Individual

I don't want a boy who knows me
better than I know myself.
And if one appears, I will tell him;
that I am a million things
he won’t ever know.
And if he works those things out,
he'll find a million more,
buried beneath each finger nail,
hidden in the crooks of my arms.
No man ever wrote me.
for I’m not a map.
And I won't let them follow me
like I’m a straight line.

And if he argues
that LOVE can achieve anything.
With a smirk on his face
I will tell him;
that I am not a test he can study for,
he can't memorise my soul.
He doesn’t get bonus points
for remembering my favourite TV show;
my ex didn’t fail
so that he could get full marks.

I won't be reduced by a man
to the limits of his brain.
I could be his best friend,
his love,
his soulmate;
but I will never be his to define.

My Mind's a Map

My mind is a map
that leads me back to you,
when you cannot be found.

My heart is a jukebox
which plays a love song
each time I think of you.

My eyes are having flashbacks;
they're leaving me believing
you're everywhere I go.

Each night I must remind my body
that you don't love me anymore
just so that I won't dream about you too.

Firefly

I think I burned our bridges
but I can't even find the match.
I look back and see a fiery light;
and I still don't know how it was
we collapsed.

Intoxicated

Sometimes
when I felt like destroying myself
I would search for your name.
Your photo; an alcoholic’s final drink.
My mother taught me not to,
but I drank your face
straight from the bottle,
until my insides burned.
For years you were my remedy,
until my bottle ran dry.

My Companion

I would like to introduce you to a man,
who talks to me most frequently.

He contradicts and criticizes;
like the seasons he does change.

There are two people in my house;
although my name is on the lease.

When my landlord's feeling anxious 
Twice I will be phoned.

I'm satisfied the way things are
but I know I'll have to chose.
One day a simplification

before I tear myself in two.

I speak to you through paper

with words straight from a heart. 

By heaven I'm always lonely

though I've never been left alone.

My neighbours shrink in fear,
for they think I've lost the plot.

But soon you'll understand,
why the noises never stop.

I ask you, tell me painly

whose voice it is you hear.
From in between your ears,
who reads to you these words?

Who do you feel like 
when you do not feel yourself?
And why do you do 
the things you don't mean to?

My only malady is 
that he and I have never got along.
His existence seems destructive
and he doesn't share my goals.
 
He drives me close to madness
then reverses back again.

I have not a single train of thought,
with a solitary load.

Jog Your Memory

Falling out of love is like the wind blowing past my face,

is like the tides,

is like the unfortunate circumstance;

it always happens to me.

Like a birth-mark upon my forehead that reads

Stay Away. Unstable Ground.

I date an illiterate boy

and he learns to read.

Misplaced;

mismatched;

mistaken…

an endless race

of Hope and The Inevitable.

The unenviable conclusion of our fated love.

The nights we found out

Cupid’s arrow could draw blood,

and giving up was vivid purple

on the palms of my hands.

The day three words became a weapon.

I thought it was us against the world

and got hit by friendly fire.

I’m like an advert, and she’s a blockbuster

you can’t take your eyes off.

Practical never captured your heart

and temporary is never in style;

before we know it

our love has past; a distant memory

that fits on a piece of paper

6x4,

6x4.

Buy your postcards, love

and take pictures for display;

because this love is leaving quickly

I am the girl you will forget

but I hope these little trinkets of our life

will jog your memory of me.

Tuesday Afternoon

Your face is Tuesday afternoon;

I will forget it sometime soon.

Vertigo

If I will never see you face again
and I'll never hear your voice,
is this the right moment to say
all those things I never dared.

You know that I'm a coward
because you were the height I was afraid of.
I stood on your edges
and prayed you wouldn't move.

Is now the time
to scream that I love you.
Listen hopeful for an echo 
before I hit the ground?

Main St.

Pins and Needles

I have this feeling in my fingers.

A burning at the base;
like whatever I touch
will turn into flames,

and ashes, and dust.

It is not creative, I cannot make the flames,
it is destruction, and I realise
that pain is but a synonym

of something entirely other.

Sometimes I yearn to make a deal;
to trade these hands for hooks,

like the fairy tales of childhood.

So I could touch more;
and feel less.

But the doctor simply tells me:

‘It is but pins and needles.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.’

Quirks

He mostly stood in darkness,
encased within his silence.
Reluctant to reveal
the mystery of the shadows
by flicking on a switch.
In darkness, he would turn
his deepest thoughts to poetry,

and hope one day that people
would somehow find them beautiful.

And he was painfully,
acutely aware that nobody cared, 

about Instagram updates

or that he got scared, sometimes.

His voice never shook

but it tumbled; it crashed, and it wept
all of its own accord.
It had a heart of its own

that he would have asked to be confident,
if only he could have.
 

Those thoughts, when not written down,
would wander like gypsies
and he wished they would find a home,

so he could have a place to call his own.

I Want You (Vows #01)

I want to fall asleep in your arms
and wake up next to you;
I want your kiss upon my forehead
when I’m feeling blue.

Numbers

I’m adding 1 and 1 and coming up with 4
because I left you 7 missed calls or maybe more.
You were my wish at 11.11
And I still think about you 24/7.

Natural

Fluttering;

slowly catapulting downwards –

            but soon caught.

A breeze, a movement, a moment

floating;

            swinging;

A swift spiral of invisible

intensity.

Gently caressing nature,

comforting movements of faith and misfortune.

Catapulting downwards;

but slowly.

Drifting.

A momentous journey; infinite turns

towards a finite ending.

Freedom; to be captured.

            Happiness to come to a close,

twisting, spiralling, spinning

downwards,

            but gently.