Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Pride Month 2022, Writing

Flashback – Herrings

Tha sinn cho coltach ri dà sgadan.

My badly pronounced pick up line brought a bemused smile to her face,
as the water woke from it’s slumber and the sea snaked closer up the sand to see our love story unfold.
I told her, that we were as similar as two herring,
despite being unsure if I had invoked the bird or the fish,
making a wish on a sleeping star that was tucked behind the clouds,
hopeful that, at last, I had learned the art of being somewhat charming.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Pride Month 2022, Writing

When I Find Her

I’m tired of being perused,
tired of being pursued,
tired of singing the blues.
Kissed the boys and made myself cry,
kissed the girls and made them cry too,
now we’re all back to singing the blues,
back to back with our bad habits.
I leave without leaving a note.
There is no room for goodbyes in my throat,
I just go,
flowing out of the foreground, never to be seen again,
but then, a new awareness is unleashed,
I am unburdened,
unbridled as her soft smiles sails on cool, calm waters,
and I dance in the rain.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Pride Month 2022, Writing

Flashback – Back On The Boat

My mistress’ eyes are the only thing I see when I sleep.
However hard I try to escape the bounds of boundless affection,
all I do is dream of her glacial gaze,
in the service of a temptress,
reeling all day, long after I have awoken.
It isn’t a bad life, to be in love.

Last night, she told me that I have stolen her sleep,
opening the windows of her mind and gliding in,
visiting when night falls, to leave my love for her to find when morning comes.
Every day, she says, she wakes up with my lipstick trailing down her tender, slender throat.
So it goes.

All we do is dream,
stuck in a cycle of wanting but never getting,
having, for just a second, with closed eyes and distant bodies.
Life is so tough, when my lover goes to war,
I just dream of her eyes, and await her return.

Posted in Writing, Blog, Creative Writing, Pride Month 2022

My Body Is A Party

My body is a party,
but nobody is invited,
because I am a terrible host,
toasting my terrible timorousness,
taking in the empty room and taking a shallow breath as the sound of silence sends me into tears.

How do you fall in love when you are in love with self loathing?
I heard once that I could meet somebody who really loves me,
but I didn’t love the idea of sticky clubs and selling my heart to the highest bidder under flashing lights,
so I stayed home,
surrounded by the sonnets and songs of my youth,
wondering why life was,
as I had also once heard,
sick and cruel.

Do you think that happiness is the kind of thing that happens for everyone?
I’m starting to think that it doesn’t,
drawn into long debates with myself about fate,
the waiting game and my place on this planet,
and I just think
“Hasn’t it been long enough?”
Life owes you nothing but surely I am owed something?
I’ve been here this whole time,
rolling with the vibes and the punches that follow,
furious and flowing so quickly that soon,
they are all that is left.

Don’t mind me, I’m just going through something.
It’s a challenge to keep it cool when I am made or ice,
melting, only to learn hard lessons that help me to freeze again.
I don’t mean to complain,
but I’ve gained nothing from never ending smiles and positive affirmations,
so there’s no path left but the painful whines of a wild child,
lost in the wilderness,
waiting for her lover to lock eyes with her across a room,
and whisper,
“You’re what I’ve been looking for.”

I could find the wrong one in one minute,
it really just takes a second for him to slither in, but, the right one?
She is elusive,
exclusive and evasive.
I have torn myself apart,
trying to be ready for her to find me,
trying to fix all of the issues and pack away the tissues I have cried into,
fixing my make up and pretending I have my shit together,
so that she knows I am ready to be loved,
but it’s all a lost cause,
because the truth is,
my greatest fear is,
I will never be ready.

I will never be ready,
so my body remains a party that I don’t want to be at,
and I stare through the sea at a locked door,
unconvinced but reassured that it’s safer if it stays that way.

Posted in Writing, Blog, Creative Writing, Pride Month 2022

Flashback – Shadow Banned

I left lavender letters on the pillowcase,
my eyes glittering in the sunrise’s gaze.
There were shadows spying in the door way,
but I had resigned myself to life as a laboured spirit,
so I had accepted it long ago.
The shadows toddled down the hallway behind me,
endlessly emulating the soft sway of my hips,
but never quite getting it,
reaching into the cupboard under my sink,
to search for a pot of paint, about my shade, to go for a swim in.

It made no difference.
I wrote myself in synths and sighs,
immortalising the girl I was last night on a cassette tape,
and the shadows sat at the kitchen table,
playing it,
rewinding it,
playing it,
rewinding it,
until I got sick of it and snapped the tape in two,
ribbons of rarity cascaded to the carpet,
and the shadows wanted it so badly that they launched to the floor,
holding what remained of the cracked shell and torn up insides.

I had become so used to telling people that I was a poisoned apple,
that I forgot to tell them I was cured,
fit for consumption,
keeping up the hostility,
the shadows once again copying me,
until they became so unbearable,
so unbelievably hard to love that even I became appealing by comparison.