Stop.

I love you,” you say,
and I know something’s
not quite right
because when you
speak tonight,
the words don’t
just tumble
from your mouth;
it feels like this time,
they’ve been
pushed off
the edge of
your tongue,
and they’re hanging on
for dear life.
See, usually, these words
leave me breathless,
but tonight it’s different
and I wonder
if I’ve been reckless
with my heart
and now I’m restless
because the words
I just heard,
they didn’t fall
effortlessly
from your lips,
the ones that
have kissed
my every scar
and loved
my every flaw.

These words?
You prised them
off your tongue,
like a stubborn
piece of gum
on the back of
one of your
favourite shoes,
and I wonder
whether tonight
I could lose

Everything.

And as much as I don’t
want it to be true,
I take one look at you
and the sadness
in your eyes,
and I realise
that tonight
won’t be like
every other night.

I watch as
your lips
begin to form
the next word.
And that’s when I wish
I could just run
in between your lips
and on your tongue
place a full stop
at the end of your
‘I love you’.
Because that is where
the sentence should end;
you should
just tell me
you love me
and that there is when
I need that full stop
because
I need you to stop
because
I don’t want us
to stop.

“I love you, but…”
Your next word
changes everything.
Like that last
vodka shot
on a night out
that takes you from
having fun
to passing out,
and before you
change everything
I need that
full stop.

“I love you, but I just…”
What about this is just?
There is nothing just
about you changing us
by misplacing
your full stop
so please,
just stop.

“I love you, but I just, kinda fooled around with someone else.”
I feel
my heart
stop.

“I told myself no, but…”
You told yourself no,
and see, right there
is where that
full stop goes
because how can you
want to put a
full stop
at the end of us,
at the end of my trust
just for one night of
of lust
with a girl
you’re never gonna
see again?

Please,
Just make it stop.

Just make it stop
and I’ll give you
all of my full stops,
and we’ll pretend
to be okay,
and I’ll spend
my days
talking in phrase
after phrase
after phrase,
sentences that
never stop,
because if I do that
maybe it will mean that
what we have
will
never
stop

I performed this piece at a spoken word/poetry open mic night called “Come Rhyme With Me”, hosted by two awesome poets, Dean Atta and Deanna Rodger. It was my first time EVER performing my poetry and I was crazy-nervous, but I ended up quite enjoying myself, so hope to give it a go again soon!

A Love Letter (Of Sorts)

I’m not saying
You’re my other
Half
And that wherever you tread
I’ll follow
That path.
I know we’re separate
Beings,
Two different entities,
But we’re
Bound
By the balance
Between our own energies.
Restoring one’s chaos
With the other’s composure.
Sharing secrets, and dreams,
Complete disclosure.
Know that I’ll be here
Through the good times
and the shit.
When life throws punches
Your way,
I’m cool to
Take a hit.
See it’s come to
This point where, I look
At your dreams,
And helping you get there
Is something that
Means
The world to me now,
‘cos to help you to be
The man that you want to,
Along the way,
Will better me.

And then, there we’ll be
The best versions of us,
All thanks to the day
We took a risk,
And decided to
Trust
In each other,
Once strangers,
Now partners-in-crime.
From acquaintances,
To best friends
And lovers,
In time.

This isn’t your usual
Love letter -
You see,
I’m not going to sit
And tell you
You’re what was missing
In me.
I don’t complete you,
Nor do you, me,
We’re not two halves of a whole,
None of that insanity.

But I’m drawn to
Your light;
It betters my life,
Betters my soul,
Hell, it even betters
The words I
Write.

Bleeding

This is supposed to be me
with my renewed sense of creativity,
doing as Hemingway said,
and sitting at a typewriter
- or my 21st century equivalent -
and bleeding.
But there’s nothing quite like
putting pen to paper
and listening
as it etches its very essence
into the untainted surface,
scratching away at the
virginal elegance
of a sheet, untouched.

This is supposed to be me
using these words
to try and figure out
the thoughts and fears and emotions
that have me so bewildered,
and lost.
But this incessant scratching
of nib against page
betrays the silence,
the stillness,
the serenity
of this dimly-lit room.
I look instead,
at the way the silver point
flows along the surface,
spilling its soul,
effortlessly.
The way we just flowed
from two strangers, to ‘us’,
effortlessly.

This is supposed to be me
taking a step back from my mind,
hoping that with distance
will come a fresh perspective.
But what strikes me instead,
is the way the ink
flows onto the paper,
binding itself to the surface
so closely
that you can’t see
where one ends and the other begins.
That smooth way in which
two become one,
without a second thought as to
the whys and the what-ifs.
Like two lovers,
so completely involved
in this very moment,
that they do not waste time
wondering what pain
- or possibly, what hope -
tomorrow could bring.

And should this ink one day fade,
should the pages start to fall apart,
there’ll always be the echoes
of the sound this bleeding nib made,
whilst carving its soul
into these pristine pages.

Maybe this’ll help. Maybe not.

Don’t caress her body, heal her soul instead.

Kiss her demons good night; lay them to rest.

Wrap her dreams in your words of love.

Piece her together.

Wash away the stains left behind by her nightmares.

Light a candle in the darkest corner of her mind.

Bury her regrets, and dig up the hope she thought she’d lost.

Asphyxiate her fixation on the darkness within.

Drown her in liquid love.

Satiate her yearning, set her soul on fire.

Dissolve the ashes of her nightmares into a pool of dreams.

Paint a rainbow into her cloudy sky.

Lead her out of this labyrinth of shadows.

Etch your words of love into her heart.

Be the silver lining.

Rein in the storm that’s raging beneath her candy surface.

Hide her in your embrace.

Fix her.