In selfish, coiled hours before the sunset-
thoughts becoming tsunamis,
you know how I get when I’m upset,
you know I get when I am left-
alone.

I can see what you think in your eyes,
where your respond for silence,
my love, my friend, my dearest of dears-
what of the person whom you hear?

Sometimes my nightmares become ropes,
often my anxiety transforms into chairs,
always my mind roars with dark wires,
what of. this. despair.

Fairground Father (poem)

In all his tatty leather, inhaling his dreams,
what about your uniform? tearing at the seams-
your days now, he will never know what they mean.

Picking up his guitar, picking up the chicks,
picking up a bag of green but not picking up his kids,
but remember kid, you’ll only have one daddy now-
and rest assured he’s there when the fair is in town.

Your daddy is a Rockstar don’t you know?
He ain’t got the fans and the money to blow,
never waiting for you at the school gates,
oh but he’s at the bar waiting for his mates.

The fairgound father,
only bothers when there’s none,
but he’s a Rockstar don’t you know?
he only cares about having his fun.

Poem – I Know

I was going to start this piece by saying things you already know.
You’re beautiful. You’re charming. You’re…….more than nice.
I do not know what would disappoint me more;
you knowing these things because you have an inflated ego
or you know because you have a reflection in your bed who mirrors-
everything you whisper to them.

I avoid conversation with you in the sheer hope that you
are interested in me and will ask me directly about my day.
Ask me what I had for lunch,
ask me what song I am listening to,
ask me what I think about at night,
ask me something, anything and all that matters is that-
you are curious about me.

When I see your phone screen light up your face-
like the moon lighting up the nightclub ocean, I
struggle with my decisions.
Do I admire how beautiful you are despite the lack of light
or do I curdle at the fact that someone else has your attention this very night.

I ignore your presence on purpose sometimes,
I pretend not to hear your questions,
I divert my gaze so you don’t catch it,
I give you as little of myself as I possibly can in the day-
because I am saving my energy to give you as much as myself-
will allow in the hush of my dreams.

Deep down, I know that all I am is a face and a name who
appears in a time and a place to you.
Deep down, I know that you are already dialling the number of
a taxi cab to give yourself more time to look pretty for someone else.
Deep down, I know that you ask me questions just so I reciprocate them
and pay your interesting life a favour.
Deep down, I know that I would dial the number of a taxi cab to see you
look pretty, even if it was for the eyes of someone else.
Deep down, I know that your interesting life does not really care for mine.

I know that this space and period we find ourselves in is temporary-
and I know that romanticizing you will only put fuel in a car with no tyres.
I know that when I see your presence, you have already accounted for mine.
I know when you hear my questions, you don’t care if they are answered.
I know that if I catch your gaze, it’s because I was blocking your view.

A story of something (poem)

There is a poem in you somewhere,
between the freshly inked rose and your rockabilly pose.
Your core once rested between my index and thumb,
I should of known the sound of your happy goodbye was-
the sound of a starting gun.

The transition from a Werthers original to a Ferrero Rocher-
swooped the hipsters into pastel shaded tornadoes,
and now the party goes wherever she flows.
Underneath your sweet layers I know there is a crunch-
where the aesthetic really does not matter all that much.

They say the language of the lovers is in the books-
but for my sake, I pray it’s in your venomous dirty looks.
Now the warm city glow is just the amber in a-
dysfunctional traffic light and I know there is no
direction left for me to make this right.

In a darkened club with leather sofas covered in vomit-
there’s a piece of paper with my name scribbled on it,
and there was once a girl who clamored with excitement-
to find a vodka rinsed pen,
that same girl erased those numbers and never dialed again.

It broke something when she declared herself busy-
the girl who could not help herself to once miss me,
debated with myself where it all went sour-
but sometimes you can be on time for something
and still be late by the hour.

Asking (poem)

Your laughter muffled by the icecream,
the hectic fairground in my daydream-
did you know that you’re the queen?

The coal in my veins-
curdles at the thought of you leaving,
but as I feel the mountains take a closer look,
I soon realize that I am living in a book.

When the tide foams at your feet
and the sand becomes slushy but soft,
does your mind think about quicksand-
or a memory that time swears you forgot.

I know words can be powerful-
but your Bruce Lee kisses have that uncanny sting-
where you know they could be simple whatevers,
yet they could mean everything.

Making you mine is no simple task-
it’s a marathon just to ask,
and your feelings are frisbees-
hoping they are returned back.

What do you guys think?

so this blog I mostly post my poetry here and there, I kind of want to do a little bit more on this blog. Now I’m thinking to perhaps indulge a little bit more of my personal life on here (dun dun dun!) and use this as some form of diary perhaps. Talk about certain topics I feel strongly about. Simply, bring a little more of myself to this blog, show the person behind the poetry I guess. I understand that sometimes the poetry tells a better story so I am not going to force this on my readers, just a thought.

What do you guys think? (what would you like to see more of?)