, very real.

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]

Swipe--Swipe--Swipe--Swipe--
Before bed,
first thing in the morning,
when you randomly wake up in the middle of the night and can't get back to sleep,
Swipe--Swipe--Swipe--Swipe--
In the beginning it's almost like a new toy or a car,
the excitement when you first download it,
the careful precision with which your profile is created,
how into it you are all day all night,
Swipe--Swipe--Swipe--Swipe--
Then slowly a pattern emerges.
You get the insanely sporty ones,
running, jumping, swimming, lifting freaking weights,
and you think if I were looking for a personal trainer I would swipe right but no thanks.
Then there are the travelers,
on a world tour since the beginning of time with no permanent address, let alone any potential for a relationship, so you swipe left on instability.
Then there are the 6 packs and no heads,
making you wonder when muscles and treasure trails overrode eyes,
and cringing at the sight of those semi shirt lifted body shots, you swipe left.
Then there are genuinely you're not attracted type,
too much baggage type,
too good looking making you skeptical type,
standing too close to girls type,
reptiles as pets type,
really bad grammar or purging emoticons type,
alcohol is a hobby type,
no ambition or future type,
on all which you keep swiping left.
Every now and then there's the just right type, with the right amount of words and smiles,
sincerely looking for something more than *** or just good at pretending they are,
so you swipe right.
A match...
You never end up talking anyway so swiping on, all day long,
and you realize this is *******!
The only thing that's getting anything is your right index finger,
and there are much better ways in which it too can be put into use.
You realize even after expanding the age limits to highly questionable numbers and including the maximum area in distance,
and proactively lowering your standards,
you still haven't swiped right on Mr. Right.
You realize you aren't looking but rather searching for that one face, that specific personality who already escaped between your fingers like that one cute guy you accidentally swiped left on a super drunk night while eating peanut butter out of the jar,
or that one guy who you thought was perfect so you super liked but never liked you back.
You realize you are searching for a specific person who doesn't have a Tinder profile but lives in the same building as you, who'll never swipe right for you even if he had the chance.
So you unmatch all those stupidly silent, mute, mistakes of matches, reset the preferences to more respectable limits and...
Swipe--Swipe--Swipe--Swipe--

I like Spring,
When the flowers bloom and the birds sing.
When the brutal lashes of icy breeze are long gone,
and the burning sun rays are still unborn.
When all living things come alive,
and dance under clear blue skies.
Temperate, moderate and just right; but,
there's something about Autumn.

With Summer comes all the joy.
Joys of long sunny days and warm evenings.
Ripening and reaping, and young brides dreaming.
Trips to the seaside, camp fires late at night.
Fireflies and stars synchronize,
to paint a breath taking sight.
Warm and cosy, lively and bright; but,
there's something about Autumn.

With Winter comes the hope of peace,
wrapped up in layers of pure white snow.
Celebration of the birth of a baby boy,
who came to save us once long long ago.
The smell of pine, turkey and wine,
carols and laughter as the Northern Star shines.
Lush and tranquil, with a touch of divine; but,
there's something about Autumn.

Struggling to be heard, struggling to be seen,
as something other than an evil foreseen.
When even Gold loses it's value,
over the demanding cries for Green.
Caught in a war between Appolo and Boreas,
when the battle, is to survive, to simply last;
Failing with fury tearing all the leaves apart,
ending the warmth, leading to a frosty start.

Yearning affection, veiling pain and remaining solemn,
there's something about Autumn.

Lying in bed cocooned by sweaty old sheets,
un-showered with last nights make up on the face,
binge watching Grey's Anatomy for the second time,
I felt more closer to you than anyone else in the world.
Isn't it ironic how the love which once made us soar,
see the world in a brand new light,
added a skip to our stride and a boost to our pride,
can bring us to our knees on a bathroom floor,
gasping for air,
for that same love was now taking our breath away,
in a humiliating, excruciating, soul ******* kind of way.
But you were only acting.
I'm not.

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.

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.

The space between my finger tips and the phone
is cramming with pride, doubt and hurt,
it's suffocating.
Can you hear me choking?
I can't hear you,
but I bet you're breathing just fine.

It's been a while since we last spoke,
3 years to be precise, but who's counting anyway, not me.
Definitely not me.
By the way I unfriended you on facebook,
I figured it's about time, I mean after 3 years of radio silence,
a long term girlfriend for you,
and a series of unsuccessful hookups for me,
I figured it's about time I gave up the illusion of being friends with you.
Every now and then I look you up,
and thanks to your disregard for security and privacy settings,
I stalk you, and her.
She seems nice, positive, bubbly,
committed to all the right causes,
I cannot really find any reason to dislike her. Shame.
Perhaps if I said yes the second time round, or the third,
perhaps if we hadn't been so young and had another go,
perhaps if you said yes, when I eventually felt so,
we'll never know.

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

So you did remember me.
Having not heard from you in an eternity (10 days),
wondering if you've forgotten me,
drawing rather graphic mental images of some girl you're *******,
it's good to hear from you.
The beer may be small,
but for a second I envied that cold glass of alcohol,
which looked too comfortable in your tight grip.
Jesus, I'm jealous of a ******* glass of beer.
Come home soon,
even though neither of us have one.

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...

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...

I'm happier without you.
But, I don't write poems anymore.
At least, not of him.

I wonder if you knew
when you turned the lights out
closed my bedroom door
and stood behind me
by the large misty window
to point out a star pattern
in the night sky
all I wanted was to turn around
and watch their reflection
in your eyes.

I wonder if you knew
at that very moment
those stars felt far more close to me
than you were...

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.