Like/Dislike

Being liked by one, one minute 

and then seeing that same one liking 

someone else, less likely to deserve 

such liking from one such as you. 

I can take it.

Being disliked by one because I 

myself dislike the liking you insist on 

displaying to said person a yet I must 

understand that he deserves some liking 

and some disliking but only from you. 

I can take it.

But being constantly reminded

that you like him with words, viewed 

through the public eye, but hearing from 

your seemingly like-minded lips 

that he should not be liked but rather 

disliked. 

I can’t take it. 

And being liked myself, then disliked 

then disliking myself because I dislike

someone you like, though you say you 

dislike him sometimes and like him other times. 

I can’t take it. 

So I’ll hide the likes, and I’ll hide the dislikes

And I’ll remove it all like its invisible. 

Like him and dislike him, 

I will not be affected. I will not like nor dislike 

myself for liking or disliking someone for liking

or disliking someone else.  

I'm Not That Kind Of Man

You are standing there 

Holding out for something that may not,

will not and must not happen. 

I will not be lying naked beside you in bed

stroking your head, combing your hair, blissfully saying 

‘Oh that was the best sex ever” 

I will not be kissing you, day and night and night and day

Telling you I love you more than say, two friends would say

Because, I am not that kind of man. Ok?

Now its not that I am a heartbreaker, emotion slayer, raper of ‘true love’,

But I really don’t think I could ever do what you’re asking me to do

Because I am not that kind of man. 

I am not a prick, i’m not liar, 

nor any other words you wanna paint on me

I have been completely honest, communicated fully, fluent. 

So when we sit, and have this conversation, and you turn to me and you 

formulate sentences with punctuation that says to me, I hate you. 

I’m sitting here, being like, what the fuck did I do. Apart from exist? 

And your friends will support you, judge me. 

I did wrong, you were right. You were being honest with your feelings 

and he, like a cunt, cut them up, and left them to rot. 

I really do fail to see how I am the bad guy. 

How could you begin to like this kind of ‘bad’ guy anyway?

What I’m most afraid of is this balance between friend and fancy being tipped towards unrequited romancing, and seeing me with someone else will spark a jealous feeling in one’s self, in ones head or in ones heart. 

And somehow this friendship will then go to the dogs because again, “You are not thinking how i’d feel, you are not being a friend because your doing it in front of my face” 

Well I am really sorry, that I am not the kind of guy you want, but you still want me, and still want me to want you a lot. 

My god. 

I really do want to be your friend. 

But if you can’t cope with the fact that I’d drive your emotions like a Audi TT, round the bend and fly of a cliff and deep into the sea. 

Then I can see that friends is not really a possibility. 

And yes, and I am sorry, though apparently you don’t see that fact. 

And I really wish is was more simple, 

but I am assume your feelings are either momentary infatuation, or something worse. 

And I’ll be honest, I don’t know what to do because, 

Well because you’re confusing. 

And you’re are of those people who prefer to say nothing than say something, so they can sort a situation in their head before sorting it with the other person that is involved. The guy who you want to wake up beside in your bed by the way.

But fine, just sort it. Please. If you think you can. 

Just sort it. 

From 1 bubble, to the next 

From one regime, and one routine to the

Next one, a better one with worse seams.

From fighting for friends and family

and now fighting to stay awake 

and stay above the drink and the papers and words.  

From one to fight and love, to three to four to juggle 

to hold, to compete.

To lie, but not to sleep, to discuss and debate, but not be right 

and not be wrong. 

To be utterly confused. 

And to not make sense. 

From 1 bubble popped, to one thats filling up 

and won’t stop. 

My Black Box

The black lines form

and corner to corner it closes on my head

and, someone somewhere whispers something to me 

but i cannot hear instead,

I lie back. 

I sit back.

I shuffle back.

And lean back on this black line 

forming corners above my head.

Breath. 

A man comes, heavy hammer in his hand 

and starts to crack the black lines, I scream. 

He stops. 

He starts. 

I scream. 

He doesn’t stop. 

I grab myself, my knees and like Velcro, 

stick them to my chest. 

I say please, and try to say it loud as best I can.

But still, he goes, on and on.

My black line box, lies around me in pieces.

My black line box, no longer a black line box,

but black line smithereens.  

I get up. 

I walk to the black void 

with no white lines to guide me. 

Subconscious Loving

When you love it should pump like your heart

Subconscious and smoothly. 

Filling up to all the corners of your body

Subconscious and readily.

You shouldn’t have to force it out, 

Or make out like your trying, 

like you feel as though you might 

be dying with every squeeze or beat.

Like the clouds that drift across the sky 

thats how you should love me,

Like the water flows round coral corners 

thats how you should love me 

Like the fire that burns on wooden sculptures

that is how you should love me.

It should be easy, 

Not trying, don’t fight for it

Die for it.

Just love me like your heart pumps

Subconscious and easily. 

One, Two.

Two lives

One breath

One heart beat. 

Two paces,

Two faces on one head,

Two beds.

One body

Two smiles and laughs 

One mouth.

Two pallets of feeling

Two roofs, 

Two bedrooms,

Two dinners and breakfasts laid down, 

Two pairs of feet to sooth.

One soul,

But ying and yang,

and day and night.

Two lovers,

One heart,

One bleeding wound.

One start,

Two palace grounds. 

Two rings,

One finger,

Two kisses,

One pair of lips together.

One tongue to lie 

Two lies, 

Under one night sky.

One eye to weep,

Two sets of tears.

Two feet 

To creep around stairs.

Goodbye

Finally took the plunge and said goodbye 

Took the gun and with a sigh and tear stained hand, 

Shot the part of the heart in which you lay,

Watching, like sand, and it drifts away.

Finally cut these fraying threads,

Fraying in my head and 

I’ve finally waved my hand at you 

And said I will always love you. 

Goodbye friend. 

Is it worth it?

Like the hair upon your shoulders

You heart burns, flashes of orange and red. 

Golden heart strings scorch the inner ribcage 

And scar the lungs that lay beside them, dead,

Making it harder to breath. 

Your hands are rouge, tattered and torn apart,

Healing slowly and bruising, while the boy still 

stands ahead, always ahead and wandering. 

Your throat is now dry from the hours of screaming

A name, the rules of a game, the pain regained 

in raining, fighting matches. 

And the sweet syrup that slips 

down your throat in the form of his words

Stains and stops the grainy scratching for a short second. 

You hurt for something small,

So much pain and crawling, 

carving hearts and doves on the wall.

You need to think, is it worth all the suffering. 

Waiting, this relationship’s positivity buffering. 

Or are you bluffing to yourself,

Continue fluffing up the truth for yourself.

You need not scar yourself for him, 

Cry for him and lie to yourself for him.

Worry for him and cut for him,

Burn for him or recoil for him.

You need to find out what you want.

What you can have and what you can’t.

What is worth fighting for, and what is better letting go.

A Piece of Tin

Its like we are infants again,

Crying at trivialities again

Sitting in cots and prams 

and bungee door framed hangers again.

We’ve seen the kid across the playground

Toy in hand spinning around and around, 

And so we wail and scream 

until we have what they did.

And when we do 

we place it down and forget about it, 

Like we never needed it, 

Or never wanted it, 

Just because the others had it. 

I don’t need a piece of tin 

Surrounding sticks of skin

That makes a vow 

held in this beating muscle. 

And I don’t need a contract

Pen to paper signed by both

With ink stains proving love

And I don’t need a wedding cake

or train or veil, 

to make the bedroom hotter 

Skin on skin and fire

one thousand degrees and climbing.

I don’t need to kiss you in an aisle

or a church, to make my hugs feel tighter

Make your heart feel lighter,

Make your smile brighter. 

I don’t need a maid of honor, 

best man, bridesmaid, priest or father 

holding back the tears 

to make me show my love 

will last for years and more. 

If I love you truly, and my heart is solid

then while couples wed in chapels of gold 

I will hold you, and love you.

Be with you, treat you, give you all I can.

Live with you, breath with you, fight with you.

I don’t need a piece of tin 

Surrounding sticks of skin

To prove or say I love you truly and that I can. 

Mousetrap Heartstrings

In lines that barely formed a page

You’ve shown pain and a strain on your heartstrings 

That have been worn down and snapped.

Rearranged to a mouse trap and hung from your sleeve.

In ten minutes you’ve shown 

More history of black days, and grey clouds 

Than in a month of weather forecasts. 

And yet, 

through the scars and through the dried up tear ducts

You talk. And you smile. And you show others

Thats its not so bad. 

And there are men 

Who have their trophies

And their husbands and their wives.

The scarless faces smiling all the fucking time.

The statuses of love and lust,

And some sort of love that seems disguised.

For most, they’d be disgusted

Looking at their own beating heart in the mirror. 

Rusted and busted.

But while yours may be hanging on just barely, beating weakly

You’ll find someone who’ll will repair it.

So keep smiling.

And keep hoping, looking at the clouds.

You’ve been through so much,

So many leaps and bounds.

And now, you may not have what you’ve wanted for so long.

But just wait, you’ll get what you deserve, because you’ve been through hell

and more. 

The Shrinking Room

When the baby stretched his arms out,

to the ceiling and the floor 

The room’s locked doors were far away, 

the corners of the room still unexplored

And light would pour through window panes 

and puppet shadows would fly.

As he grew, his arms less stubby, 

and his legs stretching out, he moved about.

His room had gotten smaller. 

The locked door was closer now, 

he was taller, the ceiling shorter, 

the corners of the floor, no longer unexplored

but seen and conquered. 

And less light soaked into the room, the darkness taking over. 

And every time he closed and opened his eyes

The walls would shrink and the floor would cry out, 

being swallowed up and never spat out. 

The window fell down, to reveal just black, 

and light left without gold dust trail to lead it back.

The locked door of the room was pushed against his face 

and the four walls crushed his body.
He couldn’t breath, move, talk, laugh, explore.
There was nothing and nobody.

He knew how many dents were on the left and right

He knew how long it took for the moon to pass over head, over night.

He knew his voice would echo and how many times

He knew the shadows’ names and personas and starsigns. 

He knew it all. Explored it all. Faced it all. And understood it all. 

Yet this door is still closed, 

and the walls are still closing in.

The air is getting thin and dry, 

and the ceiling coming further down crushing him.

The door will unlock from the outside

Or he will break it down. 

He just needs the strength to plough 

his fist into the walls

that has kept him since forever. 

You've got it good Veruca.

From the ungrateful child at christmas 

To Veruca Salt, with endless lists 

and wanting things with pounding fists

on bedroom doors and floors

You imitate them all. 

And you irritate with whining, 

and the bitching,

Looking others up and down. 

And frowning, 

sagging wrinkles of discontent

Like a birthday child 

who doesn’t like Mr Funny Clown

You act cold. 

Like an unrolled, rerolled, big snow ball

and seem old when you mutter,

Sour nothings under your breath.

And you’ve got friends and them

And shields and swords by the side of you.

You’ve got family standing close

And yet, you don’t know how lucky you are.

When Cinders wished a prince would come

She got it granted and was whisked away 

Yet with your prince trying to hold you up,

You glass heel is kicking him in the nuts

And when he lessens his grip, you whine. 

You seem to not get that you have it good.

So smile, and treat life and friends 

and them with respect they should receive.

Conceive the thought that life isn’t to bad. 

So stop being greedy, disrespecting, needy.

And smile.

You’ve got it good. 

Its none of your business?

You say you’re not involved,

Not part of this, thats come about

And yet you benefit from the chapters 

That have been written out

About him and you, a tale of a secret pair under big blue bed sheets. 

You say its not your business

That you can wash your hands clean of this 

Mess, and sweep it out the door of your house.

Down the path and into rubbish bags 

that build up by the front gate. 

You say you wouldn’t cheat,

Wouldn’t love two men and lie to one.

That you felt shame and sadness when you did it once

And that you’d never go back and repeat the experience

But there was a ring on that finger,

And a vow between two lovers,

That you broke, 

That you undid and that you can’t do back up. 

There was a trust between those lovers

That you cut down and you trod on

And you did it with your hand in his. 

And yes he did it too, 

And is to blame just like you, 

But you could give respect to the lover who never knew

about this situation that, to him, came out of the blue. 

You could do it for the stranger, 

the one you don’t know, for maybe now, 

you’ll make him feel the pain that you felt once before. 

But you are just a man, 

Maybe nothing more, maybe nothing less.

But respect for those you don’t know 

deserve the respect you give the rest.

We hurt the same, 

And need the same trust.

We need a tender touch gloved by lust.

We just need to know that we have it good. 

That we can trust strangers to say no

When our trust is ambushed. 

I wonder.

I wonder if, your head is filled with 

Thoughts of words you want to say, like mine. 

I’m wondering if my schedules are just more blank than yours,

while you have 24 hours, maybe I have four more.

I’m wondering if you prioritize our game of words

Like I do. 

I’m wondering if with every passing day, 

you feel a little guilt that you have yet to say what you want to say. 

I’ve said what I can, 

i’ve been the writing man, 

placed my words in your hand.

Spent the time and written out within the seconds that I can.

And yet, 

I’ve written to a black hole, a full scroll, with a hand that is my own

And a tongue that you’ve seen grow. 

I wonder if you’ve given thought,

To the fact that its not a chore, 

But just a high show of care and more.

And maybe to you a reply doesn’t seem that important,

doesn’t seem to matter, but god, 

I just wanna see that it does to you 

and that your head is like mine, 

thoughts of words that you want to say like mine. 

But I will just continue to wonder, 

And continue to stare, towards the thin air, 

that stands between your fingers and your page. 

I’ll wait, and wait, and nothing will change.

And i’ll still be here, standing, sitting 

Waiting for some words from your hand, your month,

appearing on your page from your mind. 

I’m sorry that to me words are important. 

#4

I’m sitting here and hearing,

From one the mind is silent steering, 

abseiling down this steep rock mountain,

cutting, bruising knees and bleeding.

Telling me its weird and not right,

fighting then flipping and delighting over winks and tripe

and somehow making it all ok with one face 

and one change of mood directed at me. 

I’m standing now and breathing, 

Thumbs are going on and on,

Trying to smooth it out 

and polyfill the surface of this certain subject, ironing it out.

Saying sorry and believing that with one word ‘buddy’ or ‘mate’,

a scale of equality will be level to the ones that use those sayings every day. 

I don’t want to be the weirdo and the one who goes o t t and you hate because of it

So i’ll stand here and breath and roll over and see what changes come over.

Forget it, just forget it,

Let me work it out my own way, 

Back off further for another day, and find a way to replicate 

the guys you seem so close to. 

Just want to be a friend like the ones I see you with, 

If thats too much to ask then let me know, 

And if not then fine, i’ll go. 

Those That Compare.

You may not compare yourself to others.

You may not look them up and down 

and think you are any different.

You may stay on your mount, and think your better 

than the ‘bitches that compare’. 

But are you better than the lads out there,

Better than the ones that bad mouth the girls out there.

The girls that bitch about their friends or their hair

And better than the people that sneer and stare.

The ones that call their friends their friends, 

And discuss their faults behind their back.

The guys that hide behind the homo comments,

and the girls crack comments too. 

Are you better than those who constantly moan,

Write lists of those who aren’t cool enough. 

Call girls sluts and fuck them after.

Verbally insult those who aren’t big enough. 

You may not compare yourself to others.

You may not look them up and down 

and think you are any different.

And so stay on your mount, and think your better 

than the ‘bitches that compare’,

But you know that you are better than some out there. 

Fighting for friends

He may not be the smartest.

May not be the strongest.

May not be the tallest.

May not be the coolest.

May not be the biggest.

Might not be the hardest.

May not be the toughest.

But he knows where he heart is.

And if you call on him to fight 

a war between arms

He will scar for you, 

and put himself in the way of harms.

For fire of friends burns in his heart,

And while his knuckles bruise

And he bleeds on the dirt,

He will still carry on, with you in his mind.

For this weakling will fight until the fighting ends. 

Or until he dies. 

Your words

It lies here,

Like a paperweight or brick,

Crumbling slowly, into dust,

With no signs of life in it. 

And it doesn’t beat with silence, 

when the lips are stuck together, 

And if your hands stop moving 

then its last breath will be long gone forever,

For you are the one that keeps it going,

The one who can send a flooding current

through it and round it, 

and keep it loving. 

So talk to it,

And give it life,

And it in return it will give love back. 

For without your words it will have no use,

Because its one purpose is to love. 

Its one purpose in life is to love you.

Its christmas again.

Its christmas again.

Another year and another sleep.

Another wish for snow, and another material list.

Another kiss from a friend,

Another night under mistletoe, hugging-bliss.

Another seasons greeting,

And another smokey fire, rising like mist, 

Another night without you though. 

Another heavy heart, 

Another tear rolls down this cheek

Another week I spend with a cold quilt, cold feet and cold hands. 

Another treat for those lovers nearby,

Another gasp when they walk past the window.

Another person by that window, 

A loverless widow consumed with sorrow.

And the snow will keep falling,

And the sun will rise up,

The presents will be wrapped,

And the fire stoked up.

For at least we have a family or a person close at hand. 

Maybe not your lover, partner, woman or man,

But someone there to lean on and stand by as well.

I love you, and I miss you but I know that you are thinking of me too.

Think of me this christmas as I think of you.

Thats all I demand. 

When the soldiers marched....

When the soldiers marched to the voice of their captain,

You stood still.

When they pierced the bodies with knives,

You put yours down.

When they silenced the cries of other men,

You listened with an open heart.

When they turned off the lights in the houses of lives,

You gave them your torch.

When the war was over, and the dust had settled,

You were not heralded as a hero or brave man.

When the fight was done, and the cuts had healed,

You were given no medal of honour to pin on your chest.

But ten thousand hands shook your hand,

And then thousand eyes smiled at you.

For this was the soldier, the man and friend,

Who fought on the right side.

Thank You. 

The Tattoo

You got a tattoo 

and your mum said she hated it 

but you had it and couldn't change it 

and you know she hates you having it 

but it makes you happy and you are proud of it 

and eventually you stop talking about it 

but the tattoo is still there and your mums hatred for it is still there

sure she still loves you as her child, but she hates that aspect of you 

and she won't discuss it 

and doesn't wanna see it 

and you cover it up so she doesn't have to see it 

because you know that if you show her, she will get angry. 

And you know that you can either cover it up for her, from her forever

Or you can flaunt it in her face. 

But you choose to hide it,

Because you can wait another day,

hoping that the next day you will wake up 

she will see it,

And smile. 

You have it. 

Its permanent and it makes you happy. 

It doesn’t make you who you are, but it is part of you.

She says to you ‘The only thing I want is for you to be happy and if that tattoo makes you so, then I am willing to accept it’.

And thats it.

The tattoo is here to stay.

And she may hate it, or may accept it.
But its yours. It belongs to you.

It won’t change. And she can’t change it.