There was a time,
A year into the future,
when we used to frolic and dance in the sand.
Usually, I don't like beaches,
I hate large crowds,
Hate 'em hate 'em
and I will 'till pigs fly.
Sometimes I think I'm not like the others
even though I desperately wish to be.
I'd like to donate my shoe collection
to the Salvation Army, or Goodwill,
for them to be put to better use
instead of sitting unused
surrounded by crumpled tissues and overdue books.
Or I could build a time capsule
to be opened the next century.
Hopefully the future Ebenezer Scrooge
finds the Ghost of Frolicking Past
and actually learns to enjoy beaches.

I wish someone had told me
         that there was no poetic justice
         in hurting others.

Everybody just wants something from you
All you do is not even for
The one who put their life on hold
The one that did the hours long
They go and take their money and run
Because they can and to them it's fun

I'm not trying to hurt others
I'm just trying to run away from people who will be there because I am scared of possibilities

By the way she opens herself up to others,
You would never know how much she's gone through
Selflessness and a desire that turned into an urge

By the way she's always making sure everyone else is okay first,
You would never know she's struggling to keep herself above water
Maybe she's helping herself by helping others

She's always telling me
To take care of myself first before I worry about others
I am top priority

I wonder if she takes her own advice

I can’t decide whether
Or not I’m right or wrong

Maybe steer both ways
Somehow or stay still

Mother screams at me
For protecting

The people
I don’t know

Because I believe
In cherishing

The front covers
Of beings

Ignoring
The inner darkness

That some coats
Contain

But I can smell it
If they step close enough

If they open their mouths
Wider than before

The lips form
The ***** offense

Periods
Commas
And question marks

Chins with
Layers of fuzz
That bounce up and down

That *****
And tickle a pink cheek

Chapped lips
Peeled white skin
Flakes of flesh


Bleeding gums
Plaque in corners
Possible cavities

Torn jeans and label brands
Holes in shirts and kitchen stains

Glossy lipstick
Cheap perfume
And a getaway attitude

Talking in bathrooms
White walls
Stained sinks

Library tables
Toppled water bottles
And ripped labels

Good riddance
Old coats

We fight with each other
Long and hard
Back and forth
For what I am not sure.

We all want love
In some form
All seeking for a key
For what I am not sure.

Im lost, within myself
Finding my feet again
Trust is growing thin
Death is the one to win.

Im not sure
If I ever make sense
Just a soul lost within
Fighting back and forth
For a prize...
A prize we'll all get in thee end.

I look around my home and
know I've made a place my own
Let me explain,
I've lived alone since aged 16, it's probably
better this way,
and I haven't felt regret, not now, not
Yet, hopefully never. Yes, pieces of pain and
bits and bobs of bitterness litter my hall,
I can't hoover it all, but
Regret? There was no point, there
was never another option.

So I've rearranged furniture, and I've
sulked in my room, I've cried, I've
wanted to die and I've lined up my
windowsill ready to watch snow.
I've watched lovers come and go, been
opened up, watched muck littered and
have thrown it all against the filled up
wall, wished mum's hoarding away.
I've stayed, this place is mine now.

And in the wreckage of my banishment
I've made a shelter of some sort and I've
guided others in, a brightly cluttered and warm
bin for troubles. I've sat them down and made
them doubles, sometimes they just want to talk
and sometimes they just want to sin,
usually they want arms which will allow them in
sometimes to wallow, and I've given
them a pillow and wished them to sleep.
I've watched people weep here.

And so my home becomes their's too.