I walk into school,
and find your unique Blue glowing outline amoungst
the average outlined people.
i lean on your locker
as you tell me how the last
episode of the walking dead ended.
as i listen to your unique voice
i taste buttered popcorn.

it wasn't an unusual event.

It wasn't till the day,
I walked into school,
And i saw you,
you were sick and your voice was raspy.
but my brain refused to accept,
that it was you.
because you were lacking a ring of colour.
and your voice tasted of caramel,
and not of buttery popcorn,
and i asked you where your,
colours went,
it wasn't till then did i realise,
that i was not normal.
and thats when i was told,
that i had synesthesia.

Wake me up
Push me out
Take me in
Turn me round
Kick me out again
For another spin
Circle me
Round the town
Turn me on
Take me down
Another road
Shift in tone
Through another zone
Take me back
Home is where the heart is
Get it back
Always hardest
When attacked
Always harvest
The black
From binary asteroids
Baring maps
Staying stoic
Til it circles back
Sum me up
In deeds
Sell me out
To dreams
Just Be
Without me
For a minute
And let me breathe

a friend of mine once
asked me if one of
my poems was about
someone who had been
brainwashed. i simply
answered "no" and silenced
the thought, for the
poem had been about
myself. in the week to
come, i came to realize
that yes, in fact, i had been
brainwashed. my sadness
had brainwashed me and
now my fried brain has
destroyed any thought of
recovery. the sadness
is addictive.
escape
while
you
can.

How can young bones have old blues
when they do not keep strands of their dead wife’s hair
in a kitchen cabinet, too lone to rot or grey.

The sun moves not at inches, but in miles when it sets
and that is how I feel every time I am left.

My fingers creak when he touches me.

He trusts my heart enough to sleep on my chest
breathes onto the origin of my breath –
I do not dare move a centimeter, forgo our bodies’ sync.
I do not trust that any minute stays existent.

I met him with old scars
have been given young ones on the heel of love.

Mostly, the blemishes appear like a blush
which is only just blood settling in and surfacing by a
titanic of skin.

I think of a young person twirling their hair
around everything, pencils and fabric and water bottles
that both new and old lovers will
touch and believe they got the closest to her scalp.

My insides are silver, his are as
gold as the trail the sun leaves to remember dawn.

The only silly part is his asking for more air, I want to
say that he is alive and because he is alive
he has plenty of air
(but I would gladly offer the remnants of mine).

You all know how I died,
And I do not.
But I hope it was a fantastic
Spectacle of how to make your heart stop.

I hope I died flying backwards
in a crimson ball of flame,
Or fighting off a tiger
that never could to tame.

I hope I died with a smile on my face,
Beaming from ear to ear,
Or laughing so that everyone around
Could hear.

I hope I died doing something
To which my mother always said “No”,
“But if we don’t try,
How will we ever know?”

I hope I died not waiting for
Air to no longer suffice,
Lying in a bed with a tube
In every orifice.

I hope you did not let me age
And forget you,
Because I would be
Filled with regret too.

So I hope it was a spectacular expression
Of more than just existing,
I hope they oohed and aahed while
I flew through the air a-twisting.

And I can see some of you are grieving,
yet I know not why,
Because this is a celebration of
Life having been lived
And not a sombre lullaby.

So fill your glasses,
Cups and jugs,
And let’s see a smile on those
Ugly old mugs.

There’s a lesson too be learned,
and that is clear to see.
So without much further ado,
“Here’s to me!”

I fell in love with the way
You told me you'd always be there
And how you complimented
My every flaw
And said I was perfect to you

I fell in love with the way
We are so alike
And how our personalities
Tangle like ivy around an old cottage

I fell in love with the way
You made me feel like nothing else matters
Despite the darkening depression
Deep inside my soul
And the anxiety that riddles me
You made me feel like I was normal
And told me I was still beautiful to you

And ill always love the little things
About you that make me fall hopelessly
In love with you
And I hope, my love, you do not realise
That actually I'm not normal
And actually I'm not perfect
But maybe
Just maybe I'm normal and perfect
To you.