A spider in my eye

‘I’ll blow the cobwebs from your eye.’

I reply ‘Please don’t they’re not dry and old,

There’s a spider living there,

In my eye is a spider’.

SHe sees the world and remembers each frame  that flicks by.

SHe feels the same feels as I, right there in my eye.

The web SHe turns is a home and not a cob.

Sometimes I forget SHes there and almost wipe her away.

Sometimes she forgets it’s my eye and her feet leave scratches on my lens,

The world clouds over and it’s hard to see the truth.

SHe sews my eyes closed after a restless night of weaving.

SHe chatters insenently and questions everything.

Sometimes we disagree

But shes welcome, my little killer friend in my eye.

Child

Being a child is climbing the biggest hill and looking at the view and finding the forbidden forest on the horizon. 

It’s finding an old biscuit in your pocket and thinking nothing of eating it with fluff and all.

Something moves out of the corner of their eye and it turns into a ninja hunting through the leaves.

It’s valitldating the world by counting things and trying to be a exact when you’re  wildly out by days.

Only you know the story about the time a hedgehog flew onto the washing line in a great gust of wind.

It’s wobbling a tooth convincing yourself it will come out soon so the tooth fairy comes again. 

It’s the promise of pudding for breakfast if you get to bed on time ( also known as dinner too late).

Everyday means a new girl to be your girlfriend and ask to marry. It’s over quicker than it began. 

It’s using words like ‘apprehensive’ because  they sound made up and could mean anything you desire.

It’s being eternally exited about tomorrow because there’s always another adventure on its way…

Stumble trip…

Everyday has been getting slightly better, or so it seems. Everyone says how much better I look and how far I’ve come. But do you know what? I’m right back just where I started.

My heart hurts today, it doesn’t yearn for the same things anymore. It feels released from its cage and free from its bonds. Yet it sits there unfluttering and old, it feels unable to love and feel passion.

My life feels like a complete fuck up and I have nothing to show for all the kindness and fight I put out there. I watch and bask in the golden moments of other people’s lives. Or I cower in the shadows whilst the world moves without me.

I’m out of fight again with every barrier put in my way. I’m feeding something that’s useless anyway. I feel more alone than in my desperate moments. Days on end with these 4 walls.

I’m an irritant, a burden and too much. No contact from others despite trying the hardest I possibly can. I feel a terrible, terrible guilt inside for always asking.

I’ve reached the dark forest again and I can only stumble and trip through it. Tripping on the dark thoughts and grazing my knees.

Inside I’m not ok at all. I’m a mess that pours down my cheeks in rivers. I can’t keep up this better face that hides deep numbness and disappointment.

I know It’s Over

The Smith’s remind me of a time I was working for the Youth Service. I was a fiercely passionate about the young people I worked with as they were for The Smiths twenty years too late. This song for me has so much resonance with my life but more because of that memory.

Oh mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
And as I climb into an empty bed
Oh well, enough said
I know it’s over, still I cling
I don’t know where else I can go, oh

Oh mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
See, the sea wants to take me
The knife wants to slit me
Do you think you can help me?

Sad veiled bride, please be happy
Handsome groom, give her room
Loud, loutish lover, treat her kindly
Though she needs you
More than she loves you

And I know it’s over, still I cling
I don’t know where else I can go
Over and over and over and over
Over and over

I know it’s over
And it never really began
But in my heart it was so real
And you even spoke to me, and said

“If you’re so funny then why are you on your own tonight?
And if you’re so clever then why are you on your own tonight?
If you’re so very entertaining then why are you on your own tonight?
If you’re so very good-looking, why do you sleep alone tonight?”

“I know ’cause tonight is just like any other night
That’s why you’re on your own tonight
With your triumphs and your charms
While they’re in each other’s arms”

It’s so easy to laugh, it’s so easy to hate
It takes strength to be gentle and kind
Over, over, over, over, over
It’s so easy to laugh, it’s so easy to hate
It takes guts to be gentle and kind
Over, over

Love is natural and real
But not for you, my love
Not tonight, my love
Love is natural and real
But not for such as you and I, my love

Oh mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head

Oh mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh mother, I can even feel the soil falling over my head
Oh mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head

 

Audition (The Fools Who Dream)

Well this was just beyond beautiful, and this comes from someone who often dislikes musicals. La La Land appealed to the old fashioned wild one in me. the one who gets up and tries again, takes the knock down, and finds beauty. I sobbed my heart out.

My aunt used to live in Paris
I remember, she used to come home and tell us
stories about being abroad and
I remember that she told us she jumped in the river once
Barefoot

She smiled
Leapt, without looking
And She tumbled into the Seine!
The water was freezing
she spent a month sneezing
but said she would do it, again

Here’s to the ones
who dream
Foolish, as they may seem
Here’s to the hearts
that ache
Here’s to the mess
we make

She captured a feeling
Sky with no ceiling
Sunset inside a frame
She lived in her liquor
and died with a flicker
I’ll always remember the flame

Here’s to the ones
who dream

Foolish, as they may seem
Here’s to the hearts
that ache
Here’s to the mess
we make

She told me:
A bit of madness is key
to give us new colors to see
Who knows where it will lead us?
And that’s why they need us

So bring on the rebels
The ripples from pebbles
The painters, and poets, and plays

And here’s to the fools
who dream
Crazy, as they may seem
Here’s to the hearts that break
Here’s to the mess we make

I trace it all back
to then
Her, and the snow, and the Seine
Smiling through it
She said
She’d do it, again

 

Blink and you’ll miss it.

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The sun barely shines in the bright cold sky. The cold creeps in every gap and forgotten tuck-in.

The bonfire burns old whilst the smoke writes the memories across the sky. Warming the sun bleached snow as it melts into clear furrows.

The land sighs as it sleeps, turns over, seeing the Sun isn’t shining she goes back to her dreams. The excitement and magic melts away, the only day you wish the sun took leave.

In a day the stream flows. Playing it’s cool melody on the slowly warming rocks. The pond might be frozen but it’s path is too risky to find out.

With fingers wrapped in gloves that make them too cumbersome. Take off the gloves, use your hands briefly before they freeze and become just as clumsy.

The crow carries the sound of winter on its breath, Its black heart never dies.Only chased away by birds of song, shrill and tinkling, dancing in the fragile sun.

All that’s left of the snow is the snagged fleece in brambles; fake snow that sparkles with dew. My fingers bleed on it’s purity as I snatch it from the branches.

Pines that defy the cold breathe their sent into the warming air. Something is afoot, but blink and you’ll miss it.

 

Nostalgia

This one is for the man who helped me beyond what he will ever know. For the moments of conversation and kind words. For paying interest even if fleeting. For showing me there is something more to me and new posibilites. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart for your kindness and cheekiness.

Tram wires cross Melbourne skies
Cut my red heart in two
My knuckles bleed down Johnston street
On a door that shouldn’t be in front of me

Twelve thousand miles away from your smile
I’m twelve thousand miles away from me
Standing on the corner of Brunswick
Got the rain coming down and mascara on my cheek

Oh whisper me words in the shape of a bay
Shelter my love from the wind and the rain

Crow fly be my alibi
And return this fable on your wing
Take it far away to where gypsies play
Beneath metal stars by the bridge

Oh write me a beacon so I know the way
Guide my love through night and through day

Only the sunset knows my blind desire for the fleeting
Only the moon understands the beauty of love
When held by a hand like the aura of nostalgia

Disentangle

ropeknife

You say we were two lives that need to disentangle.

But really some of each other became the other one.

That’s the problem. Where do you stop and I begin?

It’s less un-knotting and more a case of cutting it out.

It’s not like cutting out fat, sugar and carbs for my diet to make myself more attractive.

If I do this then I crave the bad.

Maybe I let a remanent of us remain?

It’s a dangerous game, I binge then purge.

More than that its like something that’s diseased.

You cut the tumour out stop it spreading.

I find rancid places to cut you out.

A surgeon, a butcher, a self-harmer.

I peel the taste buds from my tongue

because they shared a love of flavours,

that only we could understand and create.

A menu bittersweet.

I gauge the black place in my heart.

Like cutting the mould from cheese to preserve the rest.

Yet you always worry there’s some you didn’t remove,

and you’ll end up all bile inside.

I remove objects and reminders from my home.

Like cutting the pieces of a stencil,

to make it make a new pattern.

I like the way it looks better than before.

I cut poisonous people out of my life,

it’s an attempt to make it happier, but really I’m afraid.

Scared of their judgement,

because that’s what I became.

Some cut the story from the paper

in order to remember and celebrate.

But the card from last year which says ‘I’m still glad I’m in love with you’

is better forgotten as a manipulative lie.

I cut the nails from my toes,

to stop gouging out the flash at the sides.

Occasionally I don’t do it straight enough,

those feet that danced together become hot and infected.

I dig at my flesh, open wounds and peel back scabs.

I cut you out of me but I keep forgetting where me ends and you begin.

I bleed a little to prove I’m still alive,

and it’s still possible to hurt.

Maybe I’ll let a small piece stay,

like an inked scar to mark the moment we were one.

Is this violent act self harm self-preservation? Cruel to be kind?

I cut away part of myself to make room for more.