On his body is a ginger bread thong
To soften you up he sings a sweet sugar song
If you hit on him he’ll play along

He’s the **** ginger bread man

He’ll ****** you with candy wine
On a scale from 1-10 he is a 9
Girls look at him and say, “He’s so fine”

He’s the **** ginger bread man

On his face are peanut butter eyes
He has powdered sugar on his manly thighs
He will reel you in with his seductive lies

He’s the **** ginger bread man

On this neck is a chain of candy
Around the house he can be handy
If you add frosting he can be pretty randy

He’s the **** ginger bread man

Out of the batch he is the pick
He has a giant ginger breadstick
It has rainbow sprinkles on it

He’s the **** ginger bread man

You bite the chain and swallow the thong
Eat the stick which is very long
You gobble him up till he’s all gone

NO MORE **** ginger bread man

Hey you,

Just got back to the flat, not the same without you sat at the top of the stairs typing away.

Reminders all over, showing me of your recent presence.
First sight at pile of dishes that you washed,
Empty grissini breadstick's box,
Still some tzatziki and houmous left though.

Need a ****, can't deal with this already.
Ahh, that's better. A tooth-brush is missing,
Spa Covent Garden Sanctuary, Irish Meadow?
Will upstairs be any better?

Must pause, plug in interent hub. ****,
Back to old self so soon.
Duvet squashed up to the back wall,
Can almost make out your imprint.

I'm reluctant to throw out the remaining *** butts,
Seems as if you're still here.
Half drunken mugs of tea, finished quiche,
Can't believe I was so sick on the last night.

Bad dreams yesterday, two in fact.
Both being hung over ridiculous heights.
No good with that, big fear.
A sign of pressure bearing down?

Held council to rights, no joy.
Start the whole drawn out claim again,
Lot's of boxes to tick and fill.
Toss pots, must bite tongue and get on.

Doctor’s waiting room has mags for women only,
Nothing to chill my nervous mind.
'But are you going to faint on me?'
I made it through allright, lost some blood.

ECG scan on Thursday, for what though?
Chest or heart? Probably heart.
Mid-life wake-up call come early.
Do I really want to know? I suppose.


Where's my lovely? I need her so.
A cuddle, a smile, all better.
Action time- phoned all bills, extra time.
C'mere money, pretty please?

What thong then? Suspicious...
I was right (kinda)! ***!!!
So excited, so touched, wow!
We will work it out Dee.

Thoughts of wild horses scare me not,
Something feeling very right, not at all wrong.
Hardest thing ever has already been done-
Finding that special little someone.

In my passenger seat is a girl
with more beauty than all of Great Britain,
but she only sees herself in funhouse mirrors.
Most days she wades knee-deep in silence
and makes beauty marks of her own design
because she doesn’t notice how
the room gets brighter when she walks through the door.

I remember the first time I cut into my own skin;
I remember when I smiled more as my hunger worsened,
and I remember why I stopped.
But for the life of me, I cannot form the words
to feed this lovely girl or to heal her battle wounds.

A cup of green tea and two slices of pizza,
half a breadstick and cream of wheat—
her mouth can take it all in,
but I remember closed doors and reliving meals.
And it still scares me every time she shuts the bathroom door.

There would be no hesitation in holding back her hair
after too many drinks or on a sick day from school—
it’s a different kind of scared.
Scared that she will never know how perfect she is,
because her perfection is sitting cross-legged
in front of the mirror while fixing her hair
and standing in line at a coffee shop.
It’s quiet and simple, but she is impossible to ignore.

This beautiful girl is made of
all the best ingredients;
she is learning a secret family recipe
and buying a secondhand  jigsaw puzzle with no missing pieces.
Stars cannot shine without darkness
and she is the brightest of them all.