A hot old pipe rested in the old  sailor’s mouth
As he overlooked the sea, salt air
The wind in his blue eyes and his gray hair
He had seen many a storm in his time
But each one of them had a different rhyme
Like that of an old  sailor’s song

He sang of Sirens, with bodies of ocean
And of the monsters that lurked in the deep
With all the sunken boats they were to keep
And the skeleton of a siren of sand
With soft lips, and  softer hands
A  sailor by the name of Lars

But Lars was nothing but a memory
A candle that had gone out for the night
Or a brave old soldier in his last fight
But most of all, he was but a minx
Something as mysterious as a sphinx
This is about the sailor, isn’t it?

This old  sailor with leather hands
It was a book with stories that filled pages
Some that brought joy and others that rages
Some of it was fake as unicorns or lies
Others that were true, like the sea and skies
How can you tell a lie from your eyes?

This story starts long ago, before many know
The old  sailor was a young man
His hair was smooth and his skin was tan
His parents wanted him to be a scholar
But his ambitions grew taller and taller
His ambition to see the water in full

The S.S. Enola smelled of *** and men
A few had cards, others with books
Many had nets and hooks
“There seems to be a singer”
Some said, nodding towards the wringer
So the S.S. Enola hides under the deck


The young  sailor tries to cover his ears
But he heard lyrics of such sin and lust
Of bodies you could never quite trust
But he saw it before his very eyes
As if the devil, himself in disguise
The young  sailor felt a pit in his gut

A pit like that of a ripe  peach
The sprays sweet juice when you eat
Who in the earth needed to be neat?
When a face of soft peach fuzz was here
The young  sailor was wet, not of tears
Was this hell gripping him by the neck?

“My name is Lars” The beauty said.
The young  sailor stared for too long
The voice was like an all too known song
Of love that kept giving with a tock
The tics and tocks of a wooden clock
Of a love that was forbidden

The young  sailor felt heat and desire
As a loose red cloth around naked shoulders
That made the young  sailor’s heart a boulder
But not the shoulders that were soft and round
The ones of his fellow sailors, hard and sea-bound
Ones of men, perhaps just like him

Lars just smiled and the young  sailor gasped
“You must be a siren, a trickster of desire”
The young  sailor felt like a wildfire
The other sailors heard and crowded Lars
Stripping his clothes as if showing scars
There wasn’t any scale nor a fin

But, they grabbed Lars by the ankles
And dragged him to the deck
They grabbed him by the neck
There was a beg and a plea for life
That’s when the captain pulled out a knife
And then that Lars was no more



He was thrown over deck like rotten food
His body sank without a worry
And the young  sailor wasn’t in a hurry
He could have saved the man known as Lars
He never had to join those tragic Greek stars
Lars could have been his to touch

But that’s not what happened
And it never, ever can be
How much of this story was just me?
I can’t tell you. Even if I were dead and cut
You could never tell me, but
the young sailor’s life goes something like this

A hot old pipe rested in the old  sailor’s mouth
As he overlooked the sea, that salt air
The wind in his blue eyes and his gray hair
He had seen many a storm in his time
But each one of them had a different rhyme
Like that of an old  sailor’s song

my boyfriend blocks me for four days
because I won’t give him the chair he wants.
I’m left scrolling through IKEA listings,
pretending the algorithm knows my waiting.

outside, neighbors drag out plastic stools
for another birthday party. balloons
tied to the wrong wrist, a dog howling
like it knows who gets the last seat.

on day three, I start naming the chairs
in my apartment: recliner as prophet,
barstool as witness. I kneel before
the ottoman, bargaining like a priest.

when he unblocks me, it feels
less like forgiveness, more like return policy:
no receipt, box dented, parts missing.
we drag it inside together, silent, already exhausted.

what I wanted to say was:
I would’ve sat on the floor
if it meant staying.

My partner is fun,
I’m sure he’s “the one”,
His body’s a work of art!
He thinks like I do,
And loves me so true,
And I love him with all of my heart.

My partner says he
Has PTSD,
And needs to be just on his own.
“It’s just a bad day,”
I hear him say,
“We always can talk on the phone.”

The close times we spend
Being “more than a friend”
Are few and far between.
My partner needs time
To get over the crime
Of abuse he endured as a teen.

The bad days won’t last,
They come from his past;
He’s getting some help for his pain.
I give him support
And write a report,
To help win his Right to Remain.

The lockdown has hit,
My partner feels ****,
And won’t let me visit at all.
I stay home alone,
And support him by phone,
But he often won’t answer my call.

My partner is sick,
He sends me a pic –
In his darkness he’s done himself harm.
I call 999,
But he tells them he’s fine –
He says there’s no cause for alarm.

I worry so much,
And long for his touch,
As months pass me by I just pray.
My friends wonder why
I stand by my guy,
But I know him better than they.

Time has moved on,
The lockdown has gone,
My partner’s now feeling quite well!
At last we can meet
Not just in the street;
He’s coming back out of his shell!

Before long I learn
My partner will earn
A wage as a carer in York.
But why go so far?
It seems so bizarre
To move far away for such work.

As I help him to pack,
He says he’ll be back
As soon as he finds a job here.
But something is wrong –
It’s taking too long,
And again I’m missing my dear.

To my deepest dismay,
My partner’s away,
Our contact is fading once more.
I call him and plea,
But he breaks up with me,
And says to me, “You deserve more.”

How much was a lie?
Is he even bi?
The red flags were all there to see!
With hindsight I’m wise,
And now realise:
The one who needs counselling’s me.

My mind filled with doubt,
I may never work out
The truth and the lies and the cause.
Two years since we met,
It’s time to forget
My partner who never was.

The one who stood up here before
Who couldn't take it any more
Went through with her plan.

What would be my legacy?
Just like me,
I could turn the statistic
Into a curvy figure too—
Not a straight and slender one.
But being realistic,

I find the strength to turn away
And face the world another day
—A continuing man.

Radiohead blasting, can’t hear my thoughts
Pretty baby please give me some love,
I’d give you the world just hear me out,
I can’t love you more I’m so worn out.

I’m working so hard to get you everything
Say what you need it'll be a wedding ring,
I mentioned my favorite band to you
I’m so glad that you like them like I do.

You say you'll undress me sometime,
I think you’re only here to **** time,
I definitely want those cute X-ray eyes,
I pray that you'll love me by moonrise.

You make my heart ache and race
What can I do to speed up your pace?
I can learn to play the drums and the guitar,
I really like the blonde boy that you are.

You're pretty blue eyes say a lot more,
I want to be the one you always hold,
Those times you so gently had embraced me
It’s your touch that I found solace in.

Taking the breath away from my iron lungs
If I collapse please pick up my crumbs,
Ignore and break me more as the days go,
Help me, love me with everything I go through.

The way you covered your smile, Angel
When I glanced at you my heart’s in danger,
I see your insecurity about it
Your smile’s so pretty no need to hide it.

Taking that blue pill we talked about
I don't like his daughter, no **** doubt,
Our worlds colliding and merging into one,
If I would do something, then you might run.

The eye contact that had happened today,
Your greyish-blue eyes turning me gay,
I keep running away from you, Pretty boy
Yet life brings you back to me, Lovely Doll.

Staring at your slurred, drunken, lazy form,
Your eyes like that one nighty storm,
I want to be there for you always, Abby,
You just look like my boyfriend to be.

Looking at your cute features,
In your eyes I see the future,
Taking in those small, tiny quirks you have,
Everything about you makes me laugh.

The little girl that's deep in me
She doesn't know the things I've seen
A little stubborn, mostly passive
But when beaten down, just as savage

She didn't have demons to resist
With that, ignorance must be bliss
In hushed conversations, nothing but a delight
Certainly didn't wish for a better life

Endless story's didn't weigh her down
In therapeutic talks she wouldn't drown
She walked, head held high, confidence shown
Happiness spreading through different tones

Society couldn't pressure her to be normal
Nor getting bullied, looking formal
She smiled through lights and darkened days
But that was before she knew she was gay

i load into the world, ready to
do as the title of the game says: mine and craft,
he joins. dread mixed with love ensues

time goes by, we level up,
wood to stone, stone to iron
making a plan for our little abode

with cows, sheep, and 2 cats,
just as i begin to fantasise,
he leaves the game

the chatbox rings out
Achievement get: DIAMONDS!
and it was all in vain