Who is this man dressed in a box who comes to me at night to unwrap and unravel the trappings of his day?
His manner is pleasant. He is welcomed here.
But why does he come this distance to offer me notification of such things?

Things like the moon and stars that are shining. I can see the stars. I know they shine. They are beautiful and I share his love for them.
He will ask me why they shine on us both when we traverse such distant paths. I answer that I do not know, we each have our path. His is by the sea and mine the fire.

Sometimes he offers to help me rebuild this fire of mine. Or at least to praise me for continuing to stoke it's flames. For the warmth it creates. With my calm. My logic.

Then he checks on the moon and the stars and asks me if they moved. But our paths remain.

Other days he will share his tales of the sea. Show me his sketches of birds made of octopus ink. How the Dolphins played. The words he passed to the sirens. And the things he would do if I were his siren!! "My fire would burn if you did that!!" We laugh. He asks if the stars moved. I wish to answer... Alas I cannot control the stars. He jokes once more about the sirens and passes out to sea...To see.

All at sea.

His deep, calm sea.

Sometimes he just waits.

He is quiet, but the conversation and questions hang all around him like stars. I wish to ask, but know I have no answers. I maintain my fire. So he waits.

Until

'You are... Special... Little star
Your fire has shone on me and lit my core in ways you can never know. Yet I fear that this fire is not for me. I fear that without my own fire ...'

He turns and walks away...

'It's hard to build a fire at sea. When you sleep, I can't hear you breathing...
Because you aren't there.

Do you think tomorrow the stars will move?'

I wish upon a star that I had an answer.

Clinging ...onto...your...ledge
Gripping ... tight
The pain... Chasing through my fingers
As I try to hold on to what little of you I still grasp
The tightness... In my arms
As I try to be strong

The struggle - I need to be stronger, I need to get a grip, I need to pull myself up to your level, be a man, be stronger, forget the pain, get this man up, this man up, man up, man up, MAN UP!!! Are you a man or mouse?!?!
Hold tight. Fight. Look into the light
Of your eyes

Then let go...
...And fall
       ....Floating ....through the air...
Watching you drift ... away into the distance
And the vacuum ...     created by my fall ...
         ...Thins my oxygen
                   ...Dulls my pain and fear...
   ...And I look around me
And notice the beauty and freedom that I had forgotten ...
While I was clinging on ... to you
... Stretching out over miles ... I see endless possibilities ...
But one possibility strikes me most of all
I will crash
I will break
I will pull myself to pieces
I'm not strong enough to survive this fall!!

Then I notice
All the other people falling
Some faster... Some slower... Some further away... Some closer to the crash
Way, way above me,
in the distance,
are 3 small people,
fluttering and playing,
enjoying the freedom in the air,
relishing the experience of the fall.
Not worrying about the crash.
Just enjoying the view.

And I watch them play happily,
unaware and unaffected by the fall,
And all I'm thinking of for now is them,
As I continue my journey toward whatever may be...

I want to catch a butterfly.
A pretty little butterfly,
Delicate, Beautiful, curving, intense, vibrant.

But not trapped in a net.
She chooses my rough hand,
Rather than a rich flower to provide for her.
Not a conservative or vain butterfly.
Not one that flutters around you,
But has an aversion to touch.

A butterfly that longs to be admired,
In all her beauty,
Only by me.
To land on MY hand,
Let ME stroke her wings,
With rough, sullying fingers.
Beckoning me,
With her soft fluttering,
And as I stroke,
Opening willingly to my touch.

Just a little at first,
Sensitive and nervous,
But as I respond with care
To her beckoning colours,
She opens wide,
So I can caress her delicate, vulnerable wings,
And play.
Until her colours stain my hand,
And she is tired,
And we rest together.

My ***** little butterfly.

I'm writing a poem
This is it
This is me writing a poem
About writing this poem
I'm very aware right now that I am writing this poem
I just tap the buttons
B-U-T-T-O-N-S
I did it again
But this time with capitals and hyphens
When I write my poem I think
This is really silly
It's like being a kid
And having one of those stupid conversations that never ends
Like the ones where you say "I know you are, but what am I?"
It's like walking between two mirrors
Infinitely repeating
Image
Faded image
More faded image
Even more faded image
Even more fadeder image
This is really silly
It's like being a kid
And having one of those stupid conversations that never ends
Like the ones where you say "I know you are, but what am I?"
It's like walking between two mirrors
Infinitely repeating
Image
Faded image
More faded image
Even more faded image
Even more fadeder image
This is really silly
It's like being a kid
And having one of those stupid conversations that never ends
Like the ones where you say "I know you are, but what am I?"
It's like walking between two mirrors
Can you trap a witch between two mirrors?
Ive just remembered I'm writing a poem
What am I writing?
I'll read it
(Returns to start)
Oh, that was interesting
I've written a poem
Next time
I'll make it rhyme

Back to work

I'm here
But I'm not here
I'm half lost in limbo
Somewhere between now and the past and the future
But off to the left a bit
And slightly south
Behind that bush
Wearing a banana-man costume

Why am I there?
Well, why be anywhere in particular?
Especially now
With no kids in
Boredom
And time
To dream
But nothing to do
Except tap tap tap on my phone

Trying to get back into it
Motivated
Energised
With no stimulus
So my mind flit flit flits
Here and there
Hither and thither
A failed date.
Jumping in a bush at college,
Drunk
How long will I work here?
Tony dressed as a zombie cow
Did that kid trace that or paint it free hand?
What will I teach them?
When's Dave getting here? It's been more than 10 mins
The hum of the computer
Girls, girls, girls... ***
Cuddles and company
Love?

How long?

I hope that tomorrow I can concentrate better than this.

The catalyst

Then it begins like drums building

Getting closer to you

The catalyst is a lack of control

It is a question I can't answer

And conflict I can't resolve

And in my head the drums build

The drums are repeating the same problem

A million times

In a million ways

The same rhythm repeats and repeats because I don't know the next line

I don't know how to change the beat

I'm trying so hard to solve the problem

That I'm tired from beating that drum

I'm tired, I ache, I need to go to sleep

But I'm trying to solve the problem

It won't stop until it's solved!

Or...

Until someone says...

It's ok Matt, it doesn't matter, we still care about you. Let someone else change the rhythm for you.



And then I'm fine



And I can sleep



and I can bang

whatever  

rhythms

I feel like banging



I'm at peace again



And all I want is to hold them and let it all go

Don't judge

Don't begrudge

Help them take the first step



For the first time ever I had to sign on.



So I got to the Citizens Advice Bureau early.

It's still closed,

And people are sat on the step outside.

There's a middle aged bloke with a walking stick.

There's a foreign guy with his kid.

There's a guy who looks rough as **** who I'd probably cross the street from on a night out.

All sat on the step.

We're a single mum away from the perfect stereotype,

But I'm in the mix.



I'm not judging!

I understand the issues these people go through.

The people on the step.

I put my time and energy into trying to help-

I hate people who judge,

But I'm not one of them.



A pretty girl walks past dressed in a business suit.

She's cute.

Is she judging me for being on the step?

Don't judge me!

I'm one of you!

I work!

I'm not one of them!

I'm not normally on the step!



I recoil into myself at these thoughts.

I glance around apologetically at these people as if they heard me.

I look at the faces,

They seem to blank me.

I feel like they know,

Like they're looking at me thinking -

"Yeah, you don't judge do you?"

"This is life on the step.

We don't want to be here either,

We don't want a do-gooder being a hero,

We want to do it for ourselves,

But here we are,

On the step,

And you're one of us."



"Welcome to the step!"

In a moment

I'm calm
I'm confused
I'm lost
I'm removed
I'm thoughtful
I'm anticipating
I'm excited
I'm fearful
I'm scared
I'm aware
I'm waiting
I'm hoping
I'm doubting
I'm questioning
I'm dwelling
I'm twisting
I'm challenging
I'm happy
I'm unhappy
I'm happy
I should be happy
I'm waiting to be happy
I'm happy with some things
I'm focused on the wrong things
I'm questioning why
I'm thinking I don't know how to end that poem. It's hard to think about what you're thinking when you're thinking about thinking about it.

The pointless emptiness of everything.
I’m stood here in this field trying to feel,
Trying to remember what it felt like to feel.
Trying to feel my way around this field and follow my feet
Follow my feet through the field to feel again
I feel the wind blow and I follow
I feel the dog pull and I follow
Stumble and follow
Follow my feet
I look to the skies for direction
This looks like a face... of a dog... if you squint and look at it funny
That looks like a hand pointing ... but it’s pointing to nothing, nowhere, no one.
There’s nobody there
There nowhere to go except where I’ve already been
Spent half a life looking and found nothing
Nothing to tell me I’m on the right track
Nothing to tell me that all of it - or any of it - had a purpose
I don’t know what I’m meant to do
Where I’m meant to be
I feel/see/hear things and wonder if it’s a calling
But there’s nothing there
Nothing that makes any sense.
So I just go home.
Cold.
And lost.