This page is home to some of my favourite poems. Looking for a theme? You can look at the list on the side to see if what your looking for is there. If not, just take a read through what's below.
Eleven
I knock once.
Your door is darker than I remember.
Weeds have grown up the cracking walls.
A flake of paint falls to my feet,
Startled into movement by my fist
On the door.
Twice.
Are you home?
I thought I saw a light on;
I know it’s been a while.
I’ve been scared to come see you.
Three times.
But I’ve missed the colour of your eyes.
Please?
Did you not ask me to come?
I swear I’ll be good to you.
Four.
I miss the feeling of your hair.
Do you not miss me at all?
Your house must be cold.
Five.
I have some wood, we could start a nice fire
in the fireplace.
Six.
Maybe some hot chocolate.
Seven.
Please baby, it’s cold out here alone.
Eight.
He doesn’t smile the way you do.
Nine.
No one ever could.
Ten.
The bolt hasn’t moved.
Snow begins to fall with the paint,
Black and white around my feet, like bruises on pale skin.
I turn around.
At the edge of the yard I do not hear the hinges on the door
Creak.
I do not wait for
Eleven.
I Am Loving
I do believe I am falling in love with you.
Slipping,
Just a bit
But the edge is tiny, the fall much too large for me to handle.
The bottom is far away, there could be millions of things there,
Like jagged rocks
Or electric eels.
Or possibly I am floating, up through cotton candy clouds.
Possibly, there are good things
Possibly, I am not falling at all.
But in any case, I am loving you
A little more each day.
I do believe I am handing you my heart.
Please, do not hand it back broken
Or at least if you do, make sure I know where the bandaids are before you leave
In fact, I think I’ll grab some now, just precautionary measures.
Perhaps, you are loving me too
But that could not be the case
That could not be what is in your eyes when you look at me
Just that way. That look
I am loving that look, loving the colour
Of your eyes. The blue in them
And the flutter as they close
The rumble of your voice, the notes
The catch when nerves get in the way
The one that they don’t notice.
Oh, how I am loving
All the things they don’t notice.
The things that are you
The shirts that make up your closet.
The cats in space.
Only time will tell if I am floating or
Falling
Only time will tell
But for now I am loving
And hoping that you are doing the same.
A Second Heart
I have not spent enough time to comment on the quality
Of the lights,
You say.
But I have been here long enough for your city
To belong to me
And me to it, just as it does for you.
There is no minimum time for the understanding of the
Thralls of people.
For the pace of the city to put the broken hearts
Behind.
It belongs to millions as it belongs to each one,
The city of the restless,
The city of the future
And the past.
The dreamers’ hearts,
Shattered on the scorching pave,
Congregate together in the waking hours of the night.
It is a night city.
A city where vampires reside without fear of their secrets getting out.
A city for the heartbroken
But hopeful.
Chipping whitewash reveals new colour beneath.
You say I don’t understand the sounds of the traffic.
Constant.
The heat of exhaust,
The lack of stars,
But it is a first love affair, one of undying loyalty.
I draw from it life, and then return.
It is a partnership of two beating hearts,
One of mine
And the other of the city.
Pills we swallow
this headache continues to grow and you give me the pills of beauty and romance
alternating days, saying it will make the pain go away
i swallow and see beauty
beauty in my destruction and romance in the way I hate myself.
swallow and beauty and demons and death
blood and numbers decreasing
fire hot against my skin
liquid burns my throat
endless repeating, beating heads against a wall and cheer for their destruction
i can’t say I’m depressed if I haven’t tried to kill myself but every day I wish I already had
is that not good enough to be considered unhealthy to you?
the only validation were finding as we’re crying is the people cheering as we’re dying
i’m not destroying myself the right way
if I see one good thing about myself we might as well burn me at the stake
cause I’m a witch for trying to love myself
i’m a bitch for wanting to get better.
there is no way I could be sick if I’m not sicker than you
i can’t suffer if I don’t suffer the most
if I go a little deeper will you consider me a cutter?
if I lose 10 more pounds
throw up meal after meal
don’t eat for three days
does that finally fit your narrow minded definition of anorexia
we turn business and exhaustion and sickness into a competition
we strive to be the most ruinous
why are we doing this?
my greatest goal in life is now sadness so thank you.
thank you for the checklist you gave me of all the reasons to hate me
and If I dare leave one unmarked I can’t really be hurting
to have my feelings validated I make myself sicker
until I no longer breathe
HAPPY YET?
we train kids to say
“mommy, I want to hate myself someday”
aspirations are unhappiness because you made it out that way.
you make friends with the demons under your bed and if I don’t I’m a fake, a flake because I’m not committed whole heartedly to no longer existing.
and you tell me to be proud of my darkness.
It is a Blanket
It is a blanket.
Now I’m sure when you think blanket, you think warmth, comfort, safety.
A young child hiding underneath it to get away from the shadowy monsters.
Transforming into a superhero, a child who was just another child until the blanket was wrapped around their neck. The blanket was a cape, and they flew.
I never had a blanket when I was young, I never had something that went everywhere with me.
I do now.
My blanket wraps around my neck too sometimes, and I am not another child then either, though it doesn’t help me fly, instead it drags me down further.
It is not a cape. It is chains.
I sit with people and my blanket.
I eat dinner with my blanket.
I am nothing without it. But I am nothing with it either. I am nothing
And when I hit to bottom and fall deeply into water, my blanket becomes soaked and I fight not to drown.
Living with this blanket is hard.
I cannot get out of the water and dry off quickly and continue with my life, because it will not leave me. When I am down, I am down.
I have a blanket.
Not black, not now, though maybe that was how it was at first. My blanket is not black, that is too extreme, too intense, for the numbness that cloaks me.
I wake up from grey dreams and put of grey clothes, living a grey life in a world full of other people colour and excuse me if I’ll take a pill because it lets me see that world.
Or if I want to cut my skin because I feel that red is better than nothing.
Red.
Grey.
Red.
Grey
Everything is grey, please just make it go away. I beg and cry and scream as I smash my fist but what hurts?
Why would it hurt?
What’s better than nothing? Anything.
Oblivion and indifference are my fears, they chase and I run just fast enough to keep them at my grey heels.
Grey fears.
I suppose that I do hug my blanket when I’m scared. It is my safety, crawling back into what I know. Sometimes I forget that not caring is bad.
But then it starts to attack me too and I have fallen off a cliff, twisting and falling blindly, willing my arms to reach out a grasp at something. My brain begs my body because it knows what I should really be afraid of, but my body refused to perform.
Maybe my blanket will catch me.
Grey, grey, with a speck of red.
I have no title
A piece of me wanted to die.
Just a small one, but it was big enough that you saw it, because you had the same piece too.
And you grabbed it and ours slowly began to knit together and I thought that we could share our half-hearts.
So eventually, thought I was hesitant at first, I let you call me yours. I liked it, because it meant you needed me. That was what I thought.
You said you loved me.
I realized that our pieces were being pulled towards you and they weren’t actually pieces at all, but parts.
Parts of a body. Parts of my skin, and you wanted to touch and know every one of those parts, and who was I to fight it.
You said you loved me
You wanted to hear me moan and cry out your name but what I wanted was to yell to hell with it all. Every last piece.
And I did scream, inside. And I drowned and cried but no one could know because my mouth was too busy doing whatever you said would please you.
I told you not to change yourself for me, but I did exactly the same, twisting my values because of my vulnerability and the security that I believed you had for me, because you said you loved me.
But someone who loved me would listen to me, instead of pushing away my words in favour of other things that they saw as more valuable.
I guess that means I didn’t love myself either, because who I was became an empty shell of a past life, where I was my own. A ghost of a smile played on my face, but no one could tell that my real one had been swept away with my innocence and the extra pieces of my heart that you seemed to think that I didn’t need.
I was a walking memory of someone who no longer existed, your memory of me, and his memory of me and their memory of me.
Don’t talk about what’s killing you, but instead drown it in another’s kiss and pretend to like it, even though you’re really wishing the shame would kill you faster.
And it was. Killing me, that is. I cower at the word beautiful, because I forget that it comes from kind lips now, and not ones that wish for my surrender, as if I am fighting in a battle for my life.
I thought I lost
But lie after lie finally built me a pile large enough that I could climb out of the pit I was in, and as I climbed the chains fell from me like water dripping off my skin. I started to dry out, but the memories clung anyway, like seaweed in the heat of guilt.
You were an egg shell that I treaded carefully over, because breaking it would not result in a mess and a wasted egg, but in a monster breaking free.
But it broke free anyway, no matter how careful I was, and I know that it would devour what was left of me no matter what, so I made an attempt at an escape.
Each step further away was a breaking of my own empty shell, the chains came back at night, holding me in a place of terror of who I had been, but in the morning they were gone, because how could I let anyone else see them.
Shame
Betrayal
Disgust
At you, for doing this to me.
At myself, for letting you.
And I believed that everyone else was feeling in too, because how could anyone want me when I didn’t want myself.
Dirty
Damaged
Worthless
Those words started to fall off, just enough that I could get a clean breath of air that wasn’t coming from your mouth, and I screamed.