I am looking out
To a grey world
Smog, smoke and decay
The rain drops like tears
On my window, rivers
Scattered patterns that thrive
In their abstract nature
As they pass the webs
Where spiders sew and weave
Like their life depends on it
The wind constantly pushing
On their homes and mine
Is blown away, but how
Did it come to this
This desperate desperation
Drug-induced haze
Pink powder running through veins
The world looks a little less grey
The spiders are dancing
Dodging deadly droplets
Looking into my window
Multitudes of eyes and I
Look back at them
And smile
The Fall – A Short Serie of Poems
Echoes of a damaged soul
She’s sitting on the bed,
Singing her song.
I just can’t help it,
But my heart moves along
And my feet find the beat.
I see your every breath,
Every strum of your fingers
Along the strings, but it’s not the guitar
That I hear, in my heart.
It’s your voice
Echoing in my soul,
As the intricate patterns unravel
And my thoughts travel, to past patterns –
Webs of anxiety, where I am wrapped
In love and soft promises,
That branded my mind –
Marked my heart and left me.
Anxiety
Attraction makes me anxious
Getting pulled in against my will
And I don’t really know how to feel
Is it real, is it real
Or is it the same old spiel
Where I fall for someone and I can’t believe
They would be into me or believe
Our heart beats, the string instruments
Of a living symphony
It’s no Flight of the Bumblebee
Or a composition by Debussy,
No, it is just one exciting anxiety
A funny thing
Two avoidants walk into a room.
Neither one speaks,
Neither one makes a move.
Instead, they embrace each other, and their nature, with feigned yawns,
Strategic stutters, and self-explanatory mutters.
Somehow, somewhat, in some way
One explains in a particular way,
What he wanted to say –
As if it was a birth of words,
With all its contractions,
Contradictions, and a sincere lack of diction and sounds.
At last, he got the words out,
Which is when it became her turn
To try to explain in some way –
A particularly elaborate way –
Far away from each other’s gaze,
What exactly she wanted to say.
Look at them, they’ve come such a long way.
I wonder what someone with a different perspective might say.
“Two avoidants walked into a room.
Neither one speaks.
Neither one leaves,
As they both have a crippling fear of abandonment.”
Us, the looking glass
Crystallise the love to keep it intact.
It’s a frightful transparancy,
To breathe life into a feeling
By giving it a voice,
In your presence.
We’re made of glass, the melted sands
Of all our past failures, victories,
Sins, and the lovers we have been.
Crystallise our love, my dear.
Our hearts are so clear in their desire,
As they burn and shake themselves apart
In an anticipation for past pessimism.
But, oh, the sands of the hourglass keep falling,
Day in, day out,
And I find myself in their midst,
Falling for you.
I want you to know
I kissed you in the snow,
And I didn’t want to go home
To an empty bed.
Hours earlier, we watched the sun set
As I told you stories,
While you rested your head on my chest.
I wonder if you could hear my heart beat,
Mere centimeters from your ear.
I wonder if you could hear it skip a beat
Whenever you laughed, squeezed my arm,
Or poked me in the side.
I wonder if you could hear my stomach
Digest the fact that there seems to be an increase in the amount of butterflies spotted, this week.
What a strange natural phenomenon –
To act on and subsequently reflect on,
Days later when
I kissed you in the snow,
Because I wanted you to know
That these feelings are real
And that this is the way that I feel.
I don’t want anything else,
Or someone new.
When we kissed,
You found me,
And I found you.
Resolve
What a day it was
A killing breeze reigned
Across frozen waters and lakes
A high moon in a cancer ridden sky
The sun hid in dark alcoves
Caves and the wanderers of the wastelands
Covered in coveted lies
Truths and unknown impossibilities
The septum of irreverence
The eye in the midst of it all
An omnipotent god of nothing
An impotent snail in a water trough
Climbing up the sides
A trail of desolation
Smoke in the hives and honey
Stolen by kings and queens
Sweet ignorance where art thou
Awareness kills the element of surprise
Joy escapes the violence
A butterfly in a wartorn hellscape
The end of it all
As sleep succumbs to existence
Home
I’ll build you a home in my arms,
Where you can be alone.
But if I do,
I don’t know
If there’s enough room for two.
If you’re in my chambers –
If you’re in my heart,
Then the last thing I’d want
Is for this house to fall apart.
Study of Life
I think you’re avoiding my eyes.
It’s only been a few months since I was by your side, that night,
Sitting on your bedside table
With an arm around your waist,
When you decided to kiss my face.
Our lips met, time after time,
And our tongues intertwined
In an unexpected chemistry –
Our biology: the way we’ve been made;
Our deepest selves, our atoms and cells
That we can’t escape.
But for a moment,
Where we find ourselves besides, inside, in sight of
What we want, but can’t have,
And no amount of trust will be enough –
To tell me that’s what it’s like to be loved.
Still, we tried and talked and laughed and fucked,
Because that’s all there was.
And that’s all that it was.
So I look back, to when we saw eye to eye, as close as can be,
And I think a piece of me was at peace
Being each other’s primary side piece,
Just for a night.
What I’m trying to say is,
It’s fine if you want to say goodbye.
But please, at least look me in the eye.
Allen Was Right
Miss me with the news,
I’ll go watch Blues Clues
To hear the true truth.
The true proof presented by a dog
That looks at me through a screen,
And says in an ominous voice,
“God is the machine, but he ain’t no Rolls-Royce”
So I ask him, “What the hell does that mean?”
To which he says, “haven’t you seen? It’s an obvious choice,
If you gotta choose between heaven and a Rolls-Royce.”
This dog is talking about cars,
Meanwhile I’m tryna stay out of bars,
With my head in some loud clouds.
So high up it may even be on Mars,
But man these feelings I’m feeling
Are staying sticky like Mars bars filling.
I’m trying to be chilling on the couch,
But words keep spewing out my mouth,
Out and down south for the winter
‘cuz the words hurt, birds chirp,
Getting beat around like yoghurt,
I be feeling like this one guy, Kurt?
Cobain is the name, got his face on a shirt,
And a gun ain’t to blame, I just have a lil’ flirt
With death, when I’m upset,
Get obsessed with the thought,
Thinking bout the things my gods taught
That I thought were right,
But those are all my thoughts for now
So goodnight.
Recycled Heartbreaks
Recycled heartbreaks – the pains of the past,
The same loves that would never last.
I couldn’t ask for anything else.
How else would I know how to love myself?
If I delve deep down into the echoes that sound
In my heart, of heartbeats that beat hearts
With an unending pressure, to seek pleasure
Which could tear the heart apart.
It’s a casual depression – a downwards incline –
Some emotional suppression, but really it’s fine.
An untimely confession,
Time after time –
In a rush to get a crush,
Just to feel alive.
A longing for your touch,
Simply to survive.
It is all a bit much,
But oh, it’s my crutch.
That in the worst of times,
I went looking for love.
Therefore, my dear,
If I do ask you out,
I’m not sure either
What that’s all about.
A Tension
She loves the attention –
The tension with my heart.
She shares it with everyone,
Till it tears me apart.
She loves the attention,
The way she plays with my mind,
Till all the pretend confessions
Have played their essential part,
And I respond in kind.
She loves the attention –
An insult to myself,
And I won’t even mention
How the clock has struck twelve.
She loves the attention,
And why do I care?
She’s the most beautiful thing,
For all the world to share.
Same Old New Thing
It’s a small, silly crush.
But it starts with one crack in the ice,
That spreads and tears in half
A continent of truth and lies:
The heart that I’m trying to keep mine.
But why bother trying when trying is inauthentic?
Feelings aren’t meant to be pragmatic, or rationalised out of existence.
It’s no big deal, but it’s just new to me.
Because normally, hopelessness would accompany attraction.
But now I’m feeling like I’m living the what ifs I may have missed
In the past.
The what ifs that disappeared
When we kissed.
I was on my way to school,
But here I am, thinking of 2am,
When it was just me and you.
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Terminal Gate
The benches, the seats –
The sense of despair,
Evokes the terminal
Waiting at the final gate.
Surrounded by hosts, hostesses,
Gods and goddesses, and covered
In sin, bandages and every other thing they have gathered –
The memories of the places they have been.
They wait on wooden benches,
Unsure of their departing time.
They may only hope for a delay
In their fatal flight, but the ghosts working the air traffic control
Already have them in their hold –
Unwilling, to let go.
JD Poetry 