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.
Dark Matter in an Empty Space
I feel the empty space next to me. Where there should be another heart, beating, another body, breathing, there is just me. A pillow in the middle, instead of choosing sides. There is only my smell on the blankets, on my sheets.
I am covered by my own space.
I want to turn around in the middle of the night, and find you there… my finger tips slowly discovering your arm, the dip in your waist, your soft breast, as if it’s exploring you for the first time. I want to come to rest, turning onto my side, and bury my nose in your soft hair. I can barely breathe, but I welcome the suffocation. To know that there is someone by my side… it’s enough.
My heart is essentially clenched, threatening to burst as it tries to hang onto its love. I tell myself: “don’t waste it. You have only so much love to give, spare some for yourself.” But, my god, it’s addicting. To find a new fixation, to chase that sensation – the excitement.
How much it then hurts, when I lay here and I lie to myself, late at night. I shut my eyes tightly and tell myself that this is the way, and things will go the way they go. But at the end of the day, I still lay here on my own.
Shovels beat the sun
The shovels beat the sun,
And the enemy falls upon us
To try and bury us six feet under.
For King and country we find ourselves
In the mines of Golgotha,
Digging up false prophets
And prophecies of end times –
Scrolls and revelations from a god
That has left us in the mud.
The colour of our cap only matters
To those that wish to beat us
To the holy grail that’s as sought after
As an act of revenge against the man
That would betray the saviour with a kiss
Of love, death, and deceit.
But here we lie, here we lay,
Six feet under with the dead,
All to keep the dead at bay.
Inspired by a line from Peaky Blinders
I’m okay with pretending, I’ve always had a love for drama
I’ve still got the scar you gave me last week.
Perhaps it wasn’t our intended intensity
When we broke our friendly sanctity,
But I do look back on it, fondly.
I thought that after we left our marks
On each other’s bodies, and lost our minds
In each other’s glory that I wouldn’t have to worry
Or care about a thing.
Honestly, I wanted to reach out two days later
To you – my new addiction, my hyper focus
For my brain that has longed for a fix
For so long, but I know that love, sex or a kiss
Won’t mend what’s been broken.
It’s now been a couple of days since we’ve last spoken,
And even though my door is wide open
I may not always be home.
With your mark on my shoulder
I wander alone between the trees in the park
And I wonder if you also still carry a piece of me,
Or if I should simply let you be.
I am rather happy, however, to notice
I’m at least at peace, finally.
That doesn’t mean that I want you to leave –
Believe me, I would love to see you again
And pretend for one more night
That it’s just you and me.
JD Poetry 