There is a sense,
Of having to go with dignity,
Too strong to break,
Preparing for goodbyes.

There is a sense,
Of fighting for a cause,
Too weak to battle,
Preparing for goodbyes.

There is a sense,
Of losing track of time,
Too tired to check,
Preparing for goodbyes.

There is a sense,
Of time slipping away,
Too scared to go,
Preparing for goodbyes.

There is a sense,
Of relief at the end,
Too lost to cry,
Preparing for goodbyes.

Strong.
Vivacious.
That's what I'm going to be.


That's what I am.
I just needed to see it.

Make me yours,
Let your tongue trail swirling signatures over me,
Carve your initials into the bone of my hip,
Burn each kiss onto my skin,
Touch me; leave traces of your fingerprints,
Hold me close until our heartbeats synchronise,
Tell me you love me and only me,
I'm yours.

Hey you,
I didn't want anything special,
Just a night cuddled up,
On the sofa,
Big cups of tea and digestives
(Shotgun the chocolate ones),
No programme in particular,
Just talking together
Like we used to.

Leaning by the lampost
Eyes half closed
That sleepy, **** look,
Just to be close to you
In that dazed-fog-aura
I think you're lonely
You hug the lampost
You could be hugging me
Look at me with your eyes half closed
That sleepy, **** look
My laugh is stupid
Too loud and breaks that dazed-fog-aura
There are seconds when we could kiss
That pause, that pause
Where I catch all your smoke,
And cherish your smile.

I always told my friends to think of words as chocolate
When someone writes beautiful things
It's Galaxy, it's Cadbury's to me
You hold them on your tongue and you savour
You want more, it's sheer gluttony,
But people applaud you for that,
You don't get fat on words,
People won't judge you when you sneak downstairs late at night for a midnight snack of words.
You're still a size 12 when you've overdone it on the words.
And poetry? Well that's the best chocolate there is.

I read online about a coping technique:
When you're stressed, bite gently on your knuckles.

My knuckles are now so bruised and swollen it hurts to move my hand.

Classic unrequited love,
And I've fallen hard,
Waiting for a whisper of your interest,
Feeling hot and ashamed at my lack of self control
You drag me through mental thorns,
And I let you,
The scratches on my soul are pleasure-pain.
Shouldn't keep going back,
Do.
Every time.

When we met,
I was haunted, broken, bruised,
And you fixed me,
Filled the spaces with golden honey,
Healed me until I was strong,
But you did too good a job,
I'm too independent,
Thank you for healing my heart,
But you were my saviour, not my love.

The twisted serpents of darkness inside your mind

Blood clots the size of small tangerines

Shot through by a solar glow

Water in your veins instead of blood

The snap of bone like dry twigs in Autumn

The scar across your petal-soft face

Eyelid framed with gold, aquamarine, maroon

Still loving.

Kiss,
Your mouth like hot butter,
I bite down on the rich fullness of your lip,
Pull,
Hear the moan catch in your throat,
Clings to the walls of your oesophagus,
Because it gives you away,
Desire,
Oh mystery man,
Who finds his feelings so far from the sleeve,
So vulnerable with your shirt off,
For a sharp tongue,
Its a soft body,
I want to curl up,
In the hollow beneath your ribcage.

ecniS uoy tfel,
I tnaw ot nruter ot eht tsap,
Ot og kcab.

You talk of her long blonde hair,
Those gorgeous curls that you let run through your fingers,
You talk of her soft topaz eyes,
Those windows to the soul you let pierce your heart,
You talk of her long slim legs,
Wrapped around you, caging you in,
You talk of the shivers she sends down your spine,
The way her lipsticks the colour of red wine
The way she's mine, all mine

Except all the other guys in our year think that too.

I used to think the best thing was floating,
Letting your head fall back as you're drifting,
Waving hand-shapes through the tranquil sea.

But then I noticed that without swimming,
Without the times when you find the strength to kick your legs,
And life's a long distance struggle against an unyielding tide,
You would never ever know,
The contentment of floating.

And I noticed that without storms,
Without the times when the waves roar endlessly,
And life's a crashing ocean in the sandy bay of your mind,
You would never ever know,
The contentment of floating.

Then I noticed that without diving,
Without the times when you explore the ocean floor,
And life's an appreciation of the new and the scary,
You would never ever know,
The contentment of floating.

I used to think the best thing was floating,
But I noticed that the journey there,
Is just as good.

She appeared at the top of the staircase,
Light tangled in her auburn curls,
She gazed upon the glitter dance,
Where dresses spun in hazy whirls.

The delicate hand on the bannister,
As she descends from above,
Those lazy green eyes scanning,
The ballroom floor for her love.

He does not appear, she waits for hours,
Until the slow waltz does sound,
She tears his diamonds from her neck,
Those cut-glass dreams on the ground.

This is not a poem,
But an emotional outpouring
Delicate as the ribcage of a wren,
Shattering as the bullet through glass,
The deafening silence of acceptance of rejectance,
I grow weary of being hurt,
You were not worth the scars.

Have a good weekend
You said.
It's such a normal thing to say.

Who knew,
Who could have guessed
You'd be gone the very next day?

I didn't know you personally,
But I went home and cried,
It's such a crime for one so young,
To have been hit and to have died.

I hope you know they loved you,
And their hearts are filled with sorrow,
Tiny crystals on their eyelashes,
You won't be there tomorrow.

I shouldn't feel this way about you,
I'm with someone else,
And yet I saw you today,
It was a right hook of emotion,
To the side of my heart,
You must have seen how shocked I was,
How the rose hue burned beneath my cheeks,
And now I wait for your texts,
Rather than his.

Mutilated girl,
And they said they'd let him go,
No freedom for her.

*My first haiku, so not sure how I feel about it

There is a way to be whole again.
It starts with realising that you aren't the characters from your books,
Nor the popular personas you fabricate at night,
It starts with accepting that there's no one else you can be,
You are both the first and last you,
So automatically,
You are the best you there will ever be.
So for every cut and broken piece,
There is a way to be whole again.