The taste of a ghost on my tongue
a memory in my throat
you name your taste your smell
filling my chest, stopping my heart
it's as if you never left
and this feeling
ice in my veins, fire licking
my insides
overwhelming in its newness and familiarity
I know you
I know you

Autumn strips
the branches of their wilting leaves
much like I shed
my insecurities at twilight.
Rebirth is but a season away,
growth is inevitable.
Appreciate your blossom
as you take in
your renewed form,
born again
in the sunlight of a new day.

She is a whirlwind of contradictions
hates her flesh, relishes the freedom of her body naked.
She despises being watched, but performs for an audience
when the chance arises.
Her body thrums with carnal need, but shies away from intimacy
scared to be seen.
She encourages exploration, but is afraid to leave creature comforts
for fear of the unknown.
She's emptied herself to fill others up and fears her brimming emotions might overflow
Naive and wise beyond her years, old before her time
walking through life with childish wonderment and aged bones.
She is messy and clumsy and Not All That Good
And he sees her perfection.

lavender soothes and nourishes all in reach
bluebells dance on the breeze with impish levity
honeysuckle intoxicates in a heady familiarity of childhood

springtime appears and the space between my ribs is cavernous
adventurous. life awaits.

soundtracking my summer, soft and wistful
a teen nostalgia time capsule
of angst and wide-eyed innocence
simplicity wrapped in pastel softness
sugar mice, 99s, Boys Like Girls - how fitting
as thunder rolls in to clear the skies
for sunny promises and late night kisses
undiluted joy with barely mixed ***
sweet on my lips and salt at the waistline
warming our skin through windows
as gulls pepper the soundwaves
how magnificent the glory days are
reborn, revisited, revitalised
with today's knowledge
and back then's hope
danced and tiptoed and sprinted through
to songs of child hearts and dreamer tongues

weary and threadbare
my soul is mostly empty
words can't reach
louder than a whisper
the pressure on my chest
cracks my ribcage open
and still the air
struggles to escape
lifeless eyes blink away
tears of defeat
frustration would take
too much
awareness lurks
at the back of my head
of passion and drive
long extinguished
soft sighs glance
at embers, echoes
that life might
breathe in this body
once more

my heart clenches thinking
back on friendships and fun and laughter
i poured my heart and soul into
for nought.

desperate to give my weary head
space to look on those decaying connections
fondly, not with bitterness
or aching.

the grief of friends loved and lost
to time, distance and mismatched expectations
is a quiet trauma that imprints on
my soul.

yet I will repeat my mistakes again
ready to welcome new friends into my heart
and hope desperately it won't end
in pain.

Why do you write like you're running out of time?
Lin-Manuel's all too apt question feels much too personal
Running, chasing down thoughts and feelings and explanations
Necessary to understand, theorise, analyse, criticise. My
patience wears thin as I realise I'm
running from myself as I
barrel towards truths.

Grappling with inspection, learning more about perception, intention
And navigating this new world, no
it's the old world with renewed vision
Open eyes wide at the injustice, in-fighting, inability to step aside as privilege clouds judgement.
The caucasity.

It feels wrong to wear the badge of ally,
Share lessons learned or ring out the battlecry
for justice
reparations
and necessary losses because
Needs Must
when I'm still blinded by the white light radiating from my own complexion in the unsettled dust.

It's amazing I
still manage to make it all about me when I
know it's about others whose voices were suppressed
And really I
know that's not really true
It's just that I
never second guessed
what I was told by
those in power. I stayed willingly complacent.
Privilege, reckoning, accepting, harms done,
next steps, affirmative message, false promises from my tongue
until they have real action I can take but
Again this narrative still centres on myself and
that needs to change.

The focus needs to change.
The emphasis needs to change.
Or the injustice with remain the same.
And too many people are running out of time.

I think in feeling too much, I forgot what it means to feel at all

desperate to be seen, read, heard

validation is cloyingly sweet and unbearable on the soul when withheld

but on and on I’ll bellow in the spotlight

desperation pouring from every pore

sweat breaking on my brow from the forced performance

dance monkey dance

and at least if they laugh i’ll know that they noticed

what a pitiful thing to find in the pit of your soul

that need

to be seen

Not so easy with thoughts
pelting towards you so
fast you can barely make
them out before they join
the shouting masses at the
back of my head

Drowning them out with
sticcato breath and out of
time heart beat

Echoing in my ears, caught
in my throat, coagulating
in my veins

An unpleasant mix for a
tasteless treat that
catches in the oven, burnt
out dried up hollowed out

No such thing as slow
here. Only ever faster
ever closer ever harder
Never stop.

sunday morning newspaper
aeroplanes, words smudge under tear
stains and my lip cracks
under the pressure of my bite
acts on instinct
as the words soak, inked
time imemorial
illuminated under the hot sun beams
through the window little rainbows dance
on the bed linen same old
pretty looking heart healing soft feeling
bold moves and boulders
hurtle down the mountain side but with you
by my side it seemed impossible
unstoppable we were until
you stopped short of expectations
waiting patiently at the train station
for crumbling goodbyes and never agains and whys
no closure, forgotten, moved on, stepped over
and left to pick up the pieces of a promise
etched in my chest, deceit is
harder to swallow dressed up in a sweetie
wrapper but it's better swallowed whole than
watching life slip away, folded
up on the kitchen table with the sunday morning
newspaper.

The melancholy is thick on my tongue
heavy on my shoulders
tight around my chest
pulling me down and down
under the bathwater as I stew,
marinate,
simmer.

The sad is not loud or exultant
it is not rage-fueled or violent
but a soft, lowly whisper
which crashes against me
waves of velvet and suffocating
emptiness tangled in my
ventricles, clenching and
draining and dimming.

Sit with it, they tell you
honour those feelings that steal your breath
or gut you with painful precision
sit and accept and move on
but how can I move forward when
time has lost meaning and
life has no direction and
purpose trickles down the drain
with the last of the bubbles.

She shines bright like a star desperate to be seen among the inky night sky
In a universe stretching galaxies, with milky ways of endless beauty and terror and brightness and wonder.

She carries on flickering in the hope that those who spot her are guided to better things by her light.
She burns hot, forever aflame and highlighting the vast darkness that can never be kept at bay.
There cannot exist one without its opposing force and no matter how hard she tries, the pitch black will prevail.

She rails against the odds, emitting radiant hues in white and red and green and blue
Painting the universe with a haze that is distinctly hers, tirelessly working to brighten, lighten, to thrive.
Survive.

But what happens when stars burn too bright having spent that light being seen
admired
cursed
wished upon
spent
and there's none left to fuel the spark?

What happens to little stars alone in the sprawling universe, unseen and unmourned when they burn out?

They fall.

I am an empty well with nothing left to give but the frayed, overused rope and a bucket full of holes.
No water left to quench your thirst but my tears my wet your cheek, cool your skin, soak you to the bone. I am a forced metaphor.
Recycled. Chipped away at the corners to fit my new mold. I am empty. I have nothing left to give.

The tale of Persephone dances on my skin
Birdsong felt hell-deep in my soul
White dress stained red, pomegranate
carcass left to be reclaimed by the soil.
Seeds and sticky juices long forgotten,
as seasons turn and reunion means retreating
but the hallowed halls held on weary shoulders
call and her heart will always answer.
Slipping a hand in that of the one she gives it all up for
to gain everything with.
Tempestuous eyes, weathered brow, slight smile
gleaming in the darkened corridors as she claims her throne

Home.

new life in a shell
brittle and cold
weight lifted, shoulders
drop and lungs sigh.

feline unfurling in the
sun warm exploring
muscle aches, joints
oiled and creating happy shapes.

room to move and enjoy
airy and open
skin pulled over, sinew
ready to settle and rest.

wiggling toes and brows
at peace and soft
teeth sink, lips
ready and patiently waiting.

memories dance atop
a body remembering
sunny days, past
delights will be born again.

I have mistreated my body for far too long
And the cracks begin to show.
Furious, red, screaming against the alabaster
Why have you done this to us?
What gave you the right to?

Forcing food down our gullet
Sedentary. Sluggish.
Purge, regret, binge, repeat.
Pushing down feelings, blocking out thoughts.
The mouth and throat replacing honest conversation with fast food for faster results. Short lasting but instant gratification won out.

And now the results are in.
Battered, abused, inside and out.
The brain's poison finally externalised but not exorcised, merely adding to the litany of reasons Why.

The body is finite but never quite finished. Unfurling.
Forced to withstand the gluttony and shame, embodied, entrenched.
Bone deep hatred for what lives inside, oozing outward.
Desperate for it all to end. Knowing it never will. Until it does.

Is that all this life is now? Carrying the shame of bad deeds past forevermore, back bent and spirit breaking whenever the lights are on and clothes are off.
Constant reparations for sins that cannot be washed away.
Skin tarred by a brush that will never cover up the unjust punishment inflicted on this corpse.

I want to bask in the glory of your light and drown myself with your dark. Cool contradictions burn bright inside me.

In your arms I am Brigit, crafting a searing flame. Or Hestia, perhaps, as our hearth and home become one and the same.

Bathing in the warm winter sunlight I think of us intertwined, scintillating. It is not just a little spark. It is a roaring fire.

A flicker, a glimmer in the endless dark. Keep a candle burning, my love, to guide me always home.

She deserved it.
Everyone agrees with me.
The signals mixing with the cocktails
and I don't even know what time it is.

She had it coming.
Her parents told her so.
I was acting like any guy would. Should.
Skin taunting. Hips hypnotising me with
That rhythmic pulsing
Suggesting
Requesting.

She wanted it.
How was I supposed to know
when she bit her
lip that way, flirted that
way, smiled that
way, dressed
that
way
asked
for
it.

She did it to herself.
It's not my fault.
That's the way things are, right?

i dream of a brave girl, bold and becoming
she steps with purpose and holds her head high
shoulders back, face determined but soft

i dream she will save me from the fear
slaying demons and battling foes
so great they paralyse mere mortals

but she will never come
because she is a version of me too out of reach
and instead i must find comfort in my own reflection

sick of stumbling on words that don't fit
trying to sound pretty but just tasting ash on my tongue
the dirt is just dirt, not a bed for sprouting new leaves
no cultivation will help me blossom
the meagre harvest of years gone by is as good as it gets
perhaps it's time to hang up the emotional shears
it's too painful to keep trying and not make it
let me fall asleep on the moss and become part of the scenery

life has become a series of snapshots in soft focus.
my heart constricts and all i can do is whisper into the empty room.
desperate to turn the ugly into art - make it beautiful.
then the hurt is worthwhile. the alternative is just too sad.

How can people find beauty in stretch marks
born from unnecessary overindulgence and a lack of restraint?
The professor drawing
attention to the issues, inconsistencies,
failures of the ongoing test of self-control
Cracks in the pavement
where rotten weeds refuse to stay hidden
the ideal conditions for ugliness to thrive and thwart
the constructed beautiful facade
There is nothing pretty about self-sabotage
There is nothing redeemable in such a loss of control
The boundaries of my body
break
Under too much pressure
Too much
Food.

The sky turns purple grey on the last aft of the decade and I can't help but lean into the flirtatious nature of newness and clean slate (even if only until the sun rises anew)

stay
awhile on my heart
let yourself be
known as you are
not as they say
you must be
built anew
in your own reflection
as you are
safe in here
I promise

I spend my days weaving threads between our fingers and praying you never sever the link. Blood drips on the sheets, a rosy reminder of the mutilation love leaves behind. Hallowed whispers float on the breeze, prayers that would but scream if only they could speak. Knotted and infinite, almost. Only cool steel can stop us. Don't let go.

But it's the pain in my chest, the eternal ache that threatens to pull me under with its suffocating weight, that I can't shake. It's haunting in its omnipresence. Through laughter, joy, excitement and the darkness. The dread. The emptiness. It would be a numbness but for the crushing pain that paralyses my tongue and deprives my screams their ******, traumatic entrance to the world as they rip from my throat. It's a good thing too, that forcible, formidable silence. I don't think I would know how to stop screaming if I let one pass my lips. Such a damning fate it is, to feel so wholly. Visceral and excruciating. Endless and final. To feel nothing at all, though, would not save me from the worst of it. The feeling I flee from, the one that pushes me to chase down any other emotion and clasp it tight in my heart, regardless of hurt. Anything is better than loneliness.

No room for closed minds
in a sea of writhing bodies
Plenty for the lonely
as I sit surrounded by noise
Empty but for the heaviness
inside every part of me.

Be good, be gracious, be willing
don't ruin this for them
Be happy, be into it, be excited
don't let your selfishness override.

Bending and bending
over and out of shape
Twisting this way and that
to ensure your happiness
That you get your fill
of small, beautiful, better.

But now as I shatter
all I feel is guilty
Questions dizzying
and stomach turns.

Why am I not enough?

It sits heavy on my heart
Stirs up my stomach
Twists me into knots
And I hate it.

Putrifaction in my veins
Rotting away my soul
Tearing my confidence to shreds
Digging deeper, desperate to taint.

Shiny. New. Small. Wanted.
Everything I'm not.
Dependable doesn't beckon bedfellows
When the unknown waltzes by in satin and ***.

Monstrous. Ever-present. Bellowing.
Inescapable are the doubts and fears
The panging need to be seen and held
As I was way back when.

I burn for you
in the blackest midnight pitch.
Though you can't see
the flush in my cheeks.
Heart racing, breath quickens
and my heat undeniable.
I want this, want us
before ashy daylight steals
you away.

Soft
Tingles ripple slowly along my spine
Hot
Breath wraps around my neck
Curious
Fingers trail down my sternum
Burning
Need coarses through my veins
Gentle
Touches between my thighs
Wet
Kisses planted across my chest
Shared
Delights whispered in my ear
Needy
Tongue explores my mouth
Strong
Circles drawn on my sensitive flesh
Silent
Stars explode behind my eyelids
Tight
Arms hold my limp body

He loves me
He wants her
I'll bend over backwards
Turn my stomach inside out
Sit home and pick myself apart
The ugly outside and in
Wishing I was more, less, better, not
Knowing all the while it's not me
But his too big heart and too much lust
Desperate to connect
And I know that desperation well
I had a him and a her and a them
He let me connect with
Encouraged, even
So the guilt wraps around me
Vice-like and unrelenting
Because I owe him this freedom
Without my hesitation and fear
I'll bite my tongue
Grin with blood soaked teeth
And let him roam awhile
Praying he'll return without resentment
In his belly
As he takes in his fill of her.

Words tumble like broken glass from my mouth
Shards cutting my tongue and crunching between teeth
Disjointed.

A demon claws at my chest, another stealing my breath
And I wish I would slip away but I'm all too aware
Hurting.

What will it take to quiet the screams
Ringing in my ears, catching in my throat
Silently.

Trail pretty words across my skin
Promise me nothing and give me the world's ripe fruit
As I quench my thirst with your juices.
Etch stars behind mine eyelids
And capture my breath in your whisper
As you weave fantasy in my tapestry golden hues of wonder.
Unlocking mysteries with your lips.
Wrapping your hair in my hands.
We become as one.
Your hand on my throat. My waist. My thigh. My cheek. Me.


The new day brings adventure
And we young hearts will never wake the same
As we do tonight.

Witching hour
Temptation at its peak
Traveling south
Heat beckons
Soft and ready
Pulling you in
And under
After midnight
Up above
As below
Explorers delve
In inky midnight
Overloaded
Flesh meets flesh
Souls ignite
Chanting tongues
Entwined

Hot flames lick up my belly and ribs
Digits dance along my thighs
Curl inward
Gasp.
Lust metallic on my tongue
Desperation seeping
A white knuckle ride
Buck.
Wound tight and buttons press
Unlocking ancient truths
Old as time, new as dawn
Tense.
Chasing that wave as it swells
From the feet and up through
Every nerve ending
Breaks.
Heat radiates and sweat pools
Evidence of the relief
As the fire reignites
Again.

Hello, my name is etiquette and I would like to see from you behaviour we expect

Hello, my name is self respect and I would like to share with you a revolution'ry idea

Hello, my name is mutual trust
Hello, my name is social norms
Hello, my name is flirting girls
Hello, my name is handsome boys
Hello, my name is open relationship
Hello, my name is hoping for the best
Hello, my name is less than ideal
Hello, my name is pretty, threatening
Hello, my name is married but still prettier. Smarter. Funnier. Sexier. Gamer. Relatable. Attractable.

This **** will change your life
This **** will change your life

HELLO I'M CHRONIC MISTRUST WOULD YOU LIKE TO RUIN YOUR LIFE AND MINE IN AN ENDLESS CLASH OF HYPOCRISY AND SELF CONSCIOUSNESS THAT WILL MAKE US BOTH MISERABLE AND INEVITABLY PUSH YOU AWAY?

Overthinking.
Reading into it too much.
Seeing things that aren't there.
Replaying interactions for intimate dissection.
Praying that wasn't the wrong thing to say.
Wishing the words would stop.
Hoping the silence will be filled by someone else.
Desperate for anything other than this.

Take a pretty word and spin a lengthy verse
A thesaurus for breakfast and linguist for lunch
By dinner you'll be satiated and spitting lyrically of hunger and fullness

Drowned by your breath on my neck.
Soaked in your intention.
Lapping up every whisper of promise.

He makes me see stars and paints galaxies on my skin.

Why is it that I can fill my mouth with clunky words, ugly words, but I can never pinpoint the pretty words that roll off my tongue and make pretty sounds?

I talk and am told I'm too much. I fold in on myself behind closed doors and berate my need for attention, unbridled desperation. Yet tomorrow more words will spill and spoil and even still I'll wish they were drowning me.

I want to choke on my verbiage. Sew my mouth shut with steely reminders that my teeth and tongue and lips will get me nothing but lonely and a stomach ache.

Make it stop. I can't take pliers to my molars while my tongue wags. Make me stop. I don't want to be loud but I am. Make the embarrassment stop. Shred my tongue into ribbons and make it end. Make the words stop.

Paint you words on my lips
Etch your heart on my flesh
Brand my soul to yours
Together we'll fly higher

Sublime

Smile
Peck
Soft
Pinch
Hard
Grab
Smirk
Squirm
Gasp
Lick
Bite
Harde­r
More
Repeat
Lips
Teeth
Hands
Tongue
Smooth
Slick
Ready
Now
Sigh­
Perfection
Home

Childish words desperate for sophistication in a mother's heels and pearls
Searching for authentic but coming up years too short.

A bitter pill to swallow, incompetence.
Not for lack of pain or power, but a search in vain.

Vanity is right. To want soft words that echo in others hearts is indulgent
Unnecessary. Unattainable.

But still I write as a toddler outside the lines, with no direction or skill, desperately searching for a prettier picture to emerge from the mess.

Stick figures pierce my tongue and
words ring uncomfortably in my mind.
A jigsaw puzzle with no edges and one hand tied behind my back.

Jumbled heart and tied tongue-
the fog does more than cloud my eyes.
Judgement, the way out, none of it is clear.
But still I stumble on

a heart full of Norah Jones
but the pounding staccato is
not soothed by breathy velvet

built under a cerulean sky
bones of Tori Amos
soul of Fiona Apple
*** of Erin McKeown

make me a sapphire woman
hard edges and smooth plains
build me up and let me shatter:
Stevie Nicks untouched.

inky midnight colours me
drowning in its conflicting
warmth and chill
and still my veins sing the blues

angsty and antsy. unnamed emotions are clawing at my throat and i don't know which way is up anymore. everything's fuzzy and i feel myself slipping but my feet are cemented to the floor.