You’re still a man
Not just a man, but it’s what you are
There’s nothing to be done
I remember being 18, in ways which are often unfond
I recall a fierce and sincere conviction,
One of truth and tenderness
And pathetic devotion,
Not because the man in front of me was truthful, nor tender
Not because he made me feel alive in any way that was earnest
Certainly not because it was love
I was 18
I was only a girl. I am only a girl

I made promises in the mirror
Promises of contentedness. Promises of a time when I’d forget how to yearn
I understand, intimately, the fragility of my own words
I repent in the way that I often forget
That everything that makes me who I am, exists in everybody that I love
Their guarantees are delicate. Their words, unsafe
Over and over again, I break my own heart

Would you punish me for knowing that I adore you?
I do. Adore you, I mean
It’s in everything you say that I am certain you could never be so soulless
Now, and only now, I feel alive in a way which doesn’t feel dishonest
Never ignited by a cruelty which I once confounded with intensity
But by a vulnerability which I now know exists  

There’s nothing about you that I resent
I wonder at times if there’s anything about you that I deserve
I feel the heaviness in your heart, and I forget that
you’re still a man
That’s what you are
Still, I look at you and you remind me of every conviction for which I ache
Every conviction I thought was decayed with delusion
The truth in your eyes, the tenderness in your laugh
It’s in every part of you that you awaken memories of a gentle love that I never had

I cast a guiltless jinx
Because I hate obnoxious men
Now every time you blink
I hope you feel satan!

I light a blameless candle
(Your God can’t hear you now)
and a sinister doctrine
tumbles from my mouth

I hope, sincerely, you adore
your brand new Christian girl
I mean it. She’s so sweet,
She picks flowers and has curls

But every time that you inhale
Each time you close your eyes
Black ink will glide, unkind
As I pray on your demise

I sang this in the graveyard
And woke a garden snake
Could you resist her venom?
Do you resent my ache?

My February Boy
I saw you on your 18th birthday
Do you remember?
I was on my way to go dancing and you were dressed like a man
A real one, with big hands and long legs and one button left undone

You lit a cigarette and asked me if I wanted a drag
I thanked you and we exchanged happy birthdays
I found myself wishing I’d seen you again that night, stilettos on the cobblestone
Arms linked with my September Girl
“How was his birthday?” I wondered.
“Why do I care?”

Because I hate obnoxious men
Still, I hate them stoic and silent and evil
With dark hair and sinister eyes
Soulless and never gentle
I’ll wait for you forever, my February Boy
Because I don’t want anybody else

Well, you’re a man now and you have been for some time
I’m about to turn 21 and so are you
I’ve waited every birthday since my 18th to find you again at the end of the night
To walk you home and to ignore it when you spit on my name
To kiss you again at a century old railroad station, at the top of the staircase
To watch you run alongside the departing train

You told me I saved the city
You told me of how you yearn for the Australian suburbs
while you grew into the man you were back then in the Northern rain

“You see that? Over there? That’s the Pacific. That’s my home”.

I shouldn’t be afraid of the sun
Still, i’m delighted when it’s so cold I can see my own breath
On Tuesday it was so windy it bit my cheeks
I smiled so big, then looked over my shoulder
But I belong in the snow

I need new material
But everything is so very boring to me
I am NOT unhinged
I just want one cinematic kiss
My head in the hands of a cinematic person

I’m so very sad in such a gorgeous way
I’m so sad that I’ll take a shower and put on my hot girl makeup
I’ll pout and scowl and look deliciously sulky
I’m so hot
I’m so cool
Is this a boring poem?
It was written by a boring person

my old bedroom window
past the trees, where i laid on dead grass and had my first kiss
we'd sit on my desk with a pillow from my bed
my makeup done, i'd smoke a cigarette

i'd ride my bike on cobblestone
when we'd take the bus, and he'd walk me home
i'd see my own reflection as i ride by a shop window
its late at night

still 17, sweet beauty queen
if i recall, i was just as mean
i'd wear fishnet tights,
give him a kiss on the cheek,
end scene.

now i'm only half a person
now i'm only half alive
now if i can bear to adore myself, i'm a fool for staying inside
if it doesn't get cold in november
if a sunny day breaks my heart
i could go back to that party?
how things were
how things are

i stare at the skyline
i stare at my hands
i stare at a city i don't understand
a place i can't trust, but its familiar too?
a place that i hate, because it belongs to you

i ride my bike on a soulless road
get homesick for places i'd never call home
i see the same reflection as i ride by
the same sad girl with the same sad eyes

I miss being 18
Maybe I miss the muted skyline I could see from my bedroom window, past the trees, past the field where I laid down on dead grass and had my first kiss

I miss riding my bike on cobblestone
I’d hold on to the handle bars as my wheels skipped over the cracks
and come home with bruises and a sore back and a drenched scalp
Still, I’d keep my balance
I’d look to my right and see a pretty girl in the reflection
With long blonde hair and an arched back

I used to breathe fire in November
I used to bring a bottle of rosé to a rich girl's house party
I'd kiss your "friend" on the cheek, and linger
and in the morning, I'd lie with/to a man I tried so hard to love because I knew he adored me
But God
I adored me

Now I'm only a half of a person
I look out of my new bedroom window, and see a city I still don't understand
I see a soulless road named after a place I couldn't trust, a place that belonged to you
Oh no, a sunny day has broken my heart…

Could I go back to that party?
The kind where I’d arrive and know where to stand
You know, where I’d fill a red cup with something domestic
and look edible
Not the kind where the walls are foreign, and so is my accent

Hmmm…
If I can't be distracted by a silhouette in club ivy
If I can't take an empty ferry back to Manly beach, and watch the sun rise over Bennelong Point
When the city extra sign runs out of power, and I unlearn how to live
When all I know how to be
is addicted to my memories
Oh man
Now I really hate you

summer's in another boy's eyes in Byron Bay
i can't tell what's then, and what's today

if i went back home, it’d mean nothing at all
i could say it’s the place, but i know that it’s not a skyline that breaks my beating heart
is this who i've been? or who i've become?

i’ll lie here on the grass til i turn cold
your laugh’s so sweet!
it (almost) saved my soul
but i still hear a voice in each cloud in the sky
"i'm alive, i'm alive, i'm alive"

if i left this town, nothing would change
another city gets dark, i’ll still be awake
if you called out my name,
would it keep me sane
if nothings the same?