Learning to swim
When the pool is bone dry
Stringing a kite
When there's no wind to fly
You always swore
There'd be no goodbye
But they're broken
These promises broken

Learning to swim
When the pool is bone dry
Stringing a kite
When there's no wind to fly
You always swore
There'd be no goodbye
But they're broken
These promises
Running away
When there's no end in sight
Chasing our dreams
With all of our might 
Every last memory 
Jumps back to that night
And those broken
Those promises broken

i am not stuck on you
your smell did not linger on my pillow like i thought it would
there is no trace of warmth left from you fingertips on my skin
my lips have no memory of yours

i am not stuck on you
your sweet words do not make me swoon
there is not break in my heart
my body does not miss yours

i am not stuck on you
your pleas will not ******* crawling
there is no you and me
my head doesnt think of you

It's all about time and how we don't have enough of it.
It's all about money and how we need more of it.
It's all about petrol and the high price of it.
It's all about school and how we are so fed up of it.
It's all about guys and girls and how they don't seem to get 'it'.
It's all about family and how we don't feel part of it.
It's all about sleeping and how it takes ages to arrive at it.
It's all about a cigarette and how we shouldn't be smoking it.
It's all about a drug and how easily we can take it.
It's all about the bad dudes and how easily they can do it.
It's all about a gun and how simple it is to fire it.
It's all about health and how we don't look after it.
It's all about war and asking what's the point of it.
It's all about music and the messages within it.
It's all about poetry and what someone has to say in it.
It's all about ignorance and how there's too much of it.
It's all about religion and having a moan about it.
It's all about birth and how we should treasure it.
It's all about death and how we say we don't fear it.
It's all about life and how we choose to live it.

Grounded on my mat of morning-moist loam, the trees gossip with one another and the birds call out suggestions. My lungs **** down the sunbleached air as my skin engulfs the remnants of last night's rain. Somewhere, caught between a down dog and a forward fold I thought of you. The clay rich dirt kisses my forehead as my breath makes love to the wind and my soul whispers 'thank you.

It occured to me that our senses aren't in sync.
I know now that I don't share the same sights as you, we hear what we want to hear, and
our sensitivity meter is subject to the matter.
Arguments are a dime a dozen, just pick a time and place, rsvp is fairly predictable.
I want you and you say the same.
Apologies aren't necessary if you tell me with your heart.

I traded a few hours in a hotel room and nights in the arms of a stranger, just to fill
that void of that love I convinced myself I'll never deserve, the love I have now.
Despite what people may say, I've never felt deserving or worthy enough for another human beings undivided love and attention but I still fight for it.
Making as many friends as possible in any setting I find myself in, striving for attention and acceptance is always one of my main priorities.

My life as always seemed like a never ending masquerade ball, I always hide behind my
mask. Which is how I like it most days. Keeping my secrets to myself, concealing my past, flaws, scars and thoughts that I can never seem to put into words. Exposing them could result in rejection and abandonment, the polar opposite of what I wish to obtain.

I just can't help but feeling so filthy, unwanted, lost, confused, indecisive but most importantly in love.

Baths in acid couldn't wipe away my scars, even after the skin stretched over my bones has melted away, finding my exposed heart there beneath my ribcage beating just for you.

I'm ready to show my face.

I feel as though I’ve been entirely flushed out. It’s like my whole body has been turned inside out, rung out like an old cloth and my internal organs have set flight. At this time, they no longer belong to me nor do they reside in their original places. I've cookie-cut like pieces inside me now; empty. I’m walking round with hallow spaces where things should be inside my chest, my torso, and my pelvis. I’m told time is short on how long the body can survive without these crucial organs, but I’m hoping I’ll have enough time to sow up all my flaws and stich myself back into something worth being. Maybe, second time round, I can rebuild myself without all the things you hate so bad.

Just the thought of them makes your jawbone ache:
those turkey dinners, those holidays with
the air around the woodstove baked to a stupor,
and Aunt Lil's tablecloth stained by her girlhood's gravy.
A doggy wordless wisdom whimpers from
your uncles' collected eyes; their very jokes
creak with genetic sorrow, a strain
of common heritage that hurts the gut.

Sheer boredom and fascination! A spidering
of chromosomes webs even the infants in
and holds us fast around the spread
of rotting food, of too-sweet pie.
The cousins buzz, the nephews crawl;
to love one's self is to love them all.

I would rather be hysterical than vulnerable
to what most people call love.  
I would rather couple with strange women
on an Amsterdam getaway
than let one more man
try to own me.

I prefer to ignore my own psychodynamics
in favor of endless talking cure analysis
and occasional astrology cult ******
that promise to speed my eventual evolution
from wounded *** object to invulnverable starchild.

I don’t need a Beverly Hills shrink
to tell me my narcissism and depression and squeaky voice
are symbolic of never having the power
to set a boundary between me and my father
who doted over my puberty
with slobbering praise and veiled lust.

Everyone who knows me for more than a week
sees my father throwing me financial bones
instead of apologizing for what he did
and the more I take his money
the freer I feel
distanced by automobiles with dark-tinted windows,
a house with a skull and crossbones doormat,
a silver .45 under my pillow
and not one single ex-boyfriend
about whom I will ever say a kind word.

I have created emotional and psychological invulnerability;
all men are now my father
and all men pay the price
of never being loved by me
and I pay the price of never being able to let them love me.

Now I just play with partners
and when they inevitably start to use the “L” word
I start to run inside
and I bounce off the walls and mirrors
of my own emptiness
and I go on a photo safari to Africa
where I pretend to understand the meaning of life
and I put out restraining orders
against the men who insist that I explain
and I have come to rely on legal and monetary fences
to protect me from
the truth about my deep loneliness.

I’ve never had an ******
never said I love you twice to the same person
and I think
as long as the money’s there
I won’t have to.