Perform

Whispering silently,
Bags rustling, trying not to disturb
But I hear them anyway
The way the person gasps as noise causes my head to turn and I lose focus
Briefly

Then move on.

I keep on with my act
I keep on singing
I will not let this break the focus I had
The work I have done to this point
Will not be in vain.

I begin to sweat in fear
My face and hands tremble
As I feel my focus slipping

I am slipping up
My words begin to fumble
Tumbling into a broken mess
Onto the floor that was all mine
Is all mine.

I sigh.

I feel relief and regret
As the applause begins

And I look at the crowd in disbelief
For I feel the applause is wrongly placed
But then,
As the regret slips away
A smile brushes across my face.

Me day

I am having a me day
The time for myself to unwind
To finally let down my hair and focus on

Me.
No phone calls will be picked up today
For I am engaged in an important matter

Myself.
It has been long overdue.
Perhaps I will find an unfinished book from months past and finish it today
Or I will write a hundred poems and find myself spread amongst them

rather than between the essay I need to write
and the words I need to learn
and the story I have for a deadline
and the friends I need to see

Maybe I’ll just be me
Tomorrow?

Dream

I hold my eyes still,
My arms motionless around the cuddly toys in my bed,
Yes I should move them,
But they comfort me
When you are unable to be there to embrace me;
The times when all I can do is return to the way I was before,
And hold some inanimate object and make believe
Until
I fall
Asleep.

I feel my eyes open with a sense of urgency,
You were there,
Grabbing my hand to run back to the car like usual
‘Come back to mine’ you said
And I would have done
If it weren’t for me kissing your tender lips
And feeling…

Nothing.

I sigh internally,
Fully aware I am now in a dream
But seeing you makes me want you more;
To feel your warmth against my cold,
To embrace you,
(Or rather the other way round
I am too small to truly embrace you)
To whisper in your ear sweet nothings
And see your smile as I smile back to you.
Even in this dream state your smile lights a fire inside of me
And I outstretched my fingers
Hoping to reach across to you somehow
Through some invisible barrier set between us
But now
I
see…

Nothing.

I open my eyes and sigh.
I wanted that dream
To reincarnate as my current reality,
I wished and wished as the sun rose
And saw the cuddly toys staring at me.

In that instant,
My eyes feel heavy again
As sleep takes me back,
Perhaps back
To you.

Little things

We drove along the windy paths,
Each little village filled with homes
That seemed so precious and warm
Compared to the chill inside that four wheeled contraption.

The route was long,
Much longer than expected,
And they lost their patience alongside you,
But I kept calm,
Each house,
Each village,
Making me mellow and somewhat distant from the yells of the automobile.

As we arrived nearer to our destination,
I squeezed your hand tightly,
Part out of fear,
Part out of checking you saw what I saw;
Dozens of acres
Filled with hundreds of trees of all kinds;
The air was bitter
But oh the moment’s joy warmed me to my core.

As the car drove up past all of the history,
I felt a sense of belonging amongst the stone and mortar
Then we began crumbling
Crumbling…

We drove away back through the hills
A tear rolled down a reminiscent cheek.
You laid still beside me,
Allowing my head to slumber on your shoulder
You claim I felt like fairy dust upon there
And I thank you for this white lie
As you try to straighten your neck after my hour long nap.

When we pulled into that little car park,
Just off the M5,
You questioned me as I began to cry.
I replied
“The little things mean a lot”
Your response made me feel special
As you joked about my little height meaning a lot to you,
And I smiled at your profiled grin
And fell in love again until the car pulled back to yours;
I never remembered the length I stared
Because I lost myself to you and your gentle ways.

From that nap until our final rest,
You – the comforter of
Me – your saviour from the abyss off the edge of that little bed.
We joked that our small palace could not fit the 11 foot 7 that swarmed the bed
But we managed.

And it was that last little thing
That warmed me up that night as it woke as a bitter morn;
The little things that I woke to alongside the candyfloss sunrise.

I and you you and I

I move my hand
To mirror yours
Your frown changes
To copy my cause.
You tilt my face
Towards the sun
You’re my  reflection;
More than anyone.

Our lips touch
And electric lights
That shoots us
Into unforgettable nights.
Each day you tell me
How much I mean to you
And you’ve given me power
To tell you the truth.

There’s a man in my life
Someone so incredible
Yet he calls me his
And I say that he’s my all
My muse my boy
The other meant for me
I slip my hand into his
As we walk off happily.

Yes.
His hand fits mine.
And I have never felt more wanted.

Poems are my life

Poems are my life,
Made up of hundreds of enjambments
From when I don’t know when to stop,
And end stopped when I forget my next point.

A new stanza starts when something new happens in my life.
A new friend?
A lover?
Family affairs?
They all need new stanzas.

I’m running out of this papyrus paper…

I don’t just mean I use poem structure,
Quoting poems makes up everyday conversation for me.
From explaining why “The cows go bong”,
To the “burning bright” of the sun on a hot summer’s day.
I’m surprised no one says “Man. Lie down and die.”
I know it can be overwhelming to people sometimes
“Maybe I’ll eat ice cream until I feel okay”
But don’t get as annoyed as a metaphor being mistaken for a simile;
That’s a scary sight that no one should have to face dot dot dot

Ooh! I bet you thought the ellipsis was the end didn’t you?
But surely a rhetorical question is a much better ending?

Heart

My hand was curled up,

Sheltering my heart.

But what happens if I move my hand?

It will pour out-

It’s endless years of being strong when others couldn’t

has worn it to an unrecognisable pulp;

A few tendons wrapped around patches of red muscle.

But with your hand holding mine safe-

My heart is going to grow back to a bigger size than before.

And I just wanted to say-

Thank you in advance.

.

Memories

Memory is a funny thing.

You ask if I had a good memory today.

I laugh and say “What’s a bad memory?”

“I have plenty I could tell you” you say

But I sigh and tell you “I mean a memory bank.”

“Not each little snippet of pain or love or hate,

or friends or enemies or films or days out.”

I meant to say memory bank.

You say “The memory bank is bad in old people”

I shake my head and tell you that is not the case;

“Their memory banks are good, they are simply closing down.”

“They’ve found that their lives have been too fulfilled.”

“They have too many memories;

So they push some between the little bars at the bank”

“That is strange.” You say.

I chuckle to myself and reply “This may seem strange,

But the memories will come back now and again

as they pushed back through the bars.”

“Are you not scared of old age if you think this is true?”

You are beginning to question my sanity and trust me so am I

But I feel like sanity should be contained in another poem,

At another time.

So I continue to tell you that when the memory bank starts to close,

It is peaceful.

And because you control the memory bank,

It will let you keep hold of the firsts and the sweetest of memories

And block out the mean ones of war and hatred and suffering and death.

Because face it:

No one wants to think of that when they are too close to their end.

I’ve scared you away but trust me, dear friend ,

You will forget this poem.

And how it was spoken.

And my voice.

Because it means nothing to you.

Creativity

Recently I have had a lot of creativity

It’s bursting in the seams of my mind

I can feel it swirling round

Trying to consume all my time.

But you have to try and tame it

(Or conserve it if you can)

Whilst I write an essay for school

Or make another life plan.

But like all things in life

I know this phase will come to an end

So should I grab it by the ears

Or let it pass like an old friend?

I have tried to tread these waters before

And let the creativity flow

But when I let it free

The ideas stayed where I’d wanted them to go.

“But I didn’t want them calm!” I cried,

As I tried to draw.

But there were so many ideas

For me to contain them all.

So now I’m trying to plan ahead

And think 3 steps in front

As I tried to sift through the good and bad

For the best ideas I hunt

My mind palace is tangled

But it needs to be in line

So I can see my visions

And use them wisely this time.