All my words are always about you.
You and me and us and space.
Light up you love. To watch it all burn down.
Let the ashes settle into the groves of my fingertips.
So I can scrub away my guilty with soap and tears.
And all I ever do is talk, talk, talk to talk away the silence.
Because I don’t think I can listen to echoes of these charming lies inside of my mind.
And because then there is no time to cry.
So empty, so angry, so tired.
Every little boy and girl needs a little company sometimes.
Nov 23 - Dec 21
Let’s reverse the roles. I’ll be the client, you be the astrologer. Now, I know that you are not fully au fait with all the celestial information, so I will help you a bit here. You have got to tell me about how everything I face, even if it is emotionally painful or nerve-racking, is part of an incredibly profound and positive process. What advice would you give? Well, indeed! And that is precisely my advice to you. Oh, one more thing. If you need to tell someone something, try to help them see how things look from where you are standing.
“I’m free now we can be friends,” you say presenting it to me like a gift.
And despite my resolution I let those words sink in through my skin.
I twist them inside of me like a rope knotted in the centre of my chest.
Tighter and tighter I twist as you tease me and bet me obscene little things.
“I bet you woke up in his bed,” as if you’ve forgotten all the times I’ve woken up in yours.
Even when I don’t respond, you poke and you prod and you push your luck.
And as you do my little knot of words begin unravelling.
I can feel them, weaving through the gaps in my bones.
Tighter and tighter, weighing me down, breaking me apart.
‘We can’t be friends. I loved you too much.’
I need you to know.
That this is the best I can do.
That the only affection that I will ever be able to offer you,
Will be temporary and alcohol fuelled.
This is the only way I will ever be able to love you.
I’m looking for someone who leaves bruises on the back of my knees; and
Sings to me, softly, songs that I have never heard.
Can you whisper to me, sweet nothings on a Sunday morning until the noon sun is too high in the sky to ignore.
Would you leave you hand, resting, on the small of my back underneath my shirt and against my skin.
I’d let you warm your feet on my calves when your legs are too long for my covers in my too cold house.
You don’t even need to love me. I mean, I don’t need you to love me.
Just as long as you promise to stay with me.
I’ve been missing the way it feels to touch you;
And leave a trail of my fingerprints along your skin.
I’ve been dreaming about my fingers filling those spaces;
Underneath the covers, you and me and everything in-between.
And I’d never confide in another soul how my heart flutter and tingles.
I could never let you know, how I hope and dream and pine for you.
Because I’m not that type of girl.
I’m not the one who is everything and enough and nothing else.
You won’t give up yourself in exchange for me.
I’m not the girl for you. But I still miss you.
I need to know, how much more of this load I can take before letting go.
I am trying my best not to carry this scar and live my lifetime of regret.
I’ve been trying so hard to write about being miserable without you.
All I know is my heart has been weighed down by a debt it still owes you.
And the last thousand days I gave will never be quite enough to buy back the pieces of my heart I miss.
So I’m stuck here, writing all the same lines which are never quite right.
Trying to sew these little tears in my soul, trying to make my heart whole.
Perhaps I made a mistake, leaving my heart for safekeeping in a city so very far away.
Because all my actions are tainted with this endless emptiness it’s left within me.
There’s nothing more I can say, there’s nothing more I can ask you to think.
When I look in the mirror, I don’t recognise this face that looks back at me.
I used to believe, I had the strength to be good and virtuous and forgiving and happy.
Except, I’m beginning to see, I’m beginning to fear the girl who lives my life for me,
Is cold and hurtful and selfish and out of control.
you’re this and you’re that, but you’re not good enough
we’re both hopeless romantics spinning apart
and i’m struggling to hold onto this hope pulsing in my heart
i’m waiting for you to notice
but i don’t know how long before the wait is enough
it’s so hard to be strong, when you know no one is looking on
and i’m struggling too
i feel like i might break just to feel the pain
because i don’t know where else to find the strength
to hold on to these convictions and to stay the path of my dreams
dreams that i can’t remember having before you gave them to me
i’m afraid to be lost without you.
I know what I want, you know? I do. But I just don’t have the things I want yet… and I know why. I secretly think that it’s because I am not pretty enough… I think it’s mostly on the outside that I’m not pretty, but sometimes I think I’m not pretty on the inside either. I don’t really tell this to anyone, but I feel like I can tell you everything.
My skin smells of you for a day or two, and my lips are smeared with the guilt exchanged between us too.
Because I could not stop myself, trying to steal from you snatches of your happiness.
I could not help the fear from filling the emptiness in this desperate heart.
I’m finished with playing the victim, finished with all my defences and excuses.
Because all this is, is sadness upon sadness, lovelessness over lovelessness.
Foolishly believing that I was getting better, readying myself for the day I would be stronger.
When all this time, my mind, was breeding this hurtful heart.
And with every well-informed mistake, I’m burning away pieces of myself.
I can do nothing more than to beg you to please leave me alone, here with my coal blackened, mournful soul.
I thought I would be happy by now.