August 15, 2013
Loneliness is a heavy burden. Like an elaborate hoop earring; weighed down with to many beads; attached to my heart. It pulls me down. Stretches me as far as I can go. Always there, my most faithful companion, insistent. Shadowing my every step. I crave touch. Love. Something other then this solitude I have been drowning in. A wet cloth gagging me. Suffocating me.
Everyone seems more beautiful. Yet more distant. Every touch, a little sweeter. More welcome. I see the potential everyone has as they touch my life. I watch it as it builds, and rises, and breaks like a wave on the emptiest of beaches. I can feel their arms around me. Their lips on mine for the briefest of thoughts as our eyes connect.
These fleeting day dreams serve only to again remind me of the hoop earring piercing my heart. They vividly highlight it. As if it were a splinter in my hand that I could remove. Except, only with the help of another, could I manage to rid myself of it and its persistent, prodding pain.

Benedict wasn’t
in school that day
Christina heard
and the whole day

to get through
without him
to see or talk with
at lunch recess

on the field
she sat through
double maths
in a daze

of boredom
catching sight
of some boys
on the sports field

warming up
for sports
in their shorts
and tops

but it was of no thrill
for her
without Benedict
being out there

running about
with his legs bare
she sat all through
biology writing down

words from the board
into her book
without interest
or care

sneaking a peak
at the photo of him
in her writing case
the one he gave her

for the one she
gave him
the other day
she mused

crossing the T’s
and dotting the i's
they’d gone
onto the sports field

after lunch
during recess
walked about
away from the boys

kicking ball
or the girls
sitting in groups
laughing

and chatting
up near the fence
beside the wood
they stood

he talking
of some actress
who'd died
or committed suicide

and she taking in
his neck
the open shirt
the tie undone

his bare skin
sensing unknown things
feelings awaking
and she listened

and stood near
his hand inches
to hers
and she talked

of her mother
and the moans
about this and that
and wanting stockings

but her mother saying
no you're too young
and how she sneaked
into her mother’s room

and tried some on
and he smiled
and took her hand
feeling her fingers

between his thumb
and finger
pressing gently
and she looked

about her
turned and kissed him
her lips on his
his words lost

his fingers pressing
along her back
but now she sat
gazing at the girl in front

whose dark brown hair
was woven neatly
in a plait
resting on her sharp

white collar
and green knitted jumper
if only Benedict
was here

she thought
hands beneath the desk
touching
fingers holding

knees pressing
against each
but that was all a dream
and he beyond reach.

i had this strange notion that new clothes would make people want me.
like a tripping over a new stereotype and taking it home to dry
would make people notice me
like my pictures on instagram
now that i can hashtag "gamergirl"
"nerdgirl"
"glasses"
"geek".

like somehow big bows and tight jeans
loose sneakers and earcuffs
and fake glasses
would finally sort me into the right file
with all the other people
like me (?)

like me.
are you like me
as in the clothes i'm wearing
the movies i'm watching
the games i'm playing
are you like me like the words i use
like the smiles i smile
like the imitation kim kardashian perfume that i buy (?)

i had the feeling that people would notice me
that hipster boys in starbucks would take a sideglance, then go for another peek
that boys from ivy-league schools
would ask for my number
that gamestop employees would stand too close to me...
and i was right.

but being right doesn't always mean you're happy
and though i am somehow now interesting
and attractive
and easy to sort into small plastic boxes
i feel
empty
poor
cold
materialistic

basically, i feel like every girl i have ever envied.
i don't know why i envied them.

they are not like me.

Content, clarity, no calling home
Surrounded snugly in sunshine’s roam
What naturally burns is saving
Cleansing the soul in its raving
Yet somber shadows induce chills of night
And the sun regresses in imperative flight
The moon brings forth its calming glow
So soon It’s realized she’s all alone
The gnawing proceeds from deep in her mind
Progressing forward without a bind.

Dropping, drifting, dying leaves
Just like their path her thoughts shall weave
To and fro between a mood
Sweet and caring turned suddenly rude
Cold winds lead to a chilling sight
Everything’s changed but It says all is right
Soon the world blends together as one
No longer touched by the warmth of the sun
Temperatures drop and so does her head
Leaden with sorrow as she makes for her bed.

Empty, endlessly enduring days
Isolation extends but it’s deemed okay
Dreams die, concealed by snow
She wants to leave but cannot go
Icy winds blowing cold as her heart
Frozen solid and wishing to part
Getting used to the pain
With no hope to gain
Too weak to worry with no emotions felt
She’s forced to awaken as the world starts to melt.

Free and flowering fields now bring
Hope to the girl who could not sing
Coming from the showering rain
The healing waters break through the pain
Finally she’s found the truest way
To stop and force her problems away
Soon enough she’s rediscovered her smile
And returns to the friends she hasn’t seen in a while
Oh but It’s smart, much smarter than we
So smart that nobody could ever have seen

Greatly, gladly going home
Swimming deep in water’s foam
A calm, warm night has come to cease
Their world is frantic while hers sees peace
Searching hard for a missing girl
Reaching the river, their stomachs curl
Soaking, dripping, they find what’s wrong
Realizing now how long she’s been gone
Eroding sadness, consumed by pain
Now they can feel what she did every day.

Take my hand to continents only known in the books,
the blue maps on tiny tables sat in stacks
ready for the lesson on Mexico, or thereabouts- third this week because
the timetable is weak, poorly thought through and cobbled
together out of half-dressed evenings in the lounges of
teachers; ones once loved by the master and mistresses, leaders
of the well dressed and caretakers.

Take my feet and walk with them, balancing
on borders separating language and currency,
the gymnast's beam looking out over the forestry,
its taller trees than you and me standing upon toes tipping
down towards the urgent ground, urgently warning to stay
upright and stick around, with her holding your hand.

I wrote you eight poems. They tasted like ground-up cinnamon.
The lights came, I told them I had nothing else to write.
When they laughed, my bones split with them.
There were brambles at the bottom of our garden, they held their heat like the arms they scratched.
They grew back every time like they were reminding us that nothing else could exist in the chemicals.
The chemicals said no.
My skin told me I didn't want to be there. My hands ached.
I held my breath for the length of the factory. I held my breath every first time you touched me.
When we turned the corner in the dark your indicator flashing against the wall made me feel like flying. I still feel that when I don't think about it.
There is a hole near the top corner of the front door. I leave the back window unlocked. Maybe you will find a way in. Maybe you are still trying.
I held my breath for you.