Under the still and open stars of a cousin's farm
too far to touch, I've dreamt of whiskers on catfish
since we last had tea.
The Waitomo Caves are strung by glowworms I
was too afraid to be touched by.
What if it touched my arm
and had me turn around?
If one had stuck my lip?
If I'd feel my face in blue glow light
just for a while?

I'd rest my head upon your arm
to take a memory for Facebook.
Your college crush would see herself
as phosphoric string that brushed your hair.
At night we'd drink a flower-blossomed tea
and meet again, two cave fish in a dream.

Beautiful creature you are. My wishes surround a perception I have formulated for you. Are you this creation? Ive fell in love with my creation, my creation which is not you yet articulated around the physical features you posses. Give me back my love I’ve put in a lover who fictitiously exists, my love put to waste in something which exist only in the pockets of my mind. I love you I love this creation I love this feeling, this feeling destroys me for everytime you deny me I presume my existence means nothing to you. I yearn not for you but for my creation, which ceases to exist as you. Who are you ? Your insides are dark and twisted. I do not love this earthly reality, it has stolen my lover, I hate it I hate it, to dispell what you are would bring great gratitude to my hollow soul. How can I live knowing my creation can extricate me from this ne’r ending nightmare Ive unluckily found myself in. For he cannot our only connection occurs when I close my eyes to escape reality, then as they open again he vanishes. You do not serve your purpose instead you haunt me, a reminder of what could be nonetheless will never be. I love you.

You have a
Head like a castle
And that's okay.
After all, it is in our
Childish daydreaming
Moon raking, imagination
Aching for existence
In a riot to our
Bleating hearts that
The last hidden veins of magic thrum to life
In this all too human world.

Fear of them, I fear them,
No not men, just the idea of them,
Actually no, the idea I quite like;
It’s the non-real reality that scares me,
Terrorises me just a little if I stop to think.
No it’s not men, it’s just people.
Maybe it’s all just my social anxiety,
Talking to me again in a slightly different way,
I mean, I know anxiety can change but it doesn’t, not for me:
I know me,
I just don’t know what I’m scared of really.

I can’t believe I dare to write this,
Go away Chloe, just shut yourself up inside again,
Then you won’t have to think about anyone.
Well that’s a lie, I think about people all of the time;
The people I could have, the people I won’t, people I wish existed but I sadly know never will
(I convince myself they will anyway),
And when they’re not real, I’m not afraid -
Because I’m not afraid,
I started this all up as a game.
Did someone ever tell you, you should never read lists of phobias you know you don’t have?
Well I’m telling you, don’t. You might get some.

But do you ever daydream of your perfect soul mate?
Because then I think of guys, like: real guys that actually do exist
And then I’m just like no, no I’ll stay away,
Not today, not tomorrow, I’m not ready.
Then I realise I’ll never be ready.
I’ve noted the slow progression of “could you really be scared of that Chloe? Sounds pretty stupid.”
So I’m like no, no I can’t be,
And then I get these little feelings sometimes,
Which makes me kind of go, “really are you?”
But I’m not because:
That wouldn’t make sense
And
People who know nothing on the internet say that’s sexist without knowing what they mean.
If someone actually had a phobia of the opposite *** or gender it wouldn’t be their fault, because it’s a ****** phobia.

I don’t have phobias though, not one.
Maybe social anxiety, maybe another one, maybe I’m getting one more,
But really I must just be exaggerating.
I know it’s not a phobia - that’s not what I’m claiming,
But when I imagine having a reality where...
Well it just kind of scares me.

I'm
obsessed
with
the thought
of
boys
flying
through
my
window

Slowly he walks down the crowded hall
Anxious to not stumble or to fall
Vexed by the swirls of her eyes
Another chance to say “hi”

Nothing but drums in the deep
Nothing more thrilling from head to feet
Against the second when he finds
Her smile again in his mind

I hear a sound.
Near my bedroom window,
beyond the panes of glass.
A rumbling and humming;
an idle motorcycle, right on schedule.
Mixed in with the little fan,
it grows into the perfect white noise.
I drift away and think of a warmer place,
bright and expansive.
In my mind, I hear bagpipes playing.
It is some fierce melody,
unfamiliar, yet deeply known.
The meditation fades back to other surroundings.
Back to the dark blank room,
buzzing fan, and noise pollution.
Then I'm reminded, I don't care at all for bagpipes.