Sunday 30 September 2007

they say the future's out to get you

my favourite colour is yellow.
my favourite flowers are sunflowers.
my favourite jokes are the worst ones.

i'm a walking contradiction.
make me smile.
make my day.

Saturday 29 September 2007

a lesson in biology

i talk a lot about hearts.
funny that, as i'm currently trying to work out if i've still got mine.
or if i ever had one in the first place.
i watched as you scratched our names into a table, between 'rob 4 janice 4eva' and 'no fringe no minge'.
what is there not to love about that?
i saw the future mapped out in a picture of the new york skyline.
brooklyn bridge shines brighter than you do.
i spent too many nights living out of second-hand photo albums.
i can't look myself in the eye. i'd buy you a way out with the change i carry in those bags.
crop circles but less spectacular.
i'm always asking too much and expecting too little.
avoiding body contact at all times incase you brush right through me.
afraid i'm as invisible as i feel.
she's done with him painting her cheekbones black and her ribs blue.
inside a dream but breathing a nightmare.
fuck being on the best side of your bedside -
i passed up stains on sheets for eyes just as easy as words.
and look where that got me.

peaceandfuckinglove

Tuesday 25 September 2007

(un)welcome

chipped nail varnish.
dog-eared notebooks.
graffitti no-one else understands.

those are a few of my favourite things.


i'm scared witless of being scared.
although mostly i scare myself.
funny that.


i've been staring at the moon for god knows how long.
i don't think it's ever looked brighter.
i can't help but wonder if you're doing the same.
say yes, and i just might hear you.

Sunday 23 September 2007

macavity: the mystery cat

joke about the eyes you can feel but can't see
delirious from the feeling of feeling complete.
I’m writing history with this guitar –
something tells me we went too far
but that’s always been the case.
I wanted to write something inspired here, but I’m finding it hard to feel inspirational.
I love running with scissors, even though in the back of my mind I can see the warning lights flashing.
the smallest risks are the most exhilarating.
getting frozen hearts beating.
stop, rewind then reply –
I think I watched a show like this on tv.
lovers past heroin addictions: being hooked on failure is all the rage nowadays.
I recorded the aftermath to watch it back and force a laugh
to prove to myself this never mattered.
drunk on the contrast,
on hearts and scars that just won’t last.

children in third world countries starve and cry and fall down to die.
politicians tell us this is bad.
we don’t need to be told when and how to feel compassion.
but then again, how can we journey into countries so far away, in both distance and decade, and tell them how to play the game of life and loss
when we still have so many hearts beating on our own streets after hours, that don’t belong there?
when we have people living in poverty on our own doorsteps?
when our own children are crying out in our mother tongue, that we just don’t hear?
telling other countries what they’re doing wrong, when we have people in similar positions on our own streets, is little more than hypocritical.

that’s my two cents – now go buy something for your ego’s with them.

Saturday 22 September 2007

these four things...

for my seventeenth birthday, a certain boy bought me a poetry book.
it was small enough to carry in my pocket – he told me this was so that i’d always feel inspired, no matter where i was.
it was a book of poems children had picked out by themselves.
some were two lines long.
others lasted pages.
in the back of the book, he wrote one himself.
it was four lines long.
and it was pretty bad.

i think that was the day i fell in love with him.


hey kid, you’ll never live this down –
i don’t think anyone knew
we’ve got a history of train wrecks hidden in these pretty smiles.


i miss you more than you know.

Monday 17 September 2007

all panic, no disco

eyes are sunken treasures from crying underwater.
lost boys and neurasthenic girls get coloured lights going.
a year ago we were in a different world.
in a streetcar named desire we're blinded by brass and big, big stars -
we want to be where they are.
but then we think twice and almost appreciate our normal lives.

you would kill for it - don't try to deny this.
she's looking like christmas morning in everything and nothing.
especially nothing.
throwing flowers for the dead and turning the tricks.
the glass cracks.
we fall through.


congratulations honey, i'm your secret admirer.
if i told you, would you not-so-secretly admire me back?

Monday 10 September 2007

gimme, gimme (more)

i have no regrets.
all the candle-wishes i ever made came true.
i never lost a love because i was too scared to hold on tight enough.
certain songs don't make me cry more than you did.
i thought i'd make everyone proud, more than you are now.
i'll never breakdown.
i know you'll always be there to hold my hand -
pirouette round the baby grand.
i didn't mean it when i said, "i love you", and that's why my heart didn't break when you didn't say it back.
i never felt that way.
i never wanted you to say, "honey, you take my breath away".

but tell me, would you be surprised
if i told you everything i just said was a lie?

in the wink of an eye

these words were never easier for me to say, we all want to be big stars -
but then we realise we never meant to go this far.
back track, rewind.
back to the streets we left behind
in the search of something beautiful that we already had.
paranoid, we can't avoid, living in denial.
i'd kill to feel the way the pictures portrayed
landslides swallow dream(er)s whole.

if i told you i needed you, would you keep me on track?
if i told you i loved you, would you take me back?

Sunday 9 September 2007

can't you tell i'm a little unstable?

you've got the whole night on your collar (smoke, sex and lies).
i think you owe me for decieving me so exquisitely.

i don't want to lie, but i can't tell the truth. so it's over.

you'll be my whore and i'll pay you with liberty,
tell me something that't true.

this is going to hurt (like a bitch).

we exist in separate spheres, that occasionally collide.
i see you in the rear view mirror -
running after this car crash heart.

Saturday 8 September 2007

copy and paste

my paper heart just tore in half.