Ear studs.
Leather gloves.
Silver nose ring.
Too much clothing.
You think you like records?
You should see his collection.
You think that you're flawless?
You should see his complexion.
He rocks Houndstooth better than any chick you ever seen,
And even more fiercely than a 2009 *McQueen.
The boy with peroxide hair is one to watch out for.
When he enters the room there's applause; he's to die for!
"Don't dream it, just be it*" that's what he always said
He's a bad killer queen, he's the one, the only, *Ed.

Outside I sense the streets' hustle and bustle.
Inside, not even a rustle.
Who'd have known the city could be so lonely?
Thousands of faces but none of them know me.
Cold coffee. Uncomfortable small talk.
No familiar paths for me to walk.
The place that I connect not to, but they call home.
Their foundation, their roots, where I am alone.

I am merely another story
Behind another window.
With or without me,
The game goes on.
Drowning in skyscrapers.
Crushed by industrialisation.
Suffocated from the inexhaustible thrill of the city.
I am enchanted by my insignificance

Day two
Without you.
A million miles apart
But under the same stars.
I am sleeping alone in this river I've cried.
The nights are so long when you're empty inside.
Are you thinking of me?

The day you went away
was the day my world stopped turning.
We both always knew this would be temporary but Three Hundred and Twenty Seven days of you was never going to be enough.

The flowers here wilted
and shrivelled away when you left.
They only ever blossomed for you.

The grass dried up
and the leaves fell down.
Dusty tracks now where once lay roads.

The birds flew South
but not just for the winter.
To be with you.

This place,
our place,
the town that brought us together
is tainted now.
It can offer me no more.

Come home.

Who am I?
I'll never know,
So you don't stand a chance.

I, the real me, has been hidden by fuchsia feathers and fairy wings,
Restrained in ribbons since in infancy.

Sometimes I think even my coffin will be smothered in sequins and surrounded by only my proudest of family.
"She was always so sensible"
"What an angel"
They'll say as they watch me lie there, one last time.

I was one granddaughter amongst six grandsons. Or as they put it, I was "our little princess"
(Even at the age of seventeen in maturity's mirage).

My entire life has already been decided for me. I am destined, doomed you might say, to be great. Great in their eyes, adequate in mine.

Never was I free to make my own choice.
Never was I free to find my own voice.
Never was I free
And never will I be.

In disgust of what was staring back at me, I smashed the screen into a million shards.

Angrier I grew as more of me I saw;
A million broken faces in a million broken parts.

No escape from my reflection or what lies inside.

No amount of shattered glass will allow for me to hide.

I recall how it was to be your woman. Terrified by that crazed look in your eye, and that sneer, that grimace, fuelled by frustration? Or some sort of love I didn't understand? Or maybe just the satisfaction you gained from making me thrall. I bet you never knew how many moans I faked in the hope that you'd stop. Perhaps you never realised your misinterpretation of my cries for help as cries of pleasure. The bruises on my body were temporary but the scars on my heart remain a constant reminder of you. And how you were all I thought I wanted, all I never had, and all I wish I didn't know.