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fairyenby Jul 2017
I was not made to be a waitress. To carry plates and pull pints and count coins and be able to breathe at the same time. I should have given up. Four years in and my boss was still telling them that it was my first night, not to mention that time someone half-jokingly asked me, a completely sober seventeen year old with an anxiety disorder in a family owned bistro in white middle-class conservative Hexham, if I was drunk. I was not made for fake confidence and biting back tears, for toilet cubicle walls and breathe in, breathe out, all you had to do was carry the potatoes to table five. I was not made to be a waitress in the same way that I was not made to understand the art of mathematics. The times tables in their white linen shirts stained with my clumsiness laughing at me as I dropped plates and couldn’t subtract fifty four pence from five pounds seventy two at the till. I wasn’t made for sequence. For questions with definite answers, I was not made for having to be right. I was made for having to be wrong. Over and over, for ******* up a lime and soda, or was it lemon? Four years into a job. I was made for honesty. For answering you truthfully when you ask me what I am thinking. I was made for chocolate on the hob and strawberries tickled with sugar in hand, for the familiarity of the songs of a home friend’s band, I was made for softness. For your lips on my lips and my hands on your hips and the imprint of your freckles on my cheek. I was made for learning that this is not weak. For learning that I was made for me.  For dancing badly and laughing loudly and eating messily. We, on the other hand, were not made for each other the way people appear to be on film, the megabus trips without air-conditioning and the seven inches and 165 miles that fall between us the ever persistent proof. I was not made for you, designed so that our lives would perfectly intertwine but what does it matter when in this moment I think I was made for this. For half-lit, half-fit bliss. For reading poetry to you at three am until you fall asleep, when all that is left is the hum of your breath as my voice echoes milk and honey, making me feel like I could be made for anything, even though we’re apart.

Sidenote: June ’17- this time there was only one 'first night' at my new job.
20/2/17 /

a work in progress
Freewill426 Apr 2016
You grab me as a shrug to your body
The heat gets intense as the bread in the toaster
You lip smack me as an icing to the cake and i drool as a child who gulps it as her own
And rejoice cause it is just a start and imagining where it can lead to
You and I in this beautiful world
Unite as the sheets to the bed, Chime to the wind
And stay as the shadows to the tree and become two different individuals who compel that love isn't about being one, but understanding who that one is
K Balachandran Feb 2016
Every dainty dish of love
she rapturously serve him
has an unmistakable  distinct flavor!
He repeatedly wonder, often aloud,
that what would be the magic she applies,
in her smashing haute cuisine ensemble.
it's love, like butter, pure and dense
in large dollops,with it's flavor invariable,
is the one constant major ingredient,
in every which dish she  cooks;
for all his questions, persistent and curious,
her answer would be just a smile mysterious.
In their love life enviable,  this one thing
still remains the million dollar question!
Brent Kincaid Oct 2015
No matter just how many times I told her
She couldn’t seem to keep it in her head;
While everyone enjoys the circus,
I do not enjoy it in my bed.

I made it clear at the beginning
That I was a quiet kind of guy
Still she insisted on the drama
And I never found out why.

Roxie Moxie, Queen of my heart,
When did all this energy start?
Were you born in a hurricane
Never slowed down again?
You’re taking my Richter scale
Off of the charts.

Was she raised in a hippie commune or
Maybe some kind of traveling show?
Though I asked her many times
I will probably never know.

There had to be drinks and some food
By the bedside when we retired.
Though I begged not to drink coffee
It seemed she was always wired.

Roxie Moxie, Queen of my heart,
When did all this energy start?
Were you born in a hurricane
Never slowed down again?
You’re taking my Richter scale
Off of the charts.

She wanted to stay up late each evening
And then she’d sleep in way past noon.
Of course I was gone to work by then
So, we’d meet at the rise of the moon.

At first it was very exciting for me
To have this rigorous loving game.
So, I guess I brought it on myself
And I am the only one to blame.

Roxie Moxie, Queen of my heart,
When did all this energy start?
Were you born in a hurricane
Never slowed down again?
You’re taking my Richter scale
Off of the charts.
obnoxious Jul 2015
I love the way she writes her sevens & the way she rolls her eyes at me
She writes all her letters in print except for 'l' and 'e' & her favorite color is lilac
She's insensitive & snappy yet she's sunshine still
I love *** like any man before me but that's not what I want her for
I want her laugh
I want her scowl when I tease her
I want her smile
I want all the times she pretends not to love me
I love how she humbles me, reminding me her options are still open
But I know she'd never leave me
I love to see her vulnerable
To see her unravel
To meet each layer of her that I never knew existed
Each more delicate than the one before
Each sending me into timeless state of Mindy
As sappy as it may be
Basbee Dec 2014
He calls me for no reason, just to hear my voice
He likes me, a lot
He's accepted my flaws
And understands that I have no motivation whatsoever
He has this weird obsession with my ****
He's kinda too perfect for me
But that's okay, because we're compatible
We're totally meant to be

I hope
I got it so bad for him. No joke.
firexscape Nov 2014
I can't make conversation
But I can make art you won't appreciate
I'll stay quiet
You'll hate me for it
You'll kiss me
And I'll hold your frozen hand
It's not love
But your body keeps me warm
but ******* hell you are beautiful
I want his look
not his favourite Ironman T-shirt
I'm not an Irongirl
I'm not an iron anything sort
I want him creases and all
not his “to infinity” golden band
it has the ring of something too definite
I want him here
“and beyond”
just how far
I'm not yet sure about
not his ultra clean pair
of New Balance sports shoes
I'm not the run around sort
wet trackies pants hot and loose
I want him caught off balance
bare footed on the grass

I want his look
and when he gives it
straight back
into my eyes
I know what...

I'll look away at the skies
and hope beyond hope
he'll interpret my act
ironman out my shyness
ring the changes I want
and run beneath my disguise
to find an orange not a lemon

only trouble is
I think he won't
because at this early stage
we don't have much in common

O ******
he's looking...
                                    the sky's so bright!
like he's going to...
                                     I squint!
                                     eyes shut!
be just my...
                                      I'm so silly!
.... dotage
huh! maybe I should try...
a comic character?
an older age?
- Melanie W.

— The End —