not your body
not your skin
not the tips of your peachy fingers
not your passionate kiss
not your heart beat
not your breath hovering over my neck,
sending goosebumps and shivers down my spine
not your eyes sighting upon my beauty
or my loveliness or my seduction or my carefreeness
I want to feel you
move
inside
not inside of me
(though, that could be nice too)
inside of you
your own heart
your own echoing cage of ribs
that lock up even scarier skeletons
than the skeleton holding it all together
I want to feel you
without being with you
without holding you
without seeing you
without constantly thinking of you
without wanting you
I want to feel you
when I am miles away,
reading a book with a cup of tea in pyjamas
when you are in class and hear something brilliant
someone just said,
something that makes you stop and think of me
without resentment
without longing
without need
without hiding
something so simple, so clear and so pertinent
something that moves and removes the clutter
in you
I want to feel you love
yourself,
the world,
the trees, the scrapes on your heart’s knees
and me
with no want and no need

it’s hard to see people that have upset you
that have unknowingly made you cry;
to be in the same room as them and laugh with everyone,
pretending like everything is okay
when the uproar of feeling sick to your stomach
is telling you
everything is not okay
because standing next to this person hurts more than
any regular anxiety attack.
standing next to this person makes you want to run away
and stay perfectly still in the same moment.
you lie to protect your pride
you lie well, you hide well, you hurt well.
it’s the wanting them to know that comes and goes
it’s the wondering if they know that never goes.
you’re on your way out the door
feeling the smack of fresh air hit your heavy lungs
and you’re alone with the shame
of never being honest.

why is it so hard to see you?
i crumble and i croak
hopeful words dance at the back of my throat
now i’m hopeless
now i’m in a mess
of you or her or him or me
it’s like moving to a new country
and getting the hang of their weird plastic currency
and why the **** is talking to you so hard?
i tumble and i frizzle
a glass smashed into shards
aggravation takes me over because
anxiety takes me over because
suppression takes me over because
i want ******* control over ******* everything
i want to ******* know what i’m ******* doing
what i’m ******* thinking
i tremble and i palpitate
the thirst never sedates
like a lion ******* blood or a needle weaving thread
so much to go around
too much to go around
i’m not sure how to go about
underwater is where i wish i was
underwater, everything is muted
everything is calmer and resentments are diluted
i long to feel less polluted
i long to feel less consumed by
that and this and all the ******* frolicking ****
it pulls and tears and rips in shears
still standing there
i am still standing there
why the **** am i still standing there
here
like a fish suffocating in air
like a statue stands with a smile it can’t wipe off
i sweat under smiles
i want to wipe it off
i want to turn it off
why won’t i just ******* take it off?
why is it so hard to know who you are?
seeing a glimpse of a break down is making me stick around for you
do you still want me to stick around for you?
i crush and i tamper
with anything i can get my hands all over
it really doesn’t matter
what or who or how hard i hit
cause nothing is good enough for this ******* *****

I love you when you’re gone
I love you when you’re here
I love you when you miss me
I love you when you’re real

I hate you when you dodge
I hate you when you lie
I hate you when you’re distant
I hate you when you’re high

& even though I’m doubtful
flaky-mental-mad-lunatic-insane-******
the cuts of your sharpest ice
still, for me, suffice

are not attractive to the man she adores
but that is the only reason she adores him
in the first place

she would not consider him a catch or a man or the love of her life
if he got up early to take a train to the field she lays in

or often called upon her, not only with the
sweetness and charm he retains
but with eagerness and pleasantry, both sincere as a fox craves
a good bird in his jaw, but with spright instead of haste
and with the devotion of rapture without rancour

his eyes are like a tray of a kitten’s sharp teeth
latching onto the pretty bird of his fancy,
and all of her hope infused in her blood only accumulates
as he sinks in for more sorrow
‘til the last grind that never does seem to come

he tries to peel parts of her he doesn’t like
she lets him

a fruit without any husks is not safely kept and often rotten
to grow, you must protect yourself from damage, yet allow yourself
to be bruised enough for simple sweetness
that lays sincerely inside

Tongue-tied butterflies, the tickling flutter inside -
but it’s not the good kind,
it’s the sucker-punch kind
that makes you nauseous and want to stay in bed all day
looking out your window
until your heavy hulk eyelids snap shut
and you dream of the fantasy where you are not this
wretched, evil or confused.
Everything makes sense there.
All you do is dance with one person
underneath the leaf-canopy of a sycamore tree.
You kiss and your bellies rumble with laughter,
for each other, with each other.
And when they scurry off, you are alone,
but you’re alright because you’ve seen what you look like in the mirror,
and you’ve never been so pleased.
The meaning of love in this faerie land forest is to simply, be, as you are
with nothing but yourself.
Nothing but your hands,
nothing but your eyes.
It’s the sparking connection,
touching someone else,
and seeing their lips curl into the most vivacious grin.
It makes love special but it doesn’t make love, for you already are such.
I awaken at the sound of chirping birds,
my window still glowing of shady sunlight.
Tongue-tied butterflies, the tickling flutter inside -
but it’s not the good kind,
it’s the sucker-punch kind
that makes you sick,
you see how sick you are,
you are sick of who you are.

it’s your birthday
but you’re still dead

your brother must miss you
especially today
you’ve shared every birthday
every single one
but you’re not alive anymore

sometimes when I am playing the piano,
I look up to the left and notice your
funeral picture
you’ve got a killer smile
it’s one of the best I’ve seen
anyway,
I look up and see you smiling
and I suddenly have all of this passion
in my voice and fingertips

happy birthday