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

Flashback – I Am What I Am

I realised this morning that she has let herself into every aspect in my life.
Late at night,
she stands next to my bed,
keeping me from sleep with that stupid, simpering smile she used to do,
just for me,
and it never stops.

It doesn’t end there either.
I had the great displeasure of discovering that the entirety of Mark Owen’s discography is about her.
He never met her,
but when he was warbling “What We Already Know”,
I realised that she was everything,
and everything fell into place.

My summers in solitude,
back and forth on the swings,
so desperate to text her again, but trying to show some restraint,
half way through the Green Man album,
it was all about her.
It was like this tiny man from a town far away had seen our stupid little love story,
two stupid little girls, never knowing what to say,
and he wrote song after song until he had a record to sell,
and even now,
the opening notes of Makin’ Out make me desperate to text her, again, and I have to hide my phone,
because restraint is something I lost with age.

Over Christmas,
I filled my kitchen with all the foods my family prefer,
some kind of ritualistic offering,
because now that they know what I am,
I will live the rest of my life convinced that they won’t stay,
so I decided to feed them until they were too tired to leave,
and it was all fine,
I was coping just fine with my bad coping mechanisms until I saw something in the cupboard.
I hadn’t even thought as I bought it,
packed it into a bustling bag for life,
carried it home on the bus,
but face to face with a tin of custard, in the cupboard,
I had no choice but to think of her.

It’s just the food she likes,
songs that could be about anybody,
smiles on a face I can barely recall, when I really try,
and my God, I try,
holding the pain to my heart and sobbing my way through my Hail Marys.

It happens,
almost by design,
it’s just part of life,
just something that happens when you first meet love.
She is so sweet and so exciting,
and you can’t help but let her live in every part of your life,
until she exists everywhere and you are breathless,
bounding through life like a puppy who is finally allowed outside,
or a butterfly that has seen the sun for the first time,
but it never lasts.

She stays everywhere, long after she is gone,
inescapable and still so beautiful,
but you can never get lost like you did that first time,
and you’ll be breathless,
battling against breaking point after breaking point.
Every reminder of her is a reminder that it’s just her favourite food in the cupboard,
just a song that reminds you of her,
just the memory of the first smile that showed you what love could be.

I am just up the road from her house,
it’s just a few stops on the bus,
and her number never changed.
I know her,
she’s a hopeless romantic,
and if I turned up at her door,
dripping with roses and all my confessions,
maybe it would be more than her favourite food in my cupboard,
more than a song that reminds me of her,
more than a memory that drives me insane,
but,
of course,
I never get on that bus.

I have been in a long term relationship with self loathing for so long,
and I’m not the unfaithful type.

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.