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Rosaline Moray Sep 2014
I danced with the other girls,
And you watched my feet,
I saw you in the wings.

Your eyes were dark as my knees caught the light.
Spin, reach, drop.

Get up, carry on going if you have the strength to, girl.

My hips catch the fabric of the shift.
Swaying, rolling like the sickness growing.

My waist is small but my backbone strong.

This dress is not for you,
This love song is not for you.

It's all been staged.
Necks stretch,
Heads roll.

And I leave the floor,
Feet sure.

I don't run,
But you do.

We've played this out before.
Rosaline Moray Mar 2013
I know what I am
And despite what's in the mirror,
It isn't pretty.

I'm obsessive, I am compulsive,
If I hit one hand, I hit the other,
I dance through life symmetrically.

I call your heart to mine because
Everything works in twos
And when I realise that
You were only ever a part of my pattern,
That I didn't actually care for you at all,
I'll drop you, but I'll keep your heart.

Because I'd be lonely without it.

It's twisted, yes, I'll admit it.
I need the love of many to keep me content,
I like having different partners to turn to
To be beckoned to,
So that way if I lose a playing piece,
I'll always have one spare.
Rosaline Moray May 2013
I think
I'll stop playing for keeps.

Love has been a long time in throwing the ball back,
So I think
I'll just drop out of this game.

Find a new one.

Yeah.

If I approached a guy
With none of the fear
That piggybacks on attraction

Chances are I'll be bold,
And he'd love that.

But still, he wouldn't be in love.
And I'd have to do things by half.

But I hate holding back.

So I think I'll just stop playing altogether.
Rosaline Moray Jun 2013
I have decided that I don't need this new thing

Called hope.

It's fine, pretty, petite, fiery friend, you may have

My hope.

Isn't he lovely? Please treat him well. I think I would have.

I hope I would have.

But we shall never know now, because you played your hand so well.

I can only hope you'll listen to my warning next time.

If there is a next time.

I hope there will be.

Because one day, I won't be quite so content with the memories of those

Who stripped me of hope.
Rosaline Moray May 2013
I need a window cracked ajar
So I can breathe
In submarines.

I need an umbrella
On sunny days
And sunscreen in storms
Just because I think they've got it wrong.
I always seem to tan in rain.

I need a little more laughter
When we're all dressed in black,
And at your wedding, in your tux,
I need you to find me for a little cry,

Just so things are normal.

And just so this funny old
Un-funny world makes sense.
Rosaline Moray May 2014
I feel privileged to know that you snore.
And that if
I nudge your cheek with my nose
You stop
And squeeze me close -
Crack my spine
And I love that feeling.
And the best thing is
That you don't even know you give me chills.
It takes a talented soul to thrill me when sleeping.
Rosaline Moray Mar 2013
My fingers dig in to the light and shade
Grip to his shoulders and tighten on his neck.
The friction ignites us,
We're flint,
And we're sparking.
I've been blinded,
Blindsided,
So often by this
This thing we have.
Us;
We lost it before
And now I have you back
I will burn up every little part of you
So that when you're done with me
And I'm through with you
You will be nothing, and cold, and empty
And needing me,
Depending on the life I stole from this friction.
Rosaline Moray Mar 2013
I'm glad I'll drive your next girl insane
With my phantom kisses that
May or may not have left stains on your brain.

Because you see, as perfect as she will be,
I **** red lipstick and trilbies and kohl
And it's rare in a woman to be able to watch Top Gear
Without thinking of safety hazards, and seatbelts.

I hope she knows that however loose she wears her hair,
She'll never be as wild as me.
And as cool as she sounds,
I have a bite like a kiwi,
And I always leave an after taste that isn't strawberry and sugar.

So yeah, she's suave and calm and collected, and that is **** fine,
I'll give her that.
But I'm sarcastic.

And I call you out when you become too boring,
Like for instance,
Not making me mad at you at least once a day
For making me think about things that I would like to just blitz over
As I do with many other things
Like the people who loved us.

Because all we needed was each other.

And although she pouts,
I smirk.
She has big eyes, but mine are of lynxes.

I'm your own personal minx.

And she knows I'll always be wrapped around your neck.
And however close she gets to you
I'm always right beside you, inside you
Every breath she takes,
Every mistake in love you make.
Rosaline Moray Mar 2013
I wish I could swim in your eyes.
They are the colour of
Deceptively deep lakes.

I sailed in one like them once
The waves lapped at my boat
And the water was cold
And I felt so small.

I wish I could dive down
Find sunken secrets
And lost treasures like
Rings and children's toys.

What I want more than anything
Is to find no ice
To see that you are thawed through
To not be barbed by insults
That I know will melt away
To join the rest of the lake
And drown me, too.

What I want is
For you to fish me out
And tell me it's all a waste of time
To save my breath
Or lose it.
Rosaline Moray Apr 2013
I have to ask myself
Sometimes

What's the reason for my bothering?

You don't think twice
You're never nice,
And if you are
You don't mean it.

You're distracted, you're off
In the clouds
And I'm down here
Waving to catch your attention:
But you can never see ants from planes.

But still,
I'll try

Because it makes me happy,
Makes me feel like I have a purpose.

And that purpose
Is getting you to crash land
To reality.

Impossible as that is
Without one of us getting hurt.
Rosaline Moray Apr 2013
I know they've been sung about many times before

Cursed at more times than I've breathed in oxygen

And I know they'll be here for longer than I'll be

And they'll go in their own time, winking out without flare,

But now, if they could feel the cavern gaping in my chest,

Deeper and blacker than dark matter,

If they could hear this scream, supersonic, ultrasound,

They would simply cease to exist.
Rosaline Moray Sep 2013
I can feel a storm approaching.
It comes in the guise of a lover's lies;
Favours bought and friendships diced.

But I do not hate him. That much I know. I  am not making you choose.

But I DO hate, and I hate with a passion;
That soft-spoken pillow talk holds greater weight than the anguish you know I've drowned in -
That you would put me through it again because your lover holds your hands
And exaggerates.

I am cold. And my tears are the colour of moonlight.
Rosaline Moray Apr 2013
Don't look so shocked when you hear it,
You really were not hard to beat - however hurtful that is.  

His eyes are much brighter than yours,
And they light up like glow sticks when he says hello

His arms are iron, whereas yours are cheese strings:
I feel like a kid on a climbing frame, at last

He doesn't roll his eyes when I stutter, or mumble
Self-depreciatively: he chuckles along with me

His warmth makes me believe in stars, and stories like spun gold,
Which draws me out of your tepid fog

Unlike you, Mr Sullen, he goes about his work without complaint,
And I feel like a rosy teacher's pet when he talks me through it

He has a smile which affects me like laughing gas -
And I think I'm becoming addicted.

You are now a fading moon, cratered and dull.
He is...

A rising sun, warming my blood.
And I hope he'll run forever in my veins.
As with all my poems, plagiarism is against the law. Please just show your thoughts by leaving them below, now that, is much appreciated. Thanks for reading!
Rosaline Moray May 2013
My thoughts are hiding under stair wells.
They like the smell of your skin
And they vibrate with every beat of your chest.
They are in close quarters with your eyes.

My thoughts are buzzing in the air about your ears.
They have a bite like mosquitoes.
The weather is hot - my thoughts bare all.
I like the taste of your mind.

My thoughts are burrowing into your brain stem
They make you shiver, And when you touch them,
Touch me, I feel paralysed.
But in a good way.

My thoughts are quiet now, but they're screaming.
They don't like the silence, but they endure.
Because the skin is whispering, love,
And it's telling stories of us.
Rosaline Moray Mar 2013
Blood drips daily.

I say I feel nothing
Don't want to draw attention
From those who suffer openly.

I am strong, but I am weak,
And I can't admit defeat.
Not to you, whose face is so **** smug,
All the time.

Let me be the bite that tears your flesh
And let me cry acidic love,
It will cauterise me, eventually.

I'm coming for you.
We have many years left to live,
You and I.

Unless you end it now.
Coward.
Rosaline Moray Jul 2013
Today I crushed you out of my life.
And it felt like smashing a beautiful butterfly to pieces
In my palms.
And nothing -
No matter how many times I apologise,
Or how deeply I carve old scars open
Just to explain why -
Could ever bring back those bright, beautiful colours of yours
Or those hopeful, soaring wings.
Rosaline Moray Aug 2013
This is the first
Time I've been out of love
In years.

It's odd.

I'm clinging to heartbreak; I find
I am
Thinking of your lovely hands, and how I miss them:
Your shallow sleep-breathing
And your stubble in the evening.

I'm pinching myself in places that you kissed me,
Wanting to feel the wanting
You stirred inside my body.

Needing to remember;
I conjure up your laugh -
But it's more alive than you ever were -

And in death this romance seems to be sweeter.

And in life, in truth, it was all just so much simpler.
Rosaline Moray May 2013
I imagine that one time you told me about

When you came into my room and watched me sleeping.

You said it made you happy to know that I was there

And in that moment I wouldn't yell at you, or look at you like

You were a stranger to me.

I remember that night

That I dreamed all the dark things in the world were hovering over me

With sharp teeth and hungry eyes

And whose grabby, pushy, possessive hands

Would smother me at any second.
Rosaline Moray Mar 2013
Find me in the recesses of your mind
Dust me off and let me shine
I want to breathe
I want to breed
Create little seeds of love in your heart.
I'm not loveless, I never was
I felt each barb deep in my flesh
Like each barb deep in my flesh.
It hurt when you called me cold
And alone
Because I was
Because it's what you thought
Confident in what you knew
Of a person whom was only ever in love with you.
Rosaline Moray Jul 2013
She lives in a time when her kids were young.
She doesn't know the surname of her daughter, now.

They could be sisters, and for all she knows, perhaps they are.
They have the same, glossy wet-paint eyes.

Who are you? She asks, and her mind drags her deeper yet.
Where's my Tom? But Tom, her love, is forty years dead.

Anna sighs and brews the tea, as her mother stares in horror at her own hands.
Whose hands are these? A reedy wail; the same question asked fresh each day.

Photo frames only confuse her. Who is that man by my side?
Anna replies with a stale, much used answer, It's your husband, mama, he's out walking the dog.

I have a dog? She asks, But then, where's Tom? And where's my baby Anna?
*Somewhere, mama, they're here somewhere. And they're waiting for you to find them.
Rosaline Moray May 2014
If I could get back all the years that I wasted
On being so perfect for you

It'd be like getting a pension.

Having so many years to spend, all at once.

But all the miles racked behind me
Would just slow me down.

When given a second chance
We rarely seem to take it.

The weary are stuck in their ways.
Rosaline Moray Mar 2013
How I imagine you to be
Is the end of the world
Too terrible of a promise to believe.
I know
You will be a splash of ink on snow
Sizzling like the rain on a summer's stone
And the antithesis of me.
I fear
That I will fear you
As a fish might fear a drought
As a bird may loathe the lightening:
My curse is you.
You, who's love will strike me down.
Rosaline Moray May 2014
I love you.
And honestly, I hate you.
And you're all that matters in my life,
And I don't care at all about you.

Because I don't need you.
I don't need you.

I need oxygen and hope,
And happiness, too,
That's true.

But you give me my happiness
In rations
Like it belongs to you.

And the air we share will run out
One day,
And it's hopeless.

But it's the best thing that's ever happened to me,
Discovering bedlam,
Bed land, with you.

So to Hell with it,
Say it, won't you?
That you love me too?

Because I do.

I do.

I do.
Rosaline Moray Jun 2013
In my fingerprint, the thirteenth groove from the nail,
The one that curves neatly, until it breaks
(A scar, I think)
That's you.

There is a braincell in my skull that is red, not grey:
Red for love; red for anger; red for that STOP light that made me stall
(The kind of complete stop that scrambles up your nerves)
That's you.

Every eighteenth heartbeat is you.
Every flex of my left hand little finger is you.
Every wish on a lost eyelash, carried away by salty currents, is you.
Every swiftly sheared blade of grass  is you.
Every nerve ending in my lower lip is you.
Every cell of oxygen is you.

You are
Every
Hope
Every
Fear
Every
Dream
I ever had.

Put simply into words that in the end, are nothing;

You are everything to me.
Rosaline Moray Mar 2013
How can you tell
Heaven from Hell
When it's an Angel leading you  
To the precipice?
When you've sold your soul
For wings to fly
And you seem to have a halo,
Are you an saint
Or are you a sinner,
And is your crown
Just a trick of the light?
Rosaline Moray Sep 2013
Need to make you see

The love I bear you

I...

I can't.

Love is the fourth state of matter -

Or fifth, I haven't counted them lately.

You will never know it exists unless I bash your skull in with kisses

Crumple your hand in my hold

Cave your face with the strength of my stare. That same gaze that's trying to memorise -

Or map - every eyelash, and the tiny mole just above your eyelid, for further exploration.

If only your heart could compress

Any time I touch your chest

Then I

Then I think you would know.

No need for explanation.

No need to punch or kick.
Try
Rosaline Moray May 2014
Try
Large actions
To fill the large space
In my heart.

It's not working.
Rosaline Moray Jul 2013
Some days I
Want to forget you exist.

Those are the days when, crowded by faces and laughter
I get lonely
Because you're not there.

I want to pretend that I've never known your love when faced with
A glance between myself and that Adonis technician,
Because I'm just dying to be someone's goddess myself.

I want to forget that you were ever born when
Looking into the faces of all my friend's babies,
I know that yours must be a thousand times more cherubic;

Whoever the mother is.
Because I know she will be beautiful.

You have a passion for collecting fine art, my love,
Then breaking it apart.
Rosaline Moray Mar 2013
She fits him like a glove, and
He will keep her warm, and
He’s burning her up, as
She turns to ice.
He’s a drug, and
She’s feverous, and
Nobody else can see it as
She dies.
He’s her poison, and
He’s only hurting her, he is
Built like a vaccine and he’s the bad one
In a batch of a million,
Killing her softly. She will go
In her sleep
In his arms, and
She will count herself lucky, because
She knows that he will cry
Because he cares, and they were made
For each other.
The killer, and
The lover.
Rosaline Moray Jul 2013
There are no words to describe
The Hollow
That could be considered musical,
Lyrical.
The Hollow:
No words harsh enough to describe it,
Either.
Everything is bland
In The Hollow.
The Hollow is the pressure in my skull
And your skull,
If you feel it.
It's the place that surrounds my heart -
It amplifies the beating,
Like a drum.
It is
What proves I am alive and what
Shows me how little it would take
To die.
The Hollow is the non-stop crying that they all call
Weak
And pointless.
They don't get it,
I don't get it.
There really is nothing to understand.
Because that's all it is,
The Hollow.
It's empty.
It's nothing.
It's constantly looking for something
But it's always coming up short.
It's always trying to be something
And then, learning that it's a lot,
Lot
Harder
Than that.
And that all your efforts are void.
And your whole life is
Hollow.
Rosaline Moray Apr 2013
In a way I
Want to let you go.

I will build a headstone
With the salt from the tears
I've cried.

I've flowered enough blood
To give you as many bouquets as you like

You've given me plenty,
So I'd like to give some back.

Gratitude is making me teary
Or is that the knowledge of the nothing

That will follow all this muchness?

This is a weak kind of mourning.
I will never see you again.
Please, stupid girl, believe it.

Oh...

That is it.
You are gone.

Breathing, you walk out the door,

Dead to me.
As with all my poems, plagiarism is against the law. Please just show your thoughts by leaving them below, now that, is much appreciated. Thanks for reading!
Rosaline Moray Jun 2013
I tell stories,
And yes, I tell them well.
I give you straw,
And you thank me for gold;
I tell you I've seen things,
And you give me the respect of the old.
I am a songstress -
And no, I don't need my voice
To get you to believe that.

I play games,
And yes, I play them well.
Better than stories, because...
They are that much more fun.
Games of love,
Games of blood,
Games of fire,
And of desire,
I play them
Second fiddle to none.

I am a fighter
And yes, I do fight well.
I won't kick, or spit,
But in my eyes there's hell.
'You disappoint me.'
'You make me sick.'
'You don't deserve forgiveness.'
I say it - don't always mean it,
But you're in pain, and bleeding,
And so it does the trick.

I am a lover
But I don't know if I do it well.
I remember when I held your hand -
That moment was a story being woven at our fingertips.
I remember when we slept beside the other -
All games were consensual.
I remember when we fought together -
And well, that says it all.
I am a lover.
But I am simply unlovable.
And that's nobody's fault but my own.
Rosaline Moray May 2014
To love
To love
To love
It takes so much courage
And so much faith
In those who don't,
More often than not,
Deserve it.
And sometimes,
Faith
Is left entirely out of the deal
When cold nights
Are made warm
By a body
Who belongs to another girl.
Don't mistake me,
The body is male.
But I stole him
For a while.
Can't remember
If
I put his heart back.
Maybe we shall see.
Time will tell if the time
I spent wrapped in both
His arms
(Because I fit)
Has left tattoos on his skin
The way those hours have
Printed themselves on my
Flesh.

23:11
Kisses on my shoulder blade
23:12
Kisses on my  cheek
23:13
Kisses, so many, on my lips
Right now
Kisses moving closer to my heart.

To love
To love
To love
It doesn't take much
At all.
Rosaline Moray Apr 2013
I remember being me.
What's it like to be you?
Somebody asked me once, and I said it was... normal.

But in truth, it was like having this massive black hole of power in my core.

Being me:
Knowing that if I didn't smile at someone of a morning
They'd spend the rest of the day hating their brain, thinking their name was on everybody's lips
For all the wrong reasons.

Being me:
Knowing that if I wore heels and a tank top,
A girl two years younger than me would start to tweet
About wanting to diet
Not an hour after we say our goodbyes, me towering over her as I hug her loosely,
Because my ribs would hurt her otherwise.

Being me:
Knowing I have some wash of beauty on my features
Knowing my impossible curves rival Helen of Troy's
And knowing my detachment meant the end
Between me and my only honest friend.

Being me:
Never asked to do anything,
Because it was obvious I was too busy, my hands too soft.
But secretly lonely, and outside plotting plants with my father,
Because he's the best girlfriend I've ever had.

Being me:
Painting pretty pictures.
Well done darling girl.
Do you want to see my book of self portraits?
They're perfectly ugly, in black and white, and I love every one.

Being me:
Hating every girl who looks at you funny
Saying no to every other guy,
Because I'm waiting for the day you look at me funny.
Saying yes to everything you ask, because I'm stupid, and I'll play your games
Though you're not perfect.

Being me:
Saying goodbye to all my friends last May,
And not hearing from a single one of those petty people.
I think they'd had enough of pretty people.
And I think I can say the same.

I remember being me.

Being vibrant.
Being brighter than the sun.
Being much too harsh to look at.
Rosaline Moray Apr 2013
Shot of golden light
Bringer of smiles
Christ, you, Sir,
Are a ******* *****.
Or is that me?
And are you a mirror?
Probably.
They hate me
They do.
And so it's me, not you.
I love you, come back?
Never leave me.
If I promise to never take my lips
From your neck,
Stay in my bloodstream for ever?
Oh this,
This is true love.
Now let's hide under the covers
And cry about the world
'Cause it's crying lies about us.

— The End —