Poem a day, day 11*

Late for bed once again.
Last minute scrawl with my pen.
What'll come out is anyone's guess
To make it half decent I'll try my best.

The other half might be indecent
You never know your luck.
On thing I do sense
My rhymes will run amok.

Rhyming couplets here and there
But you can bet they're not everywhere.
The rhyme shall be as the mood takes me
And self editing is not what I foresee.

So another poem not really about anything.
Just me rambling about the first thing.
That happens to come to mind as I sit down to write
My poem a day, so late at night.

So less for me this time
And more for my reader
And learning to create
Whatever my weather.

Day 1 of a poem a day*

God created 'man' in his own image.
Is that why we feel compelled to
Create, invent, make
Things that were never there before?

Is this compulsion a God complex?
Or reflecting the nature of the Devine,
Or perhaps our own Divinity.
Because it's that big, no matter how small.

It's everywhere, in everyone.
Some people think they're not creative.
But creativity isn't just 'art'.
It's creating a building, a positive experience, anything you make.

Some people think they're not artistic.
When they've learned to suppress it.
Taught that it's not 'worthwhile'
Or comparing themselves to others.

It is in us to create.
When you express yourself you will create.
In whatever form that might be.
And it's beautiful... whatever form that might be.

Men don't love me, I know that now
I can make them want me,
But not truly desire me.  No matter what they say.
And they definitely don't love me.
They don't need me.

I don't really mean anything to any of them.
I play my role as a *** toy (not *** Goddess)
And it eases those needs.
That'll do.

All I have left are the voices of my lovers inside my head
Saying all those things the lovers never said.
Their comfort destroys my soul.
Their joy makes me cry.

Those voices bring me pain.
But I go back to them again and again,
To hear those beautiful, hurtful words.
'I love you', 'You are everything',
'It's okay, I've got you'.

I have been kicked in the guts so many times.
Not always intentionally.
They probably don't even know.
But it happened none-the-less.

Some might say I should have learned by now.
But 'learned' suggests intellect.
I have the knowledge,
I can see what's coming, but I don't avoid it.

Each time I think I have been battered enough
To not have anything left to be able to go there again.
So now I know no matter how tired and battered I am
I have all this to look forward to again.

It might be someone new,
It might be someone I thought I meant something to,
Reminding me, in someway,
How they didn't really.

I can't numb my heart,
Definitely not long term.
I can't stop wanting, loving (or thinking I do)
I can't stop the intensity of my emotions.

I even want to feel, as much as I dread it.
I love the passion, being alive.
Maybe even the fear of what's to come.
Something like Barbra Streisand's 'Being Alive'.

If only I could feel that
And have someone feel it about me.
The emotions aren't the problem
Being in it alone is.

But that's the way it is,
Always.
Just fifty or so more years
Of this to look forward to.

Poem a day, day 9*

Waiting on my lover
Ready and waiting
Been ready for ages
Ready and willing

What a joy it will be
To finally give myself
Over to my lover's arms.
Surrender to each other.

But the ache in this wait,
The longing,
The needing.
How long now lover?

When I need to show you my love
And you're not there.
When I want to wrap my arms around you
But you're not here.

And all these needs and desires
Are held inside
With nowhere to go
Building up pressure

The release valve seems
So inadequate
Just enough
But not quite right

Waiting for my lover
Waiting because
There is no-one else
Worth waiting for

"Stay away from mirrors"
A piece of advice not about evaluating my looks
But about getting out of my own head.
To stop naval gazing and look outwards.

Look outside of myself for what to write about
Things to say, starting lines.
So I'll steal a line "Stay away from mirrors"
More than just good advice.

"Write like you're talking to someone"
What would that look like?
Who do I talk to freely and naturally?
My Mum, my daughter, and my 'Secret Lesbian Lover'

Ok so you want wild, weird, crazy ramblings
Without the input of their side of the conversation?
If you say so...
Duck! This **** is going to get crazy!

Then edit... haven't I covered this before?
(Or did I just think about it)
My poems fall out of me then they're gone.
I can't seem to revisit them to complete or edit.

That is true to the idea of write like you're talking to someone.
I don't really edit when talking much.
I know I should, then I could say the right things.
I am too open, I doubt that will change at my age.

So should I manage to follow this advice
We can expect;
Wild, crazy ramblings which could be about anything.
Possibly made readable if I learn to edit.

I do hope I don't lose followers, this could get messy.

Oh to have a hand to hold
More than a cold stone wall
With a computer heart.

To feel a human touch
More than an illicit moment
Every once in a while.
And then back home
Connected and disconnected.

Looking up from the computer
For a split second to blow a kiss
Just makes me sadder.

Barely a foot away
And we don't touch.

He loves me all he knows how to
And I feel so alone.
I have so much more to give
Than he is interested in,
And need so much more.

So there we have it
A conundrum with no fixing

Just more breaking.

Poem a day, day 3*

Days disappear
So much done
So little done

No time to get things done.
But is this all life is?
Managing day by day?

Making ends meet.
Getting through the day.
Any day above ground is a good day.

Is that all there is?
I breathed today
Is that enough?

I was planning on living life
But then
Life got in the way.

Years disappear.
Treading water
Is our norm

In 365 days
We find a handful
Of memories.

What are the gaps for?
Work, housework,
Existing.

I got through today.

Poem a day, day 15*

These are the last pages
Of my first real poetry book.
It's quite an accomplishment.
I stuck at this.

I developed and expressed myself.
I tried new things.
Now this is part of my life
And I have a new book.

I will have good days
And bad days
And it will all be in that book
As they are in this one.

Sometimes I will sound like a poet
Sometimes I will think "I am not a poet"
But always I will write something
I choose to call poetry.

So this is the last poem
In my first book
With many more books to come
This ending is a beginning.

The first of many lasts.
But the only one
That's the last of this first
A distinct point in time, and on it goes.

When did I become a poet?
When did - maybe I should take my notebook with me,
In case I have an idea for a poem,
Become the daily compulsion to take my notebook so I don't lose a poem.

Is it just the accolades, the 'likes' and nice comments
That say you've done well?
Perhaps a hang over from childhood
The little ticks next to each answer
'That's right' 'Good girl'

Or is it truly the creative expression
I have been searching for all my life?
Was it always there
Or has it developed?

When did I become a poet?
When did I become someone whose need to write
Would get them out of bed at night...
Otherwise that poem will be gone forever.
From someone who failed English at school.

When did writing a poem become
More important than sleep?
(Nothing is more important than sleep,
It's a well known fact)

When did I redefine who I am?
From the person who struggles with the written word.
And come to that, How did I?
I have a few other aspects of my life I would like to apply that skill to.

Do I bare my soul too much?
Should I leave more room for mystique?
I am not one for half truths and game-play
I am honest and real.

Too open
Too vulnerable
Too needy
Too ******
Too emotional
Too much

Do I drive men away?
Am I scaring them off?
Am I not choosing just the right thing to say,
Instead I say my truth.

It has cost me at job interviews,
I don't do office politics.
Has it cost me in love?
I am not available for love, but I fall.

Have I made that too obvious?
No *** without strings because I have to like him too,
So can he tell, I will probably fall?
I know my readers can.

'My readers' who know my deepest darkest secrets.
Who have seen every 'too' in my life.
No risk of you wanting me now,
Fortunately I can put that down to distance.

You had no idea that if you was here
We would be lovers, did you?
(There I go, sharing too much again?

Poem a day, number 14*

Produce something
One day missed of my
Poem-a-day
From work to event
Then home, shattered.

One day missed
Now here I am staring blankly
Pounding headache
Stiff muscles
No idea what to do.

If I get behind
It's easier to give up.
Today I need to produce two poems.
One day missed
And panic sets in.

No poems left
Just rants,
Ideas, things to say
But no poem
Tomorrow I have work again.

One day missed
And in the squeeze of a one day weekend
Used to get other things done
If I fall behind more
It might slip completely.

So I have to produce something,
Anything.  We will worry about quality tomorrow.
Just don't stagnate.
Stay in motion
Starting is harder than keeping going.

You're so quiet, withheld.
So distant from me.
Such is the nature
Of our relationship.

How then is it that I feel so much
From you, for you.
Is it just me filling that void
With my own desires?

The sweet talking ideal lover projected onto you?
Yes there is some of that.
But despite your distance
There's no mistaking your passion.

And you only withhold your emotions about me
(Or don't have them, I'm not sure).
In other things you're so open.
I love that about you, and I love who you are.

So yes you are distant
But oh so close and intimate.
You can't give yourself to me,
But I give all I can of myself to you.

Poem a day, day 19*

I don't think I have anything to say today.
Except "Sleep"
I want sleep.
I have to go to work soon
Sleeping now is not a good idea.

I don't think I have anything to say today.
I don't think I have anything to think.
Mind numb.
Mindlessly reading posts and playing games.
Just staying awake from one moment to the next.

When I stop, my mind shuts down.
Dull white noise
Inducing sleep.
But I must fight it.
Don't dance on that edge, so tempting to fall.

My hand stopped.
My mind stopped.
My eyes closed.
Still fight off sleep.
This must be the end of my poem.

And the tears flow.
It must be strong, Spider Solitaire couldn't hold them back.
The danger of an unfocussed mind,
Left to wander where it will.

It will always wander to you,
As where my heart leads, my mind will follow.
My heart aches for you.
The most wrong thing in my life was the most right.

Being with you was like coming home.
Not the horrible cliched version I always cringed at,
That felt like a small town, restrictive,
'There's no place like home' Dorothy concept.

You was my home,
Real, right, the place I belonged,
Safe... oh how wrong I was... safe.
So that's proof I suppose,
It was all in my head.

I always knew that, none of it was real.
It wasn't reality, no dealing with budgets,
Or weaknesses, disagreements, nothing real, just the fun.
Yet I really felt it, and I really feel it.

It was right, you was like coming home,
I was safe,
You stopped, everything, and I still can't hate you.
You are beautiful.
Good life my love x

After waiting so long to hear from you
You tell me you want to 'get together'.
I say yes, where, and when.
I always come running to you.

And when I'm with you, it's all I want.
In your arms nothing else matters.
As you touch my body I let go of wanting you to love me.
This moment is all there is.

As I feel your breath on my skin hot with desire,
I am happy.
As I feel you inside me and your body pressed against mine,
This moment is all I want.

Even when you accidentally lean on my hair, many times
I don't say anything.
You are with me, giving yourself to me.
I will grit my teeth and bear the pain with the ecstasy.

As you look at me you hold my gaze.
Not just a fleeting look like other lovers.
You look at me like I'm real, like I mean something.
This moment is right.

For a second, as you hold me after the ecstasy
I feel sad that you don't love me.
But I let that pass,
Right now is bliss and this is all I want.

Poem a day, day 7*

Stumbling around
Trying to find my way
In a sea of sound
And a foggy haze

In the blur of life
As it rushes by
My mind is rife
With thoughts of why

How, when, where
Quickly follow
And my mind I fear
Is too clogged to know

Clarity is required
I know this is so
And if it could be hired
That route I would go

Shine a light
And clear my haze
Set me right
Before my mind strays

A hundred thoughts at once
From a dozen different 'me's
And I can't hold onto one
I don't know where they lead

One at a time please
One voice, one idea
I beg upon my knees
I need one thought that's clear

Try to make it interesting
It'll need to hold my attention
Being clear but boring
Is not my intention

This might be the only moment we get.
Make this moment count
Hold nothing back.

Leave me with no regrets.
Nothing unfulfilled.
Give me all you have, here and now.

Because the here and now is all we have
And if you find that in this moment,
Right now, we are not together.

Give it to me, in prose, in text
Email and facebook, google plus.
But don't hold back.

Make this moment count.
And when the next moment comes,
Make this moment count.

Run to me my darling.
Ache for me, need me.
Run to me my sweet man
Let me be your desire.

Throw off the burdens of the way things are.
Forget about the 'shoulds' and 'mustn'ts'.
All that matters is you and I together,
Right here breathing each other.

Feeling you I know we are meant to be together,
You must feel it too.
When we are apart the doubts creep in,
Confusion begins.

With you there is clarity of pure emotion.
My needs and desires mingle with yours
And I know where we are.
Your presence clears my mind.

I will run to you my lover.
I will choose to believe you run to me.
Spill your desires into me as I spill mine into you
And we won't know which is which as they mix.

You never knew what being with you meant.
Those few weeks of reality,
Having spent my life shomehow out of sync.

I am the invisible girl.
Not quite here, not quite real.
It was like those old fashioned 3-d pictures,
When you put the glasses on the two lines become one.

Being with you felt like my life was real.
Universes aligned, the world sat right within it,
And I was the most 'me' I have ever been.

Even the first day we met,
I was awkward and shy.
But it was truly me awkward and shy,
Not some disjointed, disfunctional, semi-real
version of me.

Now... nothing.
Quiet, dead, nothing.
Nothing.

Poem a day, day 18*

The cat screams for freedom
"Let me out!  Let me out!"
That night he returns shaking,
Terrified "you weren't here when I came home"

Do we really want that freedom
Which we seem to yearn for?
Freedom isn't safe
What you know, isn't there anymore.

Take your freedom in small chunks
And make sure you can make your way back.
The very next day the cat screams
"Let me out!  Let me out!"

I wait,
Quietly wait for you.
Until you're ready to be with me,
When I can be with you.

And the silence in between is deafening.
Only hearing from you when I contact you.
No email to say 'how are you?'
Until it's close to time to get together.

Yet I still believe you care for me.
I know you don't love me,
I don't expect you to and you never claimed to.
It's not your fault how I feel about you.

I try not to be needy,
It makes me second guess everything I do.
I no longer react naturally to you.
It's sad because you do make me feel so at ease.

Why is it so hard to cry?
I need to cry.
I feel like crying,
But nothing happens.

Lying here curled up in my bed.
Thoughts run through my head
Distracting from my feelings while enhancing them.
Eventually a tear rolls down my nose.

One lonely sad tear.
Just like me.
A bit pathetic really.
Just like me.

I get the message
Silence
Loud and clear.

I did wonder why
You didn't just tell me outright.
Like I did in the fleeting moment
When I tried to breakup with you.

But I realised
You don't want to breakup.
You still want me available for ***.

It's all we ever promised each other.
It's me who changed
Not you.

I have come to this realisation before.
I seem a little less sad this time.
Perhaps I won't delude myself again.

But I know when you want me
I will come to you
(Just for ***).

And when you hold me
That is when I become weak
That is when I believe in you
In us...
In my feelings for you.

You haunt my mind,
How could you leave and stay here like that?
How DARE you leave and stay here?
Every memory is bitter sweet.

You always made me smile,
Still do.  And it makes me sad,
Missing you.
You haunt my mind, and my heart.

Every day on the bus to work
I pass the bike shop you was going to take me to.
We barely found time to be together,
You never took me anywhere for more than a quick drink.

You was never really going to take me to that shop,
Even though I know you intended to.
But everytime I see it I think of you and smile...
For a moment.  I will go there one day,
And be with you, in my heart, and mind.

I haven't let you go,
But you never said you was leaving.
You haven't left me yet, I just haven't heard from you.
You left me alone, with you.

I read your emails, I read your texts.
I see your smile, your eyes.
I feel your body.  The most real memories I have.
They are echoes,
I guess echoes fade.

But right now you haunt my mind, heart, and soul.

Where is my someone?

Someone to care for me.
Someone to hold me.
Someone to love me.
Someone to know me.

Someone...

Someone...

Who will love me,
Protect me,
Miss me.

Where is someone to reach out to me?
Someone to care that I reach back.

How can someone so in need of love
Be left so alone.
How can someone so capable of love
Live such a cold detached life.

Who will wipe my tears,
Hold me close,
Make love to me,
Keep me safe.

Who cares

I thought I wanted someone to hold me.
Turns out I wanted someone to hold me and tell me they love me.

I thought I wanted wild, unattached ***.
Turns out I wanted wild *** with him completely attached to me.

I thought I wanted a large house.
Turns out I wanted somewhere to belong.

I thought I knew what I wanted.
Turns out I wanted what I knew.

When my emotions get too strong
I lose my words.
So the feelings I really want to express
I don't have the words for.

I look at him and smile,
And fiddle with my fingers.
As my heart races,
The blood flows everywhere but my brain.

We don't have conversations about
Philosophy, politics, society.
I gasp and can barely breath
Wanting to hold him.

Wanting to be in his arms
Where words aren't needed,
Where emotions are at home
And so am I.

Arrrghhhh!!!

Sorry just had to get that out.
I have three partial poems,
What the heck am I supposed to do with three partial poems?!?!

Yes.

I know we weren't real, but I was real with you.
We had mere weeks of moments snatched,
Noone can love based on that.
It wasn't real life.
But I was real with you.

Too real...
You liked that I was so open with you.
One day I opened up,
You left, not a word, the end.
Maybe there's a reason people aren't that open.

I knew when I wrote it, it was a mistake,
But I had more faith in you.
I hoped for more, knowing I wouldn't get it,
But we could have gone on.

It was just the honest truth,
nothing was different after saying it than before.
Nothing but you,
Suddenly you're gone.

I have always been, and always will be
Real with you.
I miss you
x