Poetry is an act of narcissism.
Poetry is screaming into the ears of other people.
Poetry is the art of begging strangers to look inside your mind.
Poetry is therapy with the ******* cashflow reversed.
Poetry is an act of narcissism.
This poem is a cry for forgiveness.
I wish I could call It an epilogue, but that it is not.

Hi, I am the poet and I am also an addict.
I am addicted to the attention and love of other people.
I am addicted to the feedback and approval of other people.
I’m 20 and I still act like I’m the only person on earth.
It probably has something to do with my parents.
Or any other way I can shovel the blame off myself.

Sometimes I hate selfless people because I wish I could be like them.
I have not said that out loud before.
I never ******* grew up.
I have not said that out loud before.

Today I spent £20 of my Mother’s money because I convinced myself I deserved it,
Because It’s hard getting out of bed,
Right?
                                                                                 Please see my thoughts.

Today I convinced myself it’s not my fault I get jealous of other people,
I’m a blameless product of my upbringing,
Right?
                                                                          Please tell me they are okay.

Today I wrote this poem and lay in bed,
And you should pat me on the back for that,
Right?
                         ART IS DEAD WE KILLED IT ARE YOU HAPPY NOW


Poetry is an act of narcissism.
I am a poet.
Forgive me.
Forgive me.
Forgive me.
Forgive me.
Forgive me.

Some nights you
were the moon.
Sailing through waves of milk
Before disappearing
into the vulnerability
Of what we keep on the inside.
It's no wonder why cookies
Are so popular.
The outer edge
drenched in saliva,
Curiously protecting
what's kept Precious.
A slight pause before everything
Is mushed & swallowed.
Some nights you were the moon.
Drenched in white fudge
Swirling in a universe all of your own.
Some nights you were the universe
Itself

She loves control.
At least that’s what she tells herself
laying in bed at night alone.
In reality she loves being able to hold all of the cards
and not having to give up a single one
only to have it returned bent or torn.

She’s figured out a way to be kind, and caring
without truly letting anyone in,
and without having to sacrifice her already fragile mental state.
Instead of brick walls shielding her from everyone,
she stands behind prison bars.
People can see her,
but they can’t get in.

while this may have been a safe haven
it quickly turned sour.
Like Icarus,
drunk on power
and too close to the sun,
what was once a place to heal
Quickly turned into a place that kept her isolated from everyone.

While she thought she loved control
She realized she loved invulnerability.
The lack of vulnerability kept her in isolation
and in this cell of loneliness
all she longed for was a love to call her own.
Trapped in an ongoing circle
of fear,
isolation,
vulnerability,
and pain,
she couldn’t find out
how to work love or companionship into the equation.

Having been burned to many times
and plummeting back down to earth
she feared the wax wings
that would allow her to soar.
She wasn’t afraid of falling,
she was afraid of the impact;
the pain that comes with love.

Poor Cupid,
with all of his arrows destined to pierce her skin
only to be ricocheted off of the metal bars surrounding her heart.
Her hope lay in an imaginative figure
smart enough to break the lock
or find his way through the bars
as she couldn’t see herself
finding a way out anymore.

She longs for skin touching skin
both ****** and freeing
as well as comforting and warm.
She longs for intimacy and freedom,
while maintaining independence and a sense of self.
She wants the courage it takes to be vulnerable,
because she is scared to be lonely,
and even more scared to be “his”.

Being Vulnerable does not come easily to Me!
To be heard and felt, to hear and feel felt like emotions with no meaning,
Then you sailed through and entered my space and saw things which I had not been able to place,
on the very landscape of my heart and soul, and you drilled a hole,
On the fabric of my life- spread and somehow, I experienced “wholeness” once more!
I became someone who feels and expresses and is not afraid to take chances,
This is a person whom I used to know, the original Me and Myself,
I gradually started to break promises I made to myself,
of not being vulnerable, emotional or open to any feelings,
I don’t want to hide behind this façade anymore,
Longing to feel the sun burning my skin once more,
I'm glad you exist, even if it’s on a different plane,
For through our interactions every time, there is so much I gain,
Pain is not what I have feared, it’s the explosion of joy that I don’t know how to handle,
Guess what? being vulnerable still does not come naturally to Me
Its only when I look into your eyes, which reflect the expectation of pain back to me,
Even though we are both smiling at eachother in this moment now,
For you and I are overlapping spaces, torn and ravaged blue
and for both of us, it is our very own Vulnerabilities which binds us like glue!

To take that step
You bare your soul
Ready for rejection
Vulnerability taking hold

To take that step
You steel yourself
Ready for acceptance
Love thyself

To take that step
You make a transition
Acceptance, rejection
What’s the decision

But to not to take that step
To not be vulnerable
Keeps you safe
Leaves you comfortable

To not take the step
A life stagnates
Lack of fulfilment
Stalemate