Tell me something real.
Tell me something that matters.
Tell me that there are more stars than there are bad men,
and that in this place at this time,
there are fewer bad men than there are freckles on my skin.
Tell me that my world will change
and that my life will change with it,
and that the fight in me will resolve into peace.
Tell me that I’m real.
Tell me that I matter.
I thought we met in spring,
but it was already autumn.
Your affections fell away
to rot around me;
plucked by the cooling wind.
My novelty faded
with the first breath of winter’s night;
Familiar streetlights guide me back
to my lonesome world.
I fell and I landed and the crash mat knocked all the air out of me. I swore and you laughed and dropped down onto your knees next to me and those big blue eyes refuelled my empty lungs. I swore again, although for a rather different reason, and you offered me a hand. You pulled me upright and pulled my head into your chest with both arms as I remembered how to breathe.
The smell of you was chalk and sweat and old rubber shoes and something else uniquely yours, and I counted each dose of it by the metronome inside your ribcage. As my breathing slowed, your grip loosened and your palms stroked my shoulders in a smooth, uninterrupted rhythm.
You pulled me to my feet and turned to face the wall, adorned with a rainbow of little rocks and numbers and scuff marks.
“Well quit slacking, then”, you said with a masterpiece of a grin painted across your face and I said I’d race you, and you gave me a slap on the arse and I gave you a punch in the arm. And you won, but when you looked me in the eye to gloat then I did, too.
Oh, this tangled web
of overcomplicated words
and unrealistic expectations.
Twenty six letters
woven so carefully
into feigned synchronicity,
and launched across the open sky.
Received with longing;
Oh, the people we could be..
The stranger in the mirror wears my clothes,
although they’re tighter on her.
My diamond hangs round her neck.
She has different eyes:
Soft grey; a touch of storm.
Clear and deep;
Their murky film washed away.
She told me her name once,
and I laughed.
It didn’t fit anymore.
The sadness tapers off,
and the stranger
is stranger still.