a dual language of sound and speech graces my listening, and in a wave I stroll and drink the unscripted settings of my home country.

thump

The physical darkness the skies become
yanks- cruelly, my own shadows.
Through the gates of metal that means to protect,
it instead
stains

stains
the rapidly growing rust stains of bad
decisions
the unmade
the wish to be
unknown
if ever, if we could.

If we were to dream something realistic, what is to dream at all?

Worry

I am blemished.

He knows, and like a snake he slithers in my bed.
like a serpent
A known evil, he goes where I am comfortable
and brushes his forked tongue against my cheek. 
I turn 
and my heart, where my emotions are created he makes a home
and I.
sink
too slow to feel the depth

too deep for my lacking height
But I reach anyway. 

Its diffifcult. 

What I will never understand, is why many child stars from Disney (or whichever franchise catered to kids) eventually turn to exposing themselves just to prove that they’ve grown up. We know you have, its what happens to all of us. The increased height, the developing body parts, the increase in your vocabulary, its pretty obvious. 

No need to show us your bigger boobies (hi Joanie its your favourite word) in all its glory or scream your lungs hoarse at us about your newly post-puberty self in a tuneless, bass-filled song. WE KNOW.

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Pull

Past dreams prod close, in a proud strut on the fence
between then and the now, a cruel play, a sneer.  
They say be a child, and a child I am
I’m the beginning, in ignorance though feigned but still true.

Bliss links hope to stride,
curiosity calls an excited step forward. But-
reason is pulling, with kisses of longing 
Caution dressed in care leads in a waltz to the known.
Familiar,
but not needed. 

I dream a beautiful place. 
There is music that changes as I change,
communicating my thoughts in instrumentals.
It is never silent as I am never not
in the world that is my mind.

I dream a gentle garden,
where the quiet helps to grow.
I walk through the wisps of my desires that I go to rest
to ease
to bloom
gently, the delicately beautiful secrets of the weaving story I am living.

I dream a world that picks me for mayor,
I choose
the sun to never burn and the moon whole in its beauty.
My inner chorus will dance in an endless field and
I am watched

and admired.

It has been a full week. Feelings were everywhere.

I feel like I’m obligated to take it down in a well-written, nicely structured piece of text that justifies the moral failures of my thoughts. I draft paragraphs in my mind to ease my conscience that is in constant battle with my gut for justice. I accept that I have grown enough to realise the bigger decisions aren’t black and white but countless shades of grey. (that stupid book has tainted those words for eternity)

I run through my head all the things I have, should have, and haven’t done. I argue back and forth over the unintended gap year I have taken, and if I have proven to anyone, (mostly myself) if it was worth these twelve months. I feel inside me the simmering excitement of the next phase in my life, closely amongst the wonder and gratitude for my amazing boyfriend who helped me realise this next road. 

I analyse my loneliness. I make wild guesses replacing an answer that may never be correctly marked. I make do with hope and support I sometimes don’t fully believe. I feel mediocre and helpless, I get confused and I cry. I push through and force strength, I hope and I move. I don’t know how much I am supposed to know of my own person, whether I could, whether I should. I drown myself in questions I don’t know the answer to; whether I even should know the answer to. And after all of that, I am damned nowhere near finding out. 

Maybe that’s okay. Somehow, I’m sort of, strangely, preciously, wonderfully, kinda, happy.

The familiar song in your voice rang clear through the mist of my day, I had breezed through in hushed rebellion to the things I had to do. I longed for more than just your audio touch, I dreamt back to the dreamy days of us together in abandon of time; I dreamed of when your declarations were not through the wire. I reminisced the tips of your fingers dancing upon my cheek, and mine tracing the creases of your grin.
I heard a wistful song through the radio and felt the lack of you.
 

nights

Thursday, 25th April 2013
Bedroom
1:34AM mac time

It is at night that I become painfully honest and surprisingly deep. The day’s worries and anxieties quiet down, clearing a lot of the emotional clutter hindering my inhibited thoughts. I feel the lack of control I have over many things.

I think of the people I miss, and whom I could talk to about these deeper notions. I miss them and sometimes talk to them in my head to hear their voices in advice and comfort. Sometimes I don’t want to listen because it confirms the worries I have during the day. Now is night.

I let everything rest, it is a relief as much as a risk.

I debate over staying awake and being a little more productive, or sleeping because it keeps the unwanted pains at bay. The day’s anxieties sink into something bigger, more real, more solid.

I either tackle it with better judgement, or collapse internally at the lack of knowing how, both with elevated clarity.
My nights are 50-50.

Hack

The sour taste down my gullet 

reflects the confusion thats mine, my

learning bod within are knots from

your works so unkind

To me, when then, I hadn’t fully realized

the shards you placed slyly in me

of spite to fuel your gain for what you lamely wished you’d be

You took

I was easy, I had no fire then

but that’s gone now- dead you disgusting called-friend

I’ve built my defensive, feeding a flame you can’t kill

I have a high you only get from a bad paid-for pill

I am more

Than you’ll be, because you see in me

nothing, less than you

eternally;

We’ll see.