You’re almost asleep and
I’m jealous of your sheets because
Nights like this I wish I could be them.

You’re in my poems.
In my head and in my heart but
You’re not in my arms and
The countdown could not go quick enough.

I wish there was a fast forward on this thing.

I am homesick,
But not for home.
There are places I have never been
And yet, I miss them terribly.
There’s a whole world that
I’ve never seen, but
My soul screams to experience and
I think that’s my cue.

One day, my feet will touch
Red sand and
Black beaches and
Mountain tops.
I will absorb oceans and hurricanes
And build myself so strong that
you can find the universe in my eyes.

Maybe then, I will
Find you.

You told me to watch that film,
But I spent more time searching for spaces
I’d kiss you in
Than seeing what was on screen.
Your lips are distracting and
I don’t even know what you
Taste like,
Yet.
I can only imagine.
There are times when my
Waist calls for hands and
The gaps will only accept your
Fingerprints.
How can you miss somebody
You’ve never met?
I wish I had the answer to
That question.
Maybe then I wouldn’t have this hole
In my chest.

I ask what your favourite word is.

You say you don’t have one, and
I don’t understand.

See. I’m a poet.

I tried hard not to be,
Rejected it with every
Fibre of who I am but
Words form in ways I can’t
Negate.

See,

You speak and I notice
There’s more in what you say than
You know.

Your voice is delicate,
Not in the way you sound words
But the way you phrase sentences,
Like the subject is something to be
hidden behind premises.
Some people grab chance by the throat,
****** you right into the center,
Until you’re drowning in meaning
And unable to listen to anything but the
Beat,
B-,
Beat,
Of your heart but

Not you.

I can respect that.

You’re all tact and logic and
It’s not about feeling
It’s about thought process and

I still don’t understand.

See, my tongue is clumsy,
It stutters and stumbles and smashes its way through life,

But it finds meaning where there isn’t any,
Notes how you say “Spoke”, not “talked”,
How you dance through every word in the English language because
Deciding on the right one
Has to be perfect.

I think that,
You are perfect.

My favourite word is puddle.

I don’t know why, but
When I say it, my tongue kicks
my teeth and
It reminds me of the way my
Consonants get heavier with
******* in my brain.
It makes language ridiculous,
Because the end of its vowel is so sudden
It should cut
But it’s so ******* round.

Puddle.

I can’t explain, not in words,
But I smile when you say it and
I promise you that sometimes
language is less about logic
And more about that feeling
in your gut
When you look
at me and verbs flow out of your mouth
And for once you’re not thinking
And, -

"I love you."

If you thought, it wouldn’t be true and -

"I love you."

Cogs whir to a halt and,

"I love you."

I don’t trust you for a second because
My mind is now skipping stones across oceans
Waiting for depth to show, yet
There’s nothing below,

but still,

Sail away with me.

Let’s leave language behind and use touch to define
The borders between where I start
And you stop.

We’ll find they’re less obvious than we’d thought,

Because I love you.

Not in the way that I say it but
In the way that your presence makes my stomach churn out musical notes
And I was broken, but I don’t want to seem desperate and
I guess that when you say you that don’t have a favourite
I realise,
Puddle’s a scapegoat.

My favourite word is whatever name you’d give for the
Goosebumps on your skin when I touch you.

My favourite word is the colour of your eyes.

My favourite word is the way your voice goes real high when you’re excited.

My favourite word is how I can feel where you touched my flesh, for days after we last met.

My favourite word

Is you

But I’m too shy to say it.

So here, take puddle,

And run away with it.

I say,
Tell me about the last person who
Made your voice catch in your throat.

I want to know them through you.

You say,
Tension peaked and you couldn't
Breathe.

I don't care that it wasn't me.

If I could find a hundred people, and
Bring each one home to
****** breath from your lungs,

I would do it every day.

The passion in your words is deep enough
For me to bathe in and
I want to soak for hours.

Tell me more.

When you talk of how your stomach twisted
Into celtic knots,
Your hands shake with recollection.

I am hungry.

You feed me romantic lines about
People I've never met, yet
I see their faces in your eyes.

You absorb everything.

Teach me what it's like to be
A butterfly in your gut
And a tremor in your fingertips.

Absorb me, too.

I curled inside myself,
Bit my tongue and
Forgot the lessons
They taught me, but
No more.
I have oceans beneath my flesh,
Roaring with the sounds of
Lost civilisation and
I could not be quiet if
You begged me.
Listen,
For I am Earth and Air
And holy Fire, sent to
Cleanse your violence
With something so fierce it
Burns.
I am alive,
And I am bigger than
Every load you ****** upon my back.
I shall not carry your burdens.
*I shall break them.

I want you to
Press your fingers so
Hard into my flesh that
I can feel you there
Weeks after you've left.
Let me hear you beg forgiveness
With your tongue, but not your
Voice,
Until all you can utter are
Groans;
You know, I
Had you all along.
Come,
Collapse into me;
We can connect our hips
And our minds until
Shudders subside and the
Morning steals soft kisses
With sleep.
Then  lips, smoothed raw with
Exertion,
Will no longer cry out for more,
Because we are,
Finally,
Whole.

1am, and secrets
Spill to the surface like
Sleep somehow has a truth serum
Effect.
At 4 in the morning,
If you catch me awake I'll tell you
Everything you need to know
And more,
But come sunrise I,
Like a tortoise scared,
Will curl back into
My shell and
Hide til dusk.

Don't think to take advantage
Of my tired tongue and
Truthful chatter,
But when the morning comes,
Remember I hold
Revelations inside me
Until I'm ready
To burst.

Part 1;* *Love

I want to climb inside your skin,
Make a home in your brain,
And listen.

I want to know more about you than anyone,
To predict what you’ll say,
But to listen regardless,
Because I love the way you say it.

I want to understand,
To feel each line on your skin,
And scar on the walls of your heart,
And to know the stories that made them.

I want to know you so well,
That sometimes we forget we’re two people,
When it’s late,
And we’re awake,
More comfortable together
Than we are in our own flesh.

Let me in. Let me wear you.
Let me know what it’s like to suffer your downs,
And ride your ups,
And I’ll show you my wounds,
And expose to you my thoughts,
Until we know each other
Better than we know ourselves.

Part 2; The Boy

If I am careless,
if I allow my mind to wander,
I sometimes still
taste
the smoke from your lips.

It’s the wrong place,
and the wrong time,
but my heart still
jumps
into my throat
when I remember your touch.

If I could pick up the phone,
and tell you how I miss those
stolen kisses,
I would.
But jeopardy terrifies me
and I’d rather not dive headfirst
down that whirlpool just yet.

Part 3; The Reconciliation

I know that we used to be
so different,
so full of life,
so full of love.

That you were once
energetic,
excited, and
enthralled,
and I, for a time,
was compassionate,
caring and
considered.

I know that we were once
different people,
with different stories
and different hopes.

We may have lost our way,
become somebody we wouldn’t even have
recognised as being
us,
if we met ourselves 5 years ago,
but remember that
we recognise each other now.

I know your innermost
thought
and your
deepest distaste,
and I will
never
ask you to be anybody but
who you are today.

We might not be the same people
we were when we were 15,
but we are people who have
grown together,
and laughed together,
and loved together,
and we are people who have shared
so much
it would be impossible to leave this partnership
whole.

We have fused souls.

And as much as we may reminisce
and remember who we
used to be,
let’s just tonight remember
something more important.

Let us remember
who we are now,
and that it would be more
difficult for me to
tear myself from you
than to tear myself in half.

Part 4; The Decline

Postpone.

The silence at home
kills me,
so what’s the harm in
one more smoke,
anyway?

I spent more time
travelling miles to see you,
than I would ever care to
admit,
battling on bikes,
through sleet and snow,
to spend 30 minutes
over coffee.

Where did that go?

Now my house is not
my home,
because space to breathe is
scarce
and I am breathless just thinking
of the travel to my front door.

What do you do when the foundations
become unglued?

Nothing can rebuild
something that’s not demolished,
but destitute.

Part 5; The End

I can see our future,
Clearly,
For the first time,
And I hate it.

There are no fuzzy young faces,
No unknown sticky fingers,
No pattering of
A strangers’ feet
That somehow sound like
Home.

All I see are false smiles
And fake conversations
And the knowledge that
I’ll never
Know you
Again.

You ask again for words that will explain
What made me who I am,
But I can’t find them,
And you wouldn’t want to hear them anyway.

To what end would your knowledge be?

For what purpose
Do you need to be told
In clearer terms
That I had my life ripped out of me
By the same man who gave it?

That I am a shell of a person,
Living a life I never asked for,
And don’t want.

What good would that be?

Can you find a way to fix wounds,
To take back scars?

You ask again for words that will explain,
How I came to be so
Arrogant
Manipulative
Repulsive
And I have no reply -
My armour is too strong for even I to break.
If I were to look through the visor,
I think that I might find
A scarred and blackened girl,
Sure that she is dead,
For her cage could only be hell.

And again you ask for words.

And again I have none.

How can I articulate the way I’ve been
Hollowed out,
Except to say that

There is nothing worth knowing here.

I want rest
From your hands and fingers reminding me.
Is that too much to ask?

I know that you think I am cold,
Unconcerned
With your needs,
But sometimes your touch
kills me,
And I wish it were okay
To ask you to
stop.

I am sorry that I’m broken,
That sometimes I need the space
To stick myself back together
Before you slowly melt the glue away
Again.

Don’t you think it hurts
Me
Too?

Rehearsed lines and
I love yous
Are all we speak lately.

Somehow silence seems loud,
when our stunted conversation leaves me
waiting,
waiting,
waiting,
for you to say something worthwhile.

I know you intimately,
Every line on your hand and thought in your head,
And I’m coming up empty.

There are those with whom I could talk forever,
About this and that
And not much
And nothing,

And then there’s you.

(You hold my attention so very little that I often wonder
Why I come back for more.)

Take care of me.

Wrap me up in blankets
And warm my heart
With soup and love.

Remind me why I’m here.

Tell me, with sincerity,
That you care about everything
I think,
Say,
And do,
And you want to be there to hear
Every little part of it.

Take care of me.

Make me realise, not for the first time,
That my existence is worthwhile,
And that yours wouldn’t be the same
If I weren’t here.

Take care of me.

Caress my innermost fears,
Not with touch, but with an emotion
That I haven’t seen for too long.

Take care of me.

I once was soft,
Round faced,
And pleasant.
Now I’m all elbows
And knees.

A stone statue;
Made by novice hands that,
In their haste to perfect,
Crafted only hard sides.

In my need to belong,
I sought to become
Nothing but angles
and sharp corners.

Yet,
now I’m half the size,
I fear I might be half the person,
and my bones leave bruises
to remind me I’m gone.

I wish I could be soft again
But each meal shows,
And critical eyes seek to
Chastise each part
That dares to be anything but
bone.

12:22
Last night, I was at a party where
Over-stimulation
And too much conversation
Left me shaking in a friend’s bedroom,
Because there’s nothing worse
Than making small talk
When you haven’t spoken aloud in 3 days.

15:39
I told you that I love you,
But I’m not sure that you realise
That my love is so much more than
The emotion inside;
It’s an appreciation of your perfection
So god-like it is tantamount
To my survival.

19:24
It’s been 48 hours since I last had a meal.
And I’m still not hungry because
My stomach is stuffed with the most desperate thoughts,
And the emptiness is so filling
I think I may throw up.

21:08
I could run away.
The things holding me down are part of the problem,
But I think I might like my sickness.

23:55
Earlier,
I caught sight of my face in the mirror,
My skin looked paper thin.
I am more fragile than I have ever been,
And I fear I might break myself
If you don’t shatter me first.

01:04
If I lay very still,
You might think that I’m asleep.

04:52
I don’t know if you know,
but I’m happiest when
I’m sat up all night,
crying tears that have been
stuck for weeks,
like the rush of blood
when pressure is released.

I have been uncomfortable in my own skin for
14 years
3 months
and 2 days.

It was my 7th birthday and
Upon opening my presents,
All bright eyes and
Childish excitement,
I found a bra.
It was a small thing.
Frilly.
Pink polka dots and
White lace and
I,
Ever polite,
Smiled through my tears.

Last month my mother stood as statue while
I cried in the bathroom for over an hour
Because my chest was infected
And the doctor would have to
Remove my only armour to
Expose my back to cold steel
And my mother, (because she's the type of person
Who irons her clothes before she packs them
To travel across the globe),
Could not bear to see me wear a bra that was not
'Pretty'.
So, purple satin, push up, plunge neckline
Restraints were strapped to me,
And I could not find a jumper baggy enough.

Yesterday, you said that my outfit makes me look
like a 15 year old boy.
I said that's why I like it.
You might not appreciate that
Some days I want to step outside myself,
But don't tell me I'm weird for idolising bodies
That are more pleasing than my own.

You do that,
Too.

The first time I heard the word
Lesbian
I was 8 years old and
They came from lips I'd just kissed.

I thought it was swearing,
That if her mother
Had heard her say it
she would be grounded for a week.

When it sits in my mouth,
It still feels heavy,
And my stomach churns the way it did
When I skipped class.

I'm not the only one who,
Growing up,
Thought sexuality was insulting,
And struggled to find myself there.

But I still feel lost,
And sometimes I'm convinced that
The words I think are the worst
Are the ones which fit best.

It has been almost 7 years since
We first spoke,
And your *** and coke has loosened your tongue.
"It is not your fault that I'm
in love with you,"
you said,
"I'm just an idiot, for letting it go
so far."
Like when, at 3am, you phoned from across the ocean,
Because you felt that something was wrong,
And the pills stacked up on my desk stayed there,
Useless.

I'm sure that that was careless of you, too.

If I had known I would have curbed it,
Because I know that
unrequited love feels like a
punch to the gut,
And you've saved me enough times that
I owe you in return.
But, as confessions pour from your alcoholic lips,
I freeze.

I'm not sure what comfort I can be, when
The word 'friendzone' has
left your mouth so often
That I sometimes think
you're the
enemy.
Now we are here,
And I keep expecting your finger
To send the blame my way.

Please don't be that guy



(I wouldn't be alive without you.)

Sometimes,
If you're well-practiced,
You can make a pocket to hide in;
A bubble of zero gravity,
And that place means
Feeling free.

But, occasionally,
If you're so blessed,
You find people to share that space with;
They understand its sanctity,
And meeting them, is
Being home.