POETRY

Poems which I have written myself. Some may seem very obscure – it’s poetry. I consider poetry to be one of the highest and most artistic forms of writing.

pretty boy smoke

saw you standing there
in your veil of smoke
a little wisp around your head
like some kinda devilish halo-noose
blowing fumes from those lips
all ruby and full like the moon
pretty boy smoke
that
pretty boy smoke
in those pretty boy lungs
filling me up with pretty boy thoughts
your package came with
no warning
and if it did I don’t care
pretty boy love gonna
die
anyway pretty boy smoke
those
pretty boy smile
james dean
pretty boy style
pretty boy smoke
my pretty boy dream

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Today & Tomorrow

For O.H.

Glasses smashing against this tall wall:
sharp shrapnel pieces
pierce the air, make bleed.
Screams echo forever in this dark hall,
even the pale moonlight refuses to shine through
and trees outside collapse without cause.
Burning cheeks from assaulting eyes;
stabbing knives twisting inside.
No sleep, only interrupted silence.

Silence interrupted no longer.
Waves lap gently caressing fine sands;
crystal water cooling and calm.
Sunlight swirling and dancing delightfully
onto glistening droplets of water on skin –
tanned and silky from loving hands.
Noah’s white dove, olive leaf in beak, glides
all around and everything is at peace:
an upward curve on your face, a delightful crease.

Do I love you?

Well?
The answer?
The answer:

Sitting on a creaky wooden bench
beside a small lake
motionless
eyes fixed in a trance
a tear
one
then another

A ceiling midnight blue
a bed beneath
spotlit by the silver moon
crinkled sheets
silent tremors
then sleep

Red rose water droplets
fragranced
thorns lots of thorns
green thorns
on this red rose
dropped

trampled
pushed aside

Love?
Yes
I know it
I know it well.

Exit Here?

I want to fit out
but I can’t escape
the twisty smoke and cool alcohol.
I’m so unique like you
and you and you.
Mirrors always tell me what they tell you.
My Insta is a flood of what gets likes
and my tattooed infinity sign is finite
on this skin.
I want to fit out
but friends keep making me:
they hold me high…
The parties aren’t fun,
the clubs play music that sells by formula,
the beat of it all is always the same.
Day in and out
mom and dad don’t talk:
whose parents do?
I want to fit out
but Disney has me hooked
singing frozen melodies I can’t let go.
And my bank account
is as low as me.
I want to fit out,
help me out the window:
I know it’s cliché but I want to leave.
I don’t want to be a statistic.
I just want to fit out.

I weep

“All animals are equal but some animals are more equal than others.”
– George Orwell, Animal Farm

I weep:
I weep because we see skin
before we see circumstance;
I weep because we’re weak,
and I weep because we think we’re strong.
I weep because it feels like
equality is an ideal;
I weep because Orwell was right.
I weep because we’ve forgotten how to laugh;
I weep because our index fingers grow
and our hearts shrink.
I weep because I don’t feel like I belong;
I weep because democracy
is not about the people;
I weep because politics
are about personalities,
and I weep because freedom
does not mean we’re free.

I weep because this is how I feel…

Welcome

They wipe their muddy feet
on the WELCOME mat at the door.
Enter.
Money in their pockets;
guns in their minds.
Secrets as bullets
waiting to kiss someone’s insides.
Tailored suits and fresh crimson roses
in buttonholes.
Hedonistic intentions kept in place (for now)
by tight-fitting waistcoats.
Expensive white smiles
smouldering holes in soft sofas:
even if they noticed, they wouldn’t care.

This is the way the world works the world works the world works
this is the way the world works oh em gee!

This is the world:
formal, fake.

The Cost of Falling

Pricetag hanging low,
Glass case, expensive glow.
Shiny objects beating beneath:
Bright lights, shiny teeth.
Salespeople hovering like flies:
In grey suits, some in ties.
Big signs warning all:
Useless, though, in this mall.

I see what I want!
This uncontrolled passionate stunt
Bursts from me!
“Please, sir, can I see?
I promise not to break it…
If I do, I’ll replace it.”

He hands me a fragile heart,
In my palms – a piece of art.
It beats in time with my own,
The world’s noise becomes a distant drone.
I feel like just a rag
In the presence of this invaluable pricetag.

He’s Yours

I never stood a chance:
I already counted myself

out.

I don’t belong here,
take him away with you
on a cloud of happy hedonism.
And I’ll watch on my back
as the cloud changes form
to the demons I see inside me.

I’m used to this feeling
of knives stabbing inside,
and I have fertile furrows
down my cheeks.
He’s yours after all,
I could never fit in the picture,
the camera was built for two –

and I’m a third.

I give in, I give up.
I bow out:
applaud and approve.

Player One

This dream in my head
of me sitting between your legs;
your hands on mine on yours.
Playing video games in a dark room:
my smile lit up by you,
I want to be your player two.

You’d teach me how it works
and give me kisses for kills.
Let me win a few times,
or I can be your side-kick
and you can protect me with your guns.
This feeling will be new:
let me be your player two.

We’d play until the new day’s sun
And you’d be my Player One.