So What?
Shells on the beach
Like stars out of reach
Except
In reach.
Cut grass on the green
Like things left unseen
Except
Seen
Bubbles floating high
Like clouds fluffing by
Except
Not fluffy
Flowers from afar
Like life in a jar
Except
Out of a jar
Things left unsaid
Often stay in my head
Except
They don’t
Do they?
Because I spew them out all over the place like some projectile vomiting child held over its parent’s shoulder while its spew bounces off the wall from five feet away.
And life goes on and flowers smell lovely and clouds are fluffy and bubbles are pretty and cut grass smells brilliant and stars twinkle and shells are precious.
So fucking what!
pisces
they are right. they are so
terribly right. all the time.
they are sick of getting emails
while they write poetry on Prose.
they are the wild pokemon ditto
in a forest of pidgeys. they have
wisdom of 11 signs before them
and yet they chose to cry
over nothing. but to them,
nothing is everything.
they swim in gay emotions
and try to drown, but they
float too well. they are all over
the place yet they know
what they need. they are unsure
of what they don't need, however.
they tread amongst the stars, noticing
each one before it dies
and they never forget.
virginity
when I was fourteen I lost something that everyone told me was important. I was special for having it, pure, clean; did losing it ruin me forever? it was something I could never get back. it could not be returned to me by the person who took it. every time I looked for it, I cried because I knew it was no longer there.
when I was twenty I found out that what I had lost wasn't important. I wasn't special for losing it, for having it taken away from me at such a young age. I realized I didn't need it back, because the person who took it never had it in the first place. when I found it, I cried from relief.
nobody could take it from me because it doesn't exist.
The text and subtext
He send her a text
Saying good work mate
He sent her a text
Saying
Can you work late.
He send her a text
Saying
Hunny well done
He sent her a text
Saying
Do you like fun?
He sent her a text
Saying
Babe you look great
He sent her a text
Saying
See you at eight
He sent her a text
Saying
Sexy in blue
He sent her a text
Saying
Dance with me, do
He sent her a text
Saying
Show me your tits
He sent her a text
Saying LoL I’m in fits
He sent her a text
Saying
Can you undress?
I’m your boss
If you don’t I will make life a mess
We’re a team
Me and you
Now you’re under my spell
Does your husband not know?
Do you want me to tell?
He sent her a text
And she hadn’t a clue.
It was part of a plan.
Did it happen to you?
Somewhere at the Bottom of the Morgue
I rarely miss anyone enough for it to be painful
I miss time
And spaces
And places
And minutes
But the tangible slips
It is leaky-faucet drips
People are context
People are stillborn
Dead-aching
Unmoving
Unyielding
Stagnant
I miss hands and mouths
I mourn words
I mourn touch
I hold funerals for sunbeams that fell through leaves long since passed
You will find me penning epithets to hungry breath lost on cold air
I will leave flowers where music once rang
I will dig holes 6 ft deep for ghosts
And leave the bodies to rot, carrion-feast
And I will drown weightless in their graves as I stitch myself to phantoms
