TW: Self-harm
•••
I’ve never looked as good in diamonds
as I have in red. Blood:

a string of pearls around my wrist.
Crimson lace—garter caressing thigh.

Diamonds don’t shine in sorrow
the way steel does.

This is the first day
This is the Monday  
Of my love, my love, my love
Of my love, my love, my love

Signs that meant a little
And signs that meant a lot

Turn them into everything, everything I got

We chased the night
Chased him down
Made a ceremony
In a room in a town

Signs that meant a little
And signs that meant a lot

Turn them into everything, everything I got

Outside, the emergency services are calling in the morning light
And no story of love of heartbreak I can recite
I can turn around, another day
But that wouldn't feel right

This is the first day
This is the Monday  
Of my love, my love, my love
Of my love, my love, my love
Of my love, my love, my love
Of my love, my love, my love

I don’t want to be a princess.
I prefer to be a wall
or a shoulder
that some one can lean on
I don’t want to be spoiled
I want to
fight
Get dirt on my clothes
Clean them
search more
fail more
know more
see everything
Try everything
I want to share the road
With some one
Running not carried
I want to look behind
And see MY footprints.

I remember when we were kids,  
On new year there would be a cake,  
Dad had bought from the bakery,  
For the new year to celebrate.

It was round and really lovely,  
Fully covered with icing white,  
There were tiny edible pearls,  
And sugared flowers on the side.  

So new year’s morning for breakfast,  
We excitedly gathered near,  
The cake with its decoration
Wishing us a “Happy New Year”.

The dreamers still dream while their dreams are still there.
All bold and naive - few nightmares to interfere - with a dream that compels and compulses, persuades and convulses the veins of a dreamer to never slow down; to never slacken the pace.
Running after their dreams as if in a race.

The dreamers still dream while their dreams are still there.
All young and naive and bold enough to dare
to chase after their dreams at a breakneck pace
through insult and injury and shame and disgrace.

The dream shines on like a finish line in the mind of a dreamer.
Transforming the intangible into solid, graspable things.
Transforming fear and doubt into fuel to propel themselves towards achieving something thought impossible by all the non-dreamers, the non-believers, the bad teachers and ex-dreamers who've crossed their fingers in hope that the dreamer will fail.

Because why should they succeed when they've already bailed?
They gave up on that dream. It's impossible, you see.
That ship has sailed.

But the dreamer knows better.

Through sheer persistence and force of will,
the dreamer dreams still,
and finds a way to **** the naysayers' doubts and come out on top.
Staying true to themselves and belief in that grand thought:
that they can make their dreams a reality.

And when they do, the doubters will drop their jaws,
stand up and applause,
shed tears at the fact that their long abandoned dreams are now staring back at them,
intact.

And they'll realize that what they saw before as foolishness and naivete,
was really just the courage they lacked.

I read amateur poetry,
while drinking cheap port
and listening to Chopin
(accidentally; Youtube algorithm took a strange turn,)
but still, I fancy myself classy.

Some schlub in sweatpants on a Friday night, drinking alone,
critiquing a long dead artform with wild scrutiny,
thinking I know better just because I've been here a thousand times before.

Just know, if I say anything that offends you,
that this is where I'm coming from.
And I hope that will incentivize you to let it go ignored.

We heard you got out
We heard you got free
In your overall jeans
So suddenly

Above the wall that stood so high
And the barbed wire that cried and cried

Like a kite, like a plane
That feeling, they can't take away

We heard you got out
We heard you got free
In your overall jeans
So suddenly