New Year's Eve,
Auld Lang Syne,
holding hands,
clock chimes twelve,
midnight kiss,
me and my bottle share the moment.
Sadness tugs,
memories flood,
goodbye year,
you were good,
and bad,
a paradox
like sweet and salty.
I lick my lips and taste the sugar,
the last grains sticking on my tongue.
The salt left makes me thirsty
and I have to drink it all away.

But there is more just around the corner.

Life is like popcorn,
with sudden bursts
and noise,
and rush
and excitement
and panic
and commotion
and surprises
until
silence.

Even if we can't choose what flavour we eat,
we get to hold the bucket.
Sit back and enjoy the movie.

Hello little girl,
hidden inside me,
I'm sorry we can't play.
My Barbie's were thrown out years ago,
there's not a teddy bear in sight.
Now who do I hold close at night?

Hello little girl,
hidden inside me,
I'm sorry I have to push you away.
My face screams nineteen,
my rib cage whimpers
child.
You must be getting lonely.
At least we have that in common.

Hello little girl,
who wants to paint all day,
play hopscotch and swing high as a bird,
no,
high as the moon,
on the swing set.
I'm sorry my feet are firmly on the ground.
These decisions are too hard to make
and you must be frightened.
Shall we paint a rainbow or paint a storm?

Hello little girl,
hidden inside me,
I'm sorry this is goodbye.
The photos and videos
will help me remember,
but I must start to walk
without anybody holding my hand.
You'll be okay.
You'll be alright.

Hello little girl,
hidden inside me.
It's time to grow up.

I wish I could love my life and love myself
a little bit more,
fall on my hands and knees at every chance
and praise the life I lead.
I wish I didn't hate myself quite as much
and I wish I didn't recoil at the idea of my life,
the Grimm's fairy tale where Hansel and Gretel got eaten,
Rapunzel never threw down her hair
and Snow White was never kissed by Prince Charming.
The hatred burns hotter when I think of myself,
poor little rich girl,
sat in luxury in front of a warm fire,
belly full,
as thousands of kids in Africa bloat to death with paper thin limbs,
families in the Middle East are massacred and scattered across their countries barren landscapes,
innocent, too soon nearly corpses whither away in hospital beds,
sinking their teeth into whatever life they have left, clinging on.
I'm stable on the mountainside.
My family have never even seen a gun.
I haven't missed a meal in my entire nineteen years.
What the hell do I have to complain about?
My unhappiness disgusts me nearly as much as I disgust myself.

Sitting on a damp bus,
watching beads of rain rush down the dusty windows in diagonals,
like meteors crashing into Earth,
I curse.
I curse the vehicle,
I curse the safe home it's taking me back to,
the three course meal it's taking me from.
It's ******* sick.

I wish I could smile and mean it.
I wish I could love and not hate.
I wish I could love myself.
I'm so sorry for not being able to fully appreciate my life,
for taking it for granted,
for sounding like a spoiled brat.
You probably hate me as much as I hate myself.

I.
I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I
*******
I.
That's a vowel I'm going to try and use less of
(at least after this poem),
I promise.
Oh the irony.

I am not looking for sympathy.
I am not looking to be compared to a dying child on the street.
I am not asking for a single kind word.
I just ask for a bit of forgiveness.
I don't blame you if you can't seem to find any.
Just know I'm sorry
and I'm going to try.

Now.
A
E
-
O
**U

I find it quite amazing,
that you don't realise how my lips tingle and my heart swells
when you make me,
yes,
make me,
kiss you.
Just a friendly little peck, eh?
You could be kissing your Aunt Mildred,
your lips remain so dead
and your stomach so still.
I'll give you one of my butterflies,
if you want one.
The brushes against my back,
my cheek,
the brush strokes that paint sparks along my skin,
leave your hands lifeless.
They resuscitate me.

When you say you 'love me',
I don't think you understand
how many times I've imagined you whispering those words,
in a thousand different places,
in a thousand different situations,
in a thousand different ways.
They float through the air,
stopping time and creating pixie dust,
before falling into my ears,
forcing tremors throughout my once stable foundations.
In reality,
you could be asking somebody to pass the salt,
your voice is so flat.
So why can I not stop fizzing?

If you grow old and look around
and find yourself alone,
don't worry.
Don't cry about how nobody ever wanted you,
about how nobody ever needed you
or loved you till it hurt,
hurt so bad they almost hated you.
Because they did.
I do.

I do.
*****.

The only thing worse than being with you,
is not being with you.

The only thing worse than talking to you,
is not talking to you.

Every time I try and go cold turkey,
I find my hand automatically
reaching out.
I grasp and open my fist,
but nothing is there.

You thawed me out,
a task previously thought impossible.
Problem is,
I can't stop melting.

How dare you give me these feelings,
turn me into this,
when you get to walk around solid
and free.

I'm a wreck.
Unrequited love is too pretty a term for whatever this is,
the ugly, confusing mess that has
spawned
and
grown
between us.
The one you engendered.

I hope you're happy now.
I hope you can sleep soundly at night,
whilst I toss and turn between images of you.
I hope you can look me in the eye when we speak,
whilst I try hard to find the floor,
the table,
the clock on the wall,
as interesting as possible.
I hope,
most of all,
that one day you'll open your eyes
and finally see me.
I'll be waiting.

Sad thing is, I think you know it.

In my mind,
the fight was a result of your undying love for me,
an act of protection,
for your fair maiden.
I was the perfect damsel in distress,
simpering,
dragging you away from the bad guy.

How I ever managed to daydream,
over the screams
and the struggling,
is beyond me.
Wishful thinking
I guess.

As you gracefully caved in the guys skull
with your elegant knee,
painting a watercolour of red on the concrete,
I stood back and watched.
Each drop of blood,
that splattered the night scarlet,
mirrored a drop of the salty tears
running down my cheek.

I wanted him to get back up
and smash your beautiful face into a perfect Picasso.
He didn't do anything but lie in his own river.
I wanted to be washed away with it.
Instead, I had to watch you triumphantly step back from your ****,
the picture of alpha male,
a predator,
and look for your mate.
Why won't you capture me?

Because you want her.
My best friend.
The one who I should be comforting,
for having two guys so in love with her that they'd **** each other.
I'm scared if I place a hand on her shoulder,
I might crumble.
I'm chalk,
she's marble.
I could leave my soft white mark on you,
if you just gave me the chance.
Marble's cold.
But maybe you like the chill,
the chance to pull her closer.

I can't look anymore.
I step over the battlefield and make my way down the street.
I see her get in a taxi
with the guy you just half bludgeoned to death to win her heart.
I see you stood amongst the wreckage,
confusion on your war wounded face,
not knowing what went wrong.

You cared.
Just like I gave in and cared about you.
What idiots we are.

Somebody punch me in the face.