Whenever I walk
Alone, I walk
Serenely.

I take time to admire
My surroundings, feel
My bare feet against
The warm pavement,
The breeze playing
Through my hair, I
Imagine how my skirt
Must look, fluttering in
This sudden summer
Wind and how the flowers
Must see me, all tall and
Intimidating. Maybe
One of them is now
Falling in love.

As I walk, maybe I find
The sun too bright, so that
I skip from shade to shade
My feet finding comfort in
The darkened spots
Of the streets. Maybe
I imagine a dialogue inside
My head, between me and
Maybe you or him or
Her, and maybe, sometimes
It comes out
Out loud.

As I walk, I
Forget myself
And the world
Around my own
And it's no wonder
I can never get
Anything done.

I took your hand
           And let you
Take me away
                           לֶכְתֵּךְ אַחֲרַי
                         בַּמִּדְבָּר,
                               בְּאֶרֶץ לֹא זְרוּעָה
          Unkempt
   Unknown
To anyone but us
                   אֶרֶץ לֹא-עָבַר בָּהּ אִישׁ,
                                   וְלֹא-יָשַׁב אָדָם שָׁם
     And they won't say
A thing, and I
              Run away
                 Away
                        רְאִי דַרְכֵּךְ בַּגַּיְא,
                  דְּעִי מֶה עָשִׂית
Just as I was trying
                                           To forget.

As my feet pounded the asphalt
Hard and my heart pounded in my throat
I saw the finish line and marked it
My destination.

My heart elevated and the last dozen
Steps were easier than all, but then comes the
Pain, keep walking, keep walking
Keep walking.

And as you feel your lungs
Collapsing in on you and your muscles
Screaming, there is no end in sight
No reason

To keep moving on, to
Keep fighting, that is when you will
Break, when you will fall apart
And wish for oblivion.

I feel like
He used to understand.
But understand that
He can never understand me fully.

I needed him,
At that moment, to understand.
But understood,
That he just couldn't.

And I would accept that
If I didn't know he could.

That time,
When the world caved in on me,
He understood perfectly,
Just from my heaving sobs
Over the phone.

I understand,
He cannot understand,
And therefore cannot be mad at him.

But I know
That he can,
And therefore crave his understanding.

This is what they call faith.

I understand,
He cannot understand,
But knowing he did,
Is what hurts the most.

Of course it's all in your head,
But that doesn't mean it
Isn't true; then I am glad
Your head is so clear, my head
Is not, my head doesn't believe
I am good enough, but does that mean
Dear headmaster, that that is true?
I know, you will surely say no.
My head inserts pieces of my
History into my present, and I know
Yours does too, that is
What heads do, and we are still
Both humans. It is not words
That are pretending to be wise
That will help me outrun
My own expectations, because
It is all in my head and I will
Make a change, because my head
Is lying, it's lying, it is
And you cannot possibly want me
This time, to think is isn't.

Two years
Since my fists pounded
On the figures of book characters
On my wall.

Two years
Since my fingers plucked
Monotonously at strings
As I let the melody fill me
And the tears course down my cheeks.

Two years
Since I dialed the phone
Repeatedly, searching, in vain,
For someone with whom, I hoped
I could share my pain.

Two years later,
My fists,
My fingers,
My cheeks,
Need not suffer anymore.

For I have found the ones
Who would answer my call,
And even though they can't replace her,
They help to cushion the fall.

Feeling inferior
Is avoided
By many and
By me
Especially.
I will do anything
To not feel inferior
But that will mostly
Make me superior -
Finding the balance
Is so difficult.
I preferred
To shut up
And not be looked down upon
And not be looked up towards
Just be looked at,
Yeah, that's her,
She's quiet,
We don't mind her.
They might feel superior
Inside
But they can't make me
Feel inferior
And that was good enough for me.
But now
I want to be heard.

Beauty was bestowed upon me / A golden
Crown of self loathing / Replaced
By a thorny wraith / Unforgiving
Self worth / Slipping
Cutting clean / Through my ears
The ruby / Sensitive
Gum / The welling of red
On cracked lips / The raw
Pink inside of my cheek / The slight
Glisten of fever / Eyes / Forehead
The nape of my neck / Swirls
Of sheets / Alternating / Crisp and damp
Sunsets and shadows / Cast
Ant parades / Majestic
In their toil / Finding myself
Beauty in the very hight / Of senses
The senseless sun / Mine
For the taking / To use
For my own needs / Of the
Contrasting and blending/ Of
The human consciousness / Of
Beauty and pain.

I am a double agent
As I cannot see which side
Is the enemy, I feel
Treacherous, know that
I am betraying, not one
But both parts of me
The individual, who
For the first time in
Six month wants to be
Alone, and the collective  
Which I have longed
To be with so much that
I cannot turn my back
On it, so I must
Betray both, in turn,
So as to keep both
Moderately  happy
I wonder how long
Till I get caught
In my own web.

I never believed in Murphy
But then I told you
That I was getting better.

I have begun to notice the vast, blank
Stretches of wall in my house. They
Have a certain beauty to them, but
In the absence of anything to avert
My attention, I can see only your
Faces, as if painted in memories, on
Those white canvases of nothingness
And the pain of your sudden appearance
Followed tightly by the slow fade of your
Images, is unbearable, but still my eyes
Seek out the blanks on the walls, the
Voids through which you can come
Just that much closer, to my being.

I had so much to do
But I felt so alone
And in those moments
I wanted you to stay.

I'm a coward
But you keep
Insisting
I am
Brave.

My days have become
A construction site
Of problems and false hopes
And the towers, in these
Modern days, grow forever
Taller, climbing ever
Higher, so we cannot see
The top, but I know
That at the top there is
A portal that if I can reach
Will export me back to the
Flailing, feeble base of my
Structure, export me back to
You.

I am not myself in that
I cannot seem
To bring myself
To care, which
Not only
Feels wrong
But is also
Against everything
I believe in.
In not caring
I retract myself
From my surroundings
And disregard
Those around me
It's everything I
Go against, and
Is a recipe for
Hurt, but I
Cannot bring myself
To care.

I. My knife is poised and ready,
I approach the easy ones first,
The nicely shaped ones which are
Flat at the bottom and round on top,
Only then moving on to
The misfits, the oddly shaped ones.
I criss cross cuts over their shells-
You will open up to me,
The cuts promise.

II. I cut them open
And thought about them.
I stole one, tore it apart
And put it in my mouth.
It was warm, and sweet,
And good, and,
I thought,
They'd probably like it.

III. The looks on their faces
As I deliver them more
Of the warmth.
As they take them into
Their hands, their
Fingers closing around
The miracle look-a-likes.
The rhythm of my feet
As I take out the remains
And eat them, on the way
Away, trying
To making myself feel better,
Failing.
They leave only
A bitter aftertaste.

IV. And in a few years
It will be a proper winter day
And we'll all have free evenings.
It'll rain, and we will decide
To spend the free time
Together.
We'll watch a movie, or
Something.
Or something.
And I'd buy chestnuts
On my way back home and
We'll eat them
Together.

Songs which I would never
Consider writing and which
Are enveloped in fond memories
Play on the radio.

The edge of my trousers
Are wet but my feet are dry
And cold as ice in their warm stockings
Which I want to take of.

My life feels like one big
Disonance at the moment
As I take books off the bookshelfs and
Bang them open and shut.

Open and
Shut and open and
Shut and the dust asks
My lungs to let it
In my but my lungs
Protest and my nose
Wants more and my
Hands hurt and my eyes
Beg more
And I am sore.

מתוך המעשים
נמשכים הלבבות so
We clean the outside so that inside
We will be cleansed as well.

And I am sore.

His hands on my body
Were cold, cold,
Cold hands on warm flesh
Like when you open
The back of the bra
On a cold winter day
Cold hands on warm flesh
I can feel them again
Goosebumps run down
My back and I double over
Like I didn't then
Cold hands on warm flesh
That make you want to
Run away from your own fingers
Only those weren't my fingers
And I wasn't the one
Unhooking my bra.

I always saw friendship
As an eternal struggle and
You were most willing
To let me in, made it easier
Invited me over and
Showed me yourself or
At least a part of you
That allowed me to enter
Further and we would
Make music together and
We would spend hours
Talking and I miss you
More than before because
It seems that even when
You are there we are not
Together and though
You were my first victim
I seem to be losing you
In the fight.

The mirror tells me
There is still a flower
Stuck in my hair.
The aftermath
Of today's
Daisy chain mood.

The mirror was only
Trying to be kind
But sent me into
My own
Personal
Brand of rain.

I couldn't find a soul
That would comfort me
Only the rotting daisy
That is not
A daisy
Staring back through the glass.

Daisy chains are past
Long, lush, British grass
And longer, lonely breaks.
I wasn't sad,
I was content
In my own dream world.

Daisy chains are future
Hands linked in hands
Making chains together
Hoping they'll
Last forever
These are my dreams.

But daisy chains
Are also now
The single daisy
That is not
A daisy
Rotting in my hair.

It's scary
How easy it is
To feel alone
Suddenly
How easy it is
For your joy
To turn into sorrow
The daisy chain mood
You had been in
Withering away
Like the rotting crown
Of flowers on your head.

And everything feels wrong
And everyone seems far
You want to sit
In a lush, green meadow
Surrounded by daisies
Your fingers nimbly
Wrapping the stems
Around themselves
And then securing
Your new treasure
Onto a friend's head,
Crowning them your champions
Your saviours.
Day dreaming in the dark.

I lie in bed,
In my own filth
I haven't cleaned
My bedroom in ages.
It's filled with scattered
Books, ***** cloth and
Worthless, abandoned pages.

I kept it up to humane standards
As long as I'd visitors once a week,
But now that I see them so scarcely
My room has begun to reek.

I only ever do the right thing
When someone else is watching
Only when I want their good opinion
Will you see me washing
Dishes
In the sink.

(I never do
The ***** dishes
Unless I have someone
To impress.)

I sit there and know
That I could never
Engage myself in conversations
With these conundrums.

Those who are both human, and
Badly wrapped paper packages,
Filled with so much experience,
Brimming with knowledge which
Is rapidly fleeing through
The holes in the brown paper
Worn by time.

How can I speak to those
Who cannot hear my words in full
So that they must be talked to
Slowly, like
They are children
But that have been through so much
More than I
At the tender age of seventeen
Could even imagine.

How can I speak to these enigmas
Who keep asking me the same questions
But which I cannot talk to
Without being
Disrespectful

Not only towards them
But towards my future
Aged self, who will one day
Be in their position
And who I cannot imagine
Will want to be treated
Like a five year old
At the age of eighty five.

I've been hanging on
This whole time so
Don't just leave cause
You think it's best.

Pulling
                                                               Has become second nature
                                                   Pulling at strings
                                       To make the beings around me
                                Do as I will

                            Gentle
                          Barely felt tugs
                       At the cords of existance

              Pulling you closer
           A hand
          A hug
      Your shoulder against mine
   Sitting on the bus
Talking on a bench

Feeling you close

Knowing you're there

     The doors here
        I tell you
           Refuse to be pulled

                I must place my hands firmly
                   And tilt
                       My weight against them
                           Against my promise
                              To never again

                                                                  Push away.

For a split second
Just as my sleeping mind
Noticed my waking one approach
And tried to hide
Lest they meet
And all the guilt
Of years of enstrangment
Will burst forth
I still thought
You were sitting there
Besides me.

I'm mushing my food
Before eating it,
Drinking dry
Red wine,
And feeling
Distantly self destructive.

I had gotten irritated
And was beating myself up about it.

Looking at the world
Through the tangle
Of curls on my head
I feel like an animal
And there's no one
To contain me
But myself.

So I prefer to drown
In pillows and mattresses
Escaping the world
Via dreamlandTM.

Knowing
I'll beat myself up about it.
Preferring
To beat myself up later
Than beat others up now.

(It's not that I'm masochistic
Or else selfless
But I'll beat myself up
Either way.)

I have poisoned myself
With an overdose of you
And rehab is ruthless.

The only antidote existing
For you is you and that
Is a never ending loop.

So I look for short term
Solutions by poisoning
My nights and making

My days blurry and my
Unconsciousness short and
You are then you.

The first time we hugged
I grimaced
Apologetically
I'm an awkward hugger
I said.
Since then our hugs
Have become norm
Every meeting
And parting
And a few times
In between.
And I have come
To love
Your arms around me
With my head
Snuggled
Against the crook of your neck.
But now
At night
When I am alone
I crave your warmth
And your embrace.

I have no face
I walk around seeing
Other people's faces
And remember them
Inside my head but
Never expect them
To remember me
I have no face
It's true, just look
At photos, I am not
There, I am the faceless
Old women who secretly
Is part of your life
I have no face, I
Have no place but
That which you will
Attribute to me and
From most people
That isn't much, either
So I am left faceless
Will you give me
My face?

The words in front of me
Seem familiar
I cannot place my finger
On why, though.

I read your words
And then realized that I
Am now part
Of a poem.

Once upon a time
in a land
far far away and

only now do I understand
the recursion, you feel
more then just far.

In familiar locations
Lacking only you
I sit and slowly forget.

I always wished for long slender finger
So that I could play more nimbly, so my
Art would be better but now I look at the
Bones and flesh that are my hands which
Seem disconnected from this world, from
Real life, from she who is me, they feel
Fragile, as if they might break at any
Moment and with
Them is me.

She
Of the failed health
And abundant poetry.

He
Who absorbs all of
The others' pain.

They
Who are entangled
In my brain.

As a single entity
Of nightmares and scars.

He
Of the manipulative words
Which tell me not his problems.

And me.

That is my group.
Those are my problems.
These are my friends.

And approaching the place
And company I crave most
I feel like the first day of
Year one, or that night
Just before I turned ten, when
I lay in bed and was
Terrified. You
Start school only once
You turn ten
Only once, I
Meet my friends every
Couple of-
But am filled with dread mixed
With Joy - Giddiness, it is
The worst and best feeling
That causes you to constantly remember
But wish, not to forget, exactly, but
Have it done with already
And I don't want this feeling
Like I'm about to throw up
I just want to be with them
Already, now, always.

The guitar strums coming
From the brown fenced house
The obnoxiously loud music
Coming out a car window
The old man humming
To himself, as he wheezes
Past me
On his motor scooter
Make my day.

We joke that he is God
Because that is so much
Easier than admitting
The truth, which is that
He is simply a person,
He is not an omnipotent
Immortal, or an angel
Sent from heaven, but
A human being who
Is beautiful and amazing
And sees the world in
The best way possible.

We refuse to see it so
And keep calling him
God
Because that would mean
Admitting to ourselves
We can overcome
Our own problems.

My voice used to seem
Too grown up when I sang
I'd look in the mirror
See the lips move
And still not believe it was me.
I'd look in the mirror
And see my body
So different than it looks
In my imagination
I wouldn't believe
It was me.
The girl in my head
Never seemed to be
The girl you saw
Daily, this dissonance
Left me grasping
For who I really was
The one I see
Or the one you do.

I've long since matured enough
So that my voice
Fits my throat and my
Body fits my brain's image
But still the habit
Of spewing random
Information about myself
Remained to remind
Both you and me
Who I really am.

Your hand
Outstretched towards me
Was the thing I have craved
For what seems forever. Every
Time I saw them dancing
I wanted to be a part, but couldn't
Bring myself to free
My body from my mind. That
Hand, your hand
Is the one I've always waited for, the
Invitation I've been needing, that
Last push, the display of
Willingness on your behalf that
Lets me be a part as well, lets me
Move my body ecstatically to
Music that is mostly not my own
But makes me, finally, a part.

I make a point to cry
Only after you leave
After I am walking
Alone down the dark
Path or after you bid
Me good night and
Close the door behind you.

Only when you are
No longer near me
Do I let the tears
Spill down my cheeks
The tears that have
Been awaiting their
Turn so long, for all the
Hours we were together
They were paitently itching
My eyes, and I held
Back, I held nothing back
But them and maybe
That is my problem.

The aluminium folds
Under my able fingers
As I shape it to my
Will
My own tin man

I did not choose you
To be so heartless
Your purity lying in
The utter
Emptyness of your chest

And I, being the human I am
Constantly unpure and purifying
Find comfort in your
Sinlessness
Your inability to right me

No hope rises around you
And no shiver runs down my spine
At the touch of your cold skin
Frictionless
No strings able to attach.