You’ll travel far

Melancholy,
lost my dolly,
threw it from the pram.
Along with toys
and other joys,
but I don’t give a damn.
‘This world’, they said
can give you all,
your heart could ever desire.
How wrong they are,
you’ll travel far
but only if on fire.
With passion burning
in your soul,
to step beyond yourself.
To shed your fear
and change the gear,
create a unique goal.
This world, you see,
spins on a thread
of honesty and trust.
Your angel dust,
the you within
will guide you as you tread.
So walk a path
that’s all your own,
embark on your own course.
Ignore words of others,
those well meant brothers
and feel your inner force.

I remember everything…

I remember everything…

Bound and gagged by memory.

The sweat forming between our palms,

cold toes seeking a warm calf;

my atoms trying to fuse

into your touch,

to become more than

my own molecules,

more than the DNA of my birth.

I remember everything…

How they spoke in hushed tones,

not comprehending what I heard.

Squirreling away their insecurities,

secretly storing misinformation

whilst my adolescent mind hibernated.

The fat added to my young bones

as I gorged myself in a no-mans land;

exiled to my room for being too much,

exhibiting too much emotion

for all of us to handle.

I remember everything…

Them desperately trying to stem the flow

of the uncomfortable reality of being human.

Distractions so short-lived.

I became mute, playing charades

with an audience blinded and paralyzed

by their own inadequacies.

My voice raised,

only that they should hear

how lost I felt trying to be them.

I remember everything…

How desperate I was to confirm

to their understanding,

to learn the lines of their script,

of a life that can only be improvised.

Rule upon rule became my yard stick,

constraints doing nothing more than

enabling my own dysfunctional mind;

tricking it, confusing it,

beating it into submission

robbing it of innocent fascination

reinforcing lie upon lie;

that the world belonged to everyone but me.

I remember everything…

Back to Black by Amy Winehouse

He left no time to regret, kept his dick wet
With his same old safe bet
Me, and my head high, and my tears dry
Get on without my guy

You, went back to what you knew, so far removed
From all that we went through
And I, tread, a troubled track, my odds are stacked
I’ll go back to black

We only said goodbye with words
I died a hundred times
You go back to her
And I go back to, I go back to, us

I love you much, it’s not enough
You love blow and I love puff
And life, is like a pipe
And I’m a tiny penny rolling up the walls, inside

We only said goodbye with words
I died a hundred times
You go back to her
When I go back to

We only said goodbye with words
I died a hundred times
You go back to her
And I go back to

Black, black, black, black
Black, black, black
I go back to
I go back to

We only said goodbye with words
I died a hundred times
You go back to her
And I go back to

We only said goodbye with words
I died a hundred times
You go back to her
And I go back to black

The Whole Shebang

I caught a glimpse

momentarily

of what could be;

the potential of

the whole shebang.

Another kindred spirit

mislaid,

lost too in a familiar life.

Shared dreams, aspirations,

distanced

by circumstance,

united by certainty,

by the belief

that there is so much more…

Mediocrity,

alien

to us both.

Continually searching,

connected

purely by thought.

“Supergirl”

The last peg is stuck fast

in the fertile earth

of my past.

I have kicked,

sworn and cried,

with frustrated understanding,

not noticing

my steadfast hold;

my foot in the door.

One hand tied,

bound by memory.

The other pushing,

pulling,

grasping at straws.

She’s sowing seeds, she’s burning trees

She’s sowing seeds, she’s burning trees

She’s a Super girl, a Super girl

Sunflowers pulled,

mistook

for unfulfilled promises…

My mistake?

Your mistake?

When you’re in love what can go wrong?

The last peg is stuck fast

in the fertile earth

of my past.

I was you…

The end goal,

their sole goal.

A shallow life

bereft of real soul.

They ask,

what it is like

to be old.

To be a postscript

to their prologue;

their ink soaked dreams.

These girls count

their age in fractions.

Eager to experience everything.

To wear it fast and loose.

 

‘Whatever…’

 

Blind to their

own beauty.

Individuality main-streamed

A Selfie redeemed

social popularity.

I was you

I tell them.

I was every uncertainty,

every weight,

the hormonal fate

of alien limbs.

Contorting my will

to hide my ignorance,

through a detached indifference.

Perfection is flawed.

I assure them.

I was you,

before I became me.