Headspace in Widescreen

The Everyday (With Me)

Forget the breaths you breathed
when I wasn’t there,
you inhaled a substance but it wasn’t air,

it will taste cantaloupe sweet
when I stroke your hair in moonlit hotel rooms
in Paris (yes, my treat).

Disregard the water you drank
when I wasn’t there,
you can’t even describe the taste (okay, that’s not fair),

but you will savour every mineral drop
when we shower together and it kisses your skin
as I do until you beg me to stop.

Ignore the food you ate
when I wasn’t there,
you never tried the unusual or the rare,

but together we’ll discover the exotic
when we visit markets hand in hand,
I’ll show you moments can be erotic

and you will forget, disregard and ignore the everyday no more.

Sooo, who wants to be my tumblr prom date?

You’ll get a poem! Hello? Hello? *tumbleweed* *wind blows* *bell tolls three times in the distance*.

Best 3 word description of themselves wins…or loses, depending on your viewpoint :)

A Day in the Life

I would like
a day in your life.
You make it look
so easy,
there’s this strange
curvature to your lips,
I think it’s called
a smile.
I would like one
of those -
haven’t remembered
how to do that
in a while,
but on closer inspection,
and a certain amount
of reflection,
I think you
have it the same
as me.
You face the trials
and tribulations
that I do
you just turn them
into jubilations
and make the most
of situations.
We’re both having
the same day,
except yours is blue
and mine is grey.

Supposed To Be Gestalt

I have met broken-hearted lovers
on the road to recovery,
littered with dust and discovery
of new facets of themselves when
they disengaged their ‘we’
to ‘I’ once more and found out
what it is that made another adore
them in the first place but the
marathon run of relationships
undid all their unique aspects
and they became a gestalt but
it was less than the sum of its parts,
the joining of two hearts, and the
ones that last are those that do not
dispose of everything that made them
them.

Elucidation

I will elucidate upon the fate
of all the perfect crystalline
memories you gave me brittle
and fine, shining like spittle
at the corner of the mouth
of the teacher you should
have paid attention to and
instead dropped out and bummed
around South America for a while,
your tanned skin and mountain
stories I took in like secondhand
smoke and then you poked
a single hole with those exquisite
fingernails of yours in every single
tissue paper layer of my life
and now I can’t function and
all those times we shared;
milkshake straws and running for
trains and shopping for trainers
will slip through those gaps,
like money lost between the
train tracks and it would be too
dangerous to try and retrieve them.
That’s
what
happened.

Anonymous asked: You have so much creative energy, it's both admirable and inspirational! I think you should try expand on your vocabulary a bit though, in your poems, to make them vibrant and evocative! :)

Thank you, though I agree and partly disagree. Sometimes I like to use simple vocabulary to get the sense and feeling of a poem over more easily. If I read a poem and the language is almost deliberately complicated I find it off-putting. Thank you for your comment, anonymous person.

Dedication

I dedicate this poem to you
for all the times that you nearly
gave up hope and then pulled through
and you will never know I love you dearly
for I am too embarrassed to say
the smallest iota of my heartelt feelings
I think about you every single day
in all my doings and in all my dealings
and it’s enough that words in black and white
seal my love in time before I go grey
though they will fade like the day’s last light
my love for you will never go the same way.

June is my month to write a novel

Now I just need someone to dedicate it to…

Anonymous asked: Stay frosty Sun-Tzu. Which of the following are mythological beasts: Anonymity, Privacy, Security, Neutral Ground, The Flying Llama From That Disney Film Produced Later In Some Universes? It's a timed exercise. 30 seconds.

I get the best anons ever :) how much of my 30 seconds have I wasted? I just like to make things more difficult for myself…no one can be anonymous in this day and age, you can be tracked through your computer, mobile phone, CCTV, everything, so that’s a myth, ditto for privacy, same for security, neutrality too, so I’ll go for the flying llama being the only mythological beast.

nana-c asked: This is painfully and exquisitely beautiful.

Life? Yes, it is. Something I’ve written? No, just painful, but thank you if you meant ‘Writing for Strangers’, it’s very kind of you to say.

Nights of Green, Days of Red

Nights of green
and days of red,
waking in amber.
Time to push the pedal,
but the brake
or the accelerator?
I don’t always know
the right time to go.
Sometimes I’ve stayed
and sometimes I’ve left.
I need you
in the passenger seat
reading the map
but it no longer feels your heat.
The light’s amber,
time to push the pedal,
with you it didn’t matter
which.

I Don’t Want To Know

You’ve got answers
and I have questions,
we should arrange a meet
on neutral ground.
Mutually beneficial
it would be,
but I wonder
if we’ll each like
what the other has.
Perhaps my questions
should go unanswered
if there’s a chance
I won’t like them
and your answers
can find better questions
than the ones I have.

Writing for Strangers

There were days that you would write poetry
on the back of receipts, on napkins from lunch.
There were days that you would drink too much
and write poetry onto pavements with the bile
from inside and it took a while to find a point
in between the two when you could create and
destroy, both on the same day. You wrote beautiful
words and gave them away to strangers, sealing
them with a lipstick kiss and they’d walk out
into the world with a part of you tucked into
their back pocket. There was rhythm in everything
you did, I read the receipts and even your shopping
was exotic, imagining the cashiers sighing at
your presence breaking up their day. They didn’t
know that you’d go home and let the painful ink
drip as it ripped a part of your soul. You thought
it would hurt less if you disposed of it when
you were done, but somehow you never could.
I found your shoebox full of scraps of paper
when I cleared out your closet, you are gone now
but I will keep your words.
You are writing poetry
for different strangers,
I heard.