Hollow & Eczema

Take it away from me,
rip it out of my hollow.
Death congeals at my feet,
the sky bears down,
wolves ripping at this corpse.
Rip it away from me
for i cannot deal
with this falseness,
not right now.
Tricks are being played,
longing for treats,
I used to love this time of year.
Skin blisters,
cracks and splits,
losing my fingerprints again.
Body reacting to everything
I can’t put into words
or won’t,
the cold doesn’t help.
I used to love this time of year.

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Your Newton’s Cradle

Every experience you will ever have
will add to your own Newton’s Cradle.
Every pendulum added will swing into you
as you grow ever older,.
The slap of the clearest memory,
fading into the distance again.
Only to swing back and slap you again
when you least expect it.

An Unfinished Poetic Autobiography (Part 1)

Where to begin with such an endeavor,
a project to work on in fits and starts,
snapshots of my life to prove I was here,
a decent enough self-portrait or poetic autobiography,
Let’s start with nightmares.

My earliest memory is a nightmare.
giants, a storm and a strange woman i haven’t met yet.
My most recent nightmare was this morning,
cars and people swept away in a flash flood,
5am I awoke my heart beating so hard
to a ravaging thunderstorm outside our window,
the worst storm I have ever known.

The first lust I truly felt, 12, a friend of mine,
camping on the edge of a forest not far from home,
tall yellowing grass, adders and camp fires.
He was wearing shorts and nothing else,
hands idly down the front playing with himself,
sweating rolling down his chest and stomach,
brief glimpses inside his shorts as his hands moved.

My first cigarette, 16, drunk and in drag.
we were all dressed up for The Rocky Horror Show.
Covered in glitter and heckling people driving by,
lipstick smeared reckless abandon and a great show.
Purple walls, cheap wine and wrong kisses later,
the afterparty was truly a mess for those involved,
we still reminisce about that night to this day.

A weekend to cherish forever, 22, he met me.
He was 28 and so beautiful, we danced all night.
Making love and listening to records we loved,
mix CDs we had made for each other and our stories.
We made long distance work, we moved in together,
6 years later now and we’re engaged to be married…

To Be Continued…

g.a.d.

all of the regrets all still there
never without them behind my eyes
i have regretted everything i have ever done
the good the bad the indifferent
the positive the negative the fundamental
stabbing me in the face every time
the flickers of things
an ever present uncertainty of my choices
it’s the generalised anxiety disorder
but cloudy thoughts blur the logic
i still can’t figure out
if i’ve ever done the right thing

the second history

well aren’t i ridiculous
to act the way i do
against you

punching out in directions
breaking the broken
shifting in and through
permeation
hard rip into all of it

to do it my own way
against
pushing to make
dominance in reverse

slurping sounds
as it releases
reel to end
be kind rewind

wind it all up
catalogue it
placed in an archive

forget

revisit to remember
why it was
hidden

tape 2
a fresh start
without your bullshit
a new time

Being Other

Feeling overwhelmingly other,
being one of the others.
where are all the other others?
Lost in every metropolis,
drowning in the majority,
the majority of the minority
that the majority
thinks us and wants us to be.
A spectrum obscured,
disguised by the loudest of us,
falling between cracks
in representation.
Lost without reference points,
falling out of pigeon holes,
too much for some,
too little for others.

The Rolling Heart

My heart has hit the floor and it’s rolling,
violent waves inside moving forward and back,
my little dread filled ocean of red.

It is sinking within itself over and over,
reaching the bottom to float to the top,
to sink again while it escapes me.

If only it would break but for now it just cracks,
hair line fractures on its cold dead walls,
mapping its way over its veins.

Wishing it would just come home and flutter,
to quiver with excitement once more,
tickled from below by butterflies.