Two thirds of my wardrobe is pillarbox red
As are my lips, and the thoughts in my head.
I know I look confident, colourful, charismatic
And a part of me is all these things, but
I wrestle with sadness, I struggle with the blues.

I make more sense on a page, than face to face
And am more coherent drunk, than sober.
I love to dance, and sing, and play
A hedonist… But I have a heart
And when I give it away…

I can’t get enough of words. I can’t get enough of anything.
I drink haikus thirstily, I gorge myself on stanzas, rhyme-feasts,
Consumed with lust
of all kinds, but especially for poetry
Keep feeding me, please.

Secretly, I don’t think people like me,
I am just too much.
And it bothers me more than I care to admit, here
Because I crave adoration, and attention
(This stanza will be deleted…)

I try to live a succulent life
Full of joy and laughter and loving.
I try to be true, to myself, and here, to you
I am proud of myself.
I do the very best I can.

***