You were always the last bus home
As though
If I didn’t catch you I’d be stuck waiting for a lift I’m not sure would come
I missed you often.
Always went to the wrong station
I read your numbers wrong
You were vivid, neon flashing
But I wasn’t wearing my glasses
I couldn’t see you properly
I thought I deserved the long walks home
As if chalky hills and borrowed books torn up into pieces were the only things I could hold onto
I always managed to lose my return ticket
Some days I did it in the hope that you would let me on for free
Let me in
Do not close the doors automatically
As if I am not worth the wait
I am worth the wait
Don’t drive away from me again
I am not begging
I am not praying
I am asking you to come back for me
Reverse to a time when we discussed frame sizes and half flamed dreams under fairy lights
Come back to a time when you thought I was something special
I met you in gold and black shadows
Like we were sweeping statements of colour
Thrown together
Into a palette
Paint with me
Do not separate me like ink and oil
Do not separate yourself anymore
We are not cheap materials
We are quality
Treat us like it
Treat us softly
Take my hand and follow me across the canvas because honestly, it’s all I am good at doing
Making a rough pattern of a future I was never sure I’d have
I can find the destination but I need the petrol of your spirit
I need your headlights, your windows into things I don’t understand, your compass into things I am not brave enough to dive into
Guide me
And once you have finished
Please. Take me home.

people say they are in love
when they stand awkwardly next to each other
unsure of the thought of touching the other's skin.
shift uncomfortably in silence
never daring to meet eyes
or risk blush.
yet they last.
and it's so unfair
because she doesn't know that every time
he listens to oasis he thinks of her
and he doesn't know that for that
she smiles at the sound of wonderwall.
she doesn't know that every time
he bites the inside of his cheek
he is facing the demons
that have stalked him his entire life.
and he doesn't know that
when she scratches the scars
on her left wrist
she is overwhelmingly nervous.
she doesn't notice
how he wears long sleeves everyday
just to cover up the scars
on the inside of his elbows.
and he never bothered
to kiss the angry gashes
she inflicted out of hate
of herself.
she has never taken the time
to watch how his face
crinkles around his grin
and around his blue eyes.
and he never minded
the way she ground her teeth
when she was frustrated.
she never fell in love with
how soft his hair was
and how it curled at the ends.
he never traced his fingers
across the crushed velvet
cheek as he looked into
her blue and yellow eyes.

and yet we never made it.

I found no fault in the stars
but I did find some in the design
and with a bit of authority in grasp
I changed how they aligned

Clear nights of June raised
doubts over observations
Fates and destinies changed
along the course of constellations.

Witnessing the miracle
losing clue as what to believe in
and the spawns of science
losing all will to seek reason.

On that night of wonder
the ships reached their haven
guided by the stars that kept
changing their placement.

And the night for once
was brighter than the day.
Much to the traveler’s delight
who tread along the lit ways

Happiness was welcomed
sorrow was eradicated
On the brook of hope
Optimism cascaded.

Families reconciled
as stars at distance burned
fathers greeted with open arms
their sons, as they returned.

What I saw I couldn't believe
Far from what I could imagine
what was believed as impossible
on that night was bound to happen.

It's been a dance, a long and lovely dance
Sparked by innocence across a thousand miles
And as the weeks went by there grew a knowing
We found our dancing legs and friendship turned to fire
I held you tight in my dreams each night
And we realized that there was more to come

It's been a dance, I moved a thousand miles
We shared a little bed, a rental house, and wide-eyed smiles
And then our son arrived, a blended family
With joys and challenges
Love and insecurities
But I held you tight in my arms each night
We'd greet the dawn, your head upon my heart

It's been a dance, sacred and holy
Fractured and lonely, for in time we lost our way
I would reach out to you, and you'd reach out to me
But our timing slipped as life got in the way
Then I hurt you so, and you hurt me so
And the pain drove us both down to our knees

It's been a dance, now comes the best part
We grew our wings again, remembered how to fly
Was it a miracle, or just unstoppable
Baptized by fire, anointed from on high
And I hold you tight in my arms each night
You're the closest thing to heaven that I've known

Now take my hand, the band is playing
Share this one last dance before I have to go
Kiss the kids for me, hold them tenderly
Tell them it won't be long before Dad gets back home
And I'll hold you tight in my dreams each night
You'll be the face that I see when I awake
The dance goes on and on
You will wait for me, I'll return to you
The dance goes on and on
I am home to you, you are home to me
The dance goes on

People don't die beautifully for living plainly.
The most gorgeous deaths stem from lives made entirely of chafing and scratching
At the eyes of bystanders and the legs of elites pushing pencils and having babies.
Women do not make history sleeping in the arms of men
That stroke their hair and tell them they're beautiful.
Nor do they change the course of a nation by smiling at those they're told to smile at,
By following rules and setting limits on their intellect and imagination.
Likewise men do not make history kneeling in front of a stone with the word destiny written in repetition
On its surface.
Men do not alter reality by being societal representations of men. Of trees. Of beasts.
Men, and women, who make history,
Who have died beautifully, tragically, desperately,
Have died in incredible circumstances. Have been remembered
For being a thorn in the side or the splinter in the eye of the path laid out by reality
So every breath and every sight was them. Pestering.
Until they could no longer be tolerated.
That's when they were remembered.

I'm not going to write an angry poem about you.
Stop looking.