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

Flashback – Darling, When You Look My Way

It was 4am, and I was in Dartford park.
There was nothing to be afraid of anymore,
nowhere to hide and nothing to hide from,
just the steady back and forth of the swings as I rang out my own personal new year, months and hours too late.
I had decided that day, that I was going to start again.
It would be like I had died, and come back as something much more manageable for all the people that had grown sick of what I currently am.
It was a nonsense, of course,
as many things are when it comes to me,
but I needed some kind of delusional promise to keep myself going.

I would have given you everything, my love,
eternal adoration,
all my riches,
all my fruit salad chewits,
if you’d just let yourself be loved.
I sang that song you always loved at my show last night,
my audience were kind, indulging me as I bored them to tears with a song, composed by Britain’s most beloved tax cheat,
and they cheered politely when it was done,
so I considered our conversation done,
until of course, you had to post about my childhood favourite movie.

It feels like you’re still talking to me.
I’m your pretty Peggy Ray,
going missing on the moon,
because that’s just what you do to me,
and maybe one day,
I’ll come back down to Earth,
but for now,
I can’t face it.

Don’t be surprised when you spy me in all of our old haunts,
taunting myself with my memories is how I handle the news that nothing has changed and I am still seventeen, somewhere inside myself.
I lost myself, a little, when I loved you,
lost my shit and said “Fuck it!” because I wanted to be young and in love for a bit,
something sweet for the summer,
postcards full of lustful longing that soon became letters,
then suitcases full of songs and stanzas about the stupid, clever girl that has lived in my head for a decade.

I had to delete your number,
because as sweet as you find my self destructive tendencies,
there were only so many times I could drunkenly text you the lyrics to Mark Owen’s “Hail Mary” before I gained the self awareness to put my heart away,
praying that my next lover will be able to love me when both of us are sober.

Here I am,
singing into dark, empty skies,
swinging like my life depends on it,
dreaming of a goodbye kiss that becomes so crazed and dazed that it never ends.
I’m still here,
4am, Dartford park,
swinging higher and higher, hoping to see the stars from that song you always loved.

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

On Her Mind

She said I was on her mind,
and that she hoped I was happy,
so I made her a mix tape of all my mixed up feelings, and hid it at the bottom of my wardrobe,
where we used to reside,
residents of the heartbreak hotel that we ran together,
like an old married couple.

She told me I was hers,
and I couldn’t get enough of it,
how it felt,
how it sounded,
how it grounded me.
Our bodies speak while we are silent,
and even from miles away,
I dance to the sweet melody of her.

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

Flashback – Dream and it might come true

Meekly, she comes before me,
her lips parted as she prays,
aching and consumed by the cruelty of life before love,
it’s way past time, but I let that pass me by, and I just hold her.

Reborn, like a saviour on a Sunday,
I am fresh in her fantasies,
lace on my skin, petals in my perfume,
overboard in our oceanside dreams,
vivid and vibrant,
eternally violet,
standing out against a colourless sky.

All it took was a few steps,
swept from one world to another,
high as the spirits that carry our secrets across borders,
like little love letters.
I held her, and she was safe.

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

Please Don’t Be In Love With Me

Our love is an old love,
a one sided passion that surpasses the soaring sun and the ageing oceans.
You have given up sleeping,
gazing at me as the night turns to day and the day returns back to night,
frightened that I will find my way back to the wilderness where you found me.

Please don’t be in love with me.
I have pleaded and reasoned,
but, unlike the seasons, you stay strong,
never leaving, so having no need to return,
and I fall asleep without a word,
without a kiss,
simply asking for you to change your mind.

You tell me that you’re in love with me,
and it’s the same old game.
Darling, what did you go and do that for?
What a foolish folly from an old fool with everything to lose,
and nothing to gain from getting in my callous carousel.

You’ll attract more flies with honey,
and more of hunnybee with diamonds,
so I cut up your credit card and robbed you in the night,
so that I wouldn’t be available for your purchase.
The lady is not for turning over and waking up with you,
and the lady is not for lunatics,
but still,
your insanity prevails,
and so does mine,
on another cycle of self hatred.

I often wonder how it feels for you,
butterflies and birds camped out in your core at the thought of me,
because these are the things I cannot taste or feel,
and when I stop fighting,
and let you find a way back in,
it is wicked, wanton self destruction.

I want to be hurt,
feeling nothing but burning on my skin,
soaked in shame and sin,
crying a chorus in time with your sighs of satisfaction.
I fall to pieces in the peace of afterwards,
my dinner dancing up my throat and down the porcelain as you wait outside,
trying to tell yourself that it’s just my nerves, as usual.

I’m the sweetest siren in your address book,
entirely because I am always unavailable,
but knock on my door, you do,
leave your longing on my voicemail, you do,
because you want to be hurt as badly as I do.