Monday, December 17, 2012


You walk into the room and smile at all the right times because you know they're all watching you. You play it coy because shy hearts are easier to love, and paired with marble eyes, you're a winning streak any buster would step into the ring for. And that's how it feels - like a fight.

All the screaming becomes white noise because you're the accumulation of every sense. Touch. Taste. Feel. Hear. See. Love. And my heart's doing all the work, making sure every part of my body knows you're there even when you're not. 

I'm two rounds in and I can barely pick myself up off the floor. 

Oh, but what a prize. You stand there, making sure not to meet my eyes and I'm all the way here, chewing on the smoke the train left behind when it ran away with my common sense. 


I start counting the hearts dropping around you.


You make perfect look so easy.


I'm walking over to you.


Your eyes rush for a place to hide.


You can feel the heat of the hot mess I've become.


You lose your resistance to my thieving kiss.


I wait as the last heart to drop is yours.


I’ve spent my life waiting.

And I’ve wondered why flowers close up when they feel the rain,
Thinking of how I’ve left myself open to drown in you.

They’ve learnt what happens when you’ve run out of space to breathe,
I’ve learnt that I’ll never learn anything unless it kills me.

We’ve both learnt the importance of patience
Because we’re only waiting to be picked.

Tyre Swing

And I could dent the hardest earth
With my steps weighed down
By her anxious lungs.

Anxious not for me
But for the dissolving of the bitter tablet
On her curious tongue
To numb the pain
Of a broken tyre swing and
The haunting of a shadow who liked to play tricks

I remember a heart full of hope
And the taste of sunshine
Stolen from the Southern hemisphere
And a locket around another’s neck
Where I dared not to cross
Lest I was prepared to give it all up

And I did, for you.

Saturday, November 3, 2012


A triangle is always going to have slopes. You're either climbing or falling.


It looks so beautiful from the top and you've never had fuller lungs. Don't hold your breath now, that thing beating in your core doesn't know what it's like to fall


Air everywhere except inside you. Lungs folding into paper planes that had a map of her veins and a picture of a smiling sun. The heat you felt beneath your skin, but it was always Winter that far off the ground.

Some corners are sharper than others so I picked you from that tree and slipped you into the pages of my favourite book of poetry, forgetting your colours like to run


But honey, triangles aren't round and now there's punctures in the leather seating. You could patch them up with nests stolen from bushes on fire and feed the


With old letters written on puzzle pieces. She was the greatest mystery. Floating in tea pots, making sure to miss your cup. You watched them


their sorrows and you swallowed the pills left in her purse.
One white.
Two blue.
All triangular.

They're dying to be brought up.

Keep them

A triangle is always going to have slopes.

Monday, October 22, 2012

The Calendar

Last week I could have written the angriest words. My skin felt tighter around my flesh to the point where I thought I might start showing thin over the parts I used to punch at my feelings for you. My body dissolved every feeling of ecstasy I had aligned with our memories. If you had been a blade of grass, I would have pulled you out at the roots and exposed the part of you I had just discovered and wish didn't exist.

On Friday, Sadness joined my Anger. They fought and Anger won after I said bad things about you because my body couldn't release the steam quick enough. I became the water that spits around the bottom of the kettle and starts screaming until you remove the heat from under it. But you're a flame that doesn't like to be put out. So I poured alcohol over my wounds and lost you in the spinning of the room.

On Saturday, Sadness crept in while Anger was still sleeping and quietly held a pillow to its face. Then crawled and sat on my shoulder and sang me songs that had you hidden in the lyrics. I tried to push it away but it followed me around a room full of people and joined my conversations around a table of pretty faces so I drank on behalf of both of us and made sure you were held down at the bottom of my glass.

Yesterday, Sadness called in sick and realised I woke up next to Disappointment. It was there with a purpose, walking behind me, quoting reassurances I had heard from your lips. It had a journal and as it ran its finger down each page, it sang to me all the things you hadn't kept to. It started painting a picture of you and I noticed there were colours I didn't like, ones that had been harder to spot earlier but now stood out so bright that I had to look away. Everywhere I went, those exact colours jumping at me, splashing onto my skin and soaking through my hair. But I lacked the energy to scrub you off and now I wear your disappointments as a permanent reminder of a human condition: That people are selfish.

Today I was surprised to see that I was unaccompanied. Maybe you're putting up less of a struggle for my psyche to throw out. I remember when you would run by 118 times in one day and I'd welcome you back with a smile each time. But now I think of you only in fleeting moments and even then, Disappointment waves from across the street. I can feel you moving away and the spaces between us getting darker. I know that one day the the last light will flicker to its death and we'll be left with nothing. At lease nothing we can see or touch or taste. Like we were both figments of our own imaginations, created to revive our faith in a love we had both watched die. You needed someone to show you that the crying would eventually stop and that your heart could still skip even while it was broken. What is left for me now after I've put all the pieces back together?

Tomorrow I am certain of just one thing, that you will be further from my thoughts as I am further from your heart.

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

Expiry Date

But I treat my hearts as if it’s a child, “it’s just a scratch, now get back up that tree or else you’ll forever have a fear of climbing.” I’ll misjudge the weight of my uneasy steps on a rooftop or forget how horrible it was to be rolled up in salt water when wave after wave tried to keep me for itself. Every year I’ll still return to the sea to collect shells and feel the water hug me after I had been away so long. As if nothing had ever happened. As if the scar on my leg was a peace offering from the coral reef after I intruded its home with the knocking of my body as the waves unabashedly threw me down.

I’ll admire cacti too closely even after hours spent fighting the burn of invisible spears after they tried to warn me that they’d prefer to be left alone and that that’s how it had been for their fathers and their fathers’ fathers. For centuries they had needed no comfort other than the reflection of suns and moons on a desert floor.

But I was born with a curious heart and curious hearts might seem brave but all they really are is scared of the unknown. I could fall from every treetop; I can feel the trickle of regret after trying to open a can with a knife. I could learn my lesson the hard way after stretching my pupils to take in more of the bright lights I can feel moving under my skin. I could feel the cold burns of Loneliness every time I re-invite it back into my bed after finding out you are just the same as everyone else. That all your words had an expiry date and now every thought of you curdles in my stomach. There was no warning, no sourness pinching at my tongue, so I swallowed you whole and now you’re eating a hole right through me.

You make it look so easy. And I was a fool for you.

But darling, I'm easily fooled.

Luckily nothing opens your eyes quite the way disappointment does.

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Pink Balloon

And now this brown leather couch has become the symbol for everything I've grown to miss over the last week.

The fact that you're away and how much I miss the way we sat here and laughed and maybe nearly cried even though neither of us would be brave enough to keep eye contact long enough to notice. How I took comfort in your silence because you didn't want to burden me with your troublesome thoughts. How we spoke of each other only in profanities but we both know we mean the world to each other. How I've never felt closer to someone by just sitting in front of the television with a cup of hot chocolate. I love you like a sister and you've become one of my favourite souls to encounter, like a thousand year-old willow who you could get wrapped up in and lost between the different threads of vulnerable, green plaits. I just want you to come home so I don't have to look for you in traces of cigarette ash left in the bottom of our teacups or salt left in the fridge because your life is about playing tricks on yourself. We could play tricks with a magical Moose and rule the kingdoms in our heads because I'm going to be here through it all even though the fridge is screaming at you for letting all its coolness out and I'm screaming at you for never being on time and you're screaming at yourself because you never manage to get your hair quite the way you want it (even though you'll still always be the prettiest girl in the room). So now I sit on this couch and I have the comfort of this blanket, but I miss your pacing around the kitchen and your smoke cuddling up to our bedtime cup of tea.

I'd follow your advice even if it led me to the scariest corners of my frivolous soul and I'd share my shade with you even if part of me got burned. I'd leave the party to put you in bed after the devil offered you candy. And I'd never judge you, not a single moment, not ever.

I love you, faglet.
Come home soon<3

Thursday, October 4, 2012

A Letter To My Darling - No.3

It’s like some days you’re there and some days you aren’t. I remember seeing you when I looked outside my window and when I looked again, I realised it was only a cloud. How wonderful it would be to just float above the mess of people on the ground too busy to look up. But I find myself looking up more than looking ahead or behind because the sky doesn’t lie. When it’s angry, you can see its burning troubles showing up in grey. When it’s happy, it reflects what I’d imagine a newly painted nursery to look like after the parents couldn’t express their joy in any other language but colour.

When I think of you I see red. It seems so fitting – the colour of a rose, passion, lips after they’ve given into the hunger of spilling their secrets onto another’s tongue. The colour of caution. But why would we listen to caution when what we want is right in front of us, hiding in a bathroom stall, hands burning to dance on each other’s skin. I would have painted your whole body red that night.

Another cloud, only this one is shaped just like the beauty spot you have on your jaw. I jump up and grab it and for a second I remember what it felt like to have had you and lost you all at once. That’s all there is to us, to everyone, is things and how long we can keep them for before they’re lost or given away or stolen or seeped into the ground the way I spill out my words as if there were no consequences. Sometimes I don’t care for consequences but truthfully, I’m scared stiff of them. I always thought I had the most irrational fears: ghosts, words, that sinking feeling when I realise I’m alone right after having been in company. But the one fear I can’t seem to dub foolish is the one of the day we will realise we have nothing to say to each other. Nothing that has any meaning, just words empty of intention or feeling. Especially since I think and see and write about you with so much feeling.

And sometimes I feel like a passer of time.

And sometimes I wish I could have a straight stream of thought, less confusing for me and for you and I wish I could always make sense so you could read me easily. But I’d stay awake all night reading to you while you dreamed of things I wish I could see. Then write about them in poems and read them back to you when you woke.

I wish I could wish these things knowing you wished them too, like when I told you it was 22:22 and I wished for you.

But there are no more clouds in the sky now and the only traces I’ll find of you are the wet kisses against my bicycle’s wheels as they tread through puddles on the way home. Such a sweet sound it makes, like giggles from little girls when they realise falling down doesn’t always hurt.

I know it won’t always hurt. I know that everything happens for a reason and I know that nothing is ever truly permanent.

But if I could, I’d leave permanent kisses on your cheek.

Yours in wishing,

Sunday, September 30, 2012


There are days when I sit down in front of my notebook, full of intentions. I look at the thinned-out black horizons that separate the sunrises and sunsets of the words that could see morning or never step out of the shadows. The broken railroad tracks over words underserving. Undeserving of who, I don't know. Maybe my future self? The same girl who wants to believe in the good of everything except her own fortune and ability.

It's hard to swallow that my biggest fear is a few moments from where I am now. That I'll wake up and set fire to who I was  before I put my head to my pillow. Sometimes I can't stand finding myself splattered across a page, pathetically claiming to have felt things and been a part of something that will periodically crawl back into the bottom of the kettle and ignite the next time I'm shown the slightest bit of heat.

The sound of ballpoint turning into the ticking of the extended arm of an analogue race.
A word.
An underground stream of dirtied sentences.
They show up sometimes without digging, sometimes only after finding the roots of century-old trees wrapped around my neck.

I hate words. I can't live without them. I hate words but if you asked me where I was from, I'd dive into worlds made up of previously scribbled tales from when I was scared, when I thought I had found love, how I had burned myself so many times before and how I'd imagined my future to be something everyone would read about.

Truth is, I read my own writing in song form but still find them unworthy of a harmony. Maybe all we are is a sad song, subjectively made positive by the five year old girl whose joy is found in licking the gaps between her fingers after eating ice cream without a spoon. That girl used to be you and maybe she used to be me, only now we couldn't bear being caught with our tongues out. And I can't bear the thought of writing another word.

Because I hate words. I hate words but I can't stop writing them. I look at my pen and I see myself edging towards you the way the ink makes its way to the page end. You're my punctuation; the comma in my breathing, the ellipsis in my hesitation to touch your hand. I could do with a world without fullstops but I think I'd miss the moments just before you've decided what words to say, the words you hope won't hurt me, but the words that are as inevitable as the fullstop that follows them.

Sometimes I sit down in front of my notebook, full of intentions. "This time I won't write about her," and sometimes I'll make it halfway to the bottom having kept my promise. But you're there, pole dancing around my 'L's and falling over my 'I's and you're racing my pen to the end of the page.

You don't have to run. We both know you'll win.

Friday, September 28, 2012

A Letter To My Darling - No.2

Let me start by telling you how beautiful you are. Wonderfully beautiful. Don't let anyone tell you differently.

I woke up with a heavy heart this morning. I had spent the night dreaming of you but not once would you let me see your face. I chased you around corners and through crowds to no avail. And then I thought that it was a sign, that I wasn't worthy, that I was just a girl who had words to offer in the place of kisses.

I could sit and look at your name on my screen all night but that wouldn't change anything. I'd think of things to say like how you make things better, even the taste of tea, or how I've had the impulse to buy a ticket home and remind you of our shaky breath the first time we kissed in your car. I keep thinking of what you said last night, how you wish you could reply without feeling bad and that broke my heart. Surely we should be allowed to say what's in our heart?

And then I realise I've said too much, like I always do, because self restraint is not something I can associate with you. No, when I think of you, I think of how we can find magic in the most peculiar of places. How we shouldn't brush something off before we've gotten to know it, the way you've gotten to know me and found comfort in my already flawed way of thinking. That means the world to me by the way, so thank you.

You really are beautiful. I can't stop picturing the way your eyes smiled whenever we found each other in the crowd and how our fingers weren't happy unless they were tied together. I'd spend my life sailing just to learn how to knot up our souls so no one could separate me from you.

I'm sorry your world is riddled with hurt and confusion. 
I'm sorry that this letter is drenched in melancholy.
But mostly, I'm sorry that I couldn't be saying this to your face.

Maybe tomorrow will be better. I can only hope that the sun will shine for you always.

Yours faithfully,

Thursday, September 27, 2012

A Letter To My Darling

Today I thought of you 118 times today. I know that because each time I had to remember to breathe. Then I thought about the number 118 and how the 1s stood side by side and then I remembered when you stood behind me and I could feel your breath on my shoulder. I liked the way they were equal, the way I imagined our souls to be. Sometimes You would describe a feeling and I could feel the way your heart was beating as if it were in my own chest.

Then I thought about the number 8 and how it was the most complete number I could think of. "You've made me feel more whole than I've felt in a long time," I remember those words and the night you said them and how you turned my world into the number 8 just by being in it. Now I see you, me, I see us, in every 8. Turned to the side, a symbol on infinity, the number of words I'd write for you until you came back to me.

So many moments passed that I wanted to share with you today. The way the weather changed almost as many times as I thought of you. How I wish I was sitting next to you on a couch while the rain kissed the windowsill and then how I wish we were walking through a park while we held hands and the Sun would tell us that happiness was something we had found in each other.

There was a spectacular moment on my ride home. As I turned onto the downhill, the perfect song came on and the clouds couldn't contain their secrets anymore and spilt their heartache around me. The moment their tears touched my face, I wasn't scared anymore, somehow I knew that things would work out and my feelings for you grew seven fold while I let go of the handles and trusted the winds to carry me to you. God, I wish that road didn't have to end.

But everything must end, the song, the rain, this letter.
We can't let that discourage us. We have to keep hope in our hearts that the world is full of spectacular moments and I have to keep hope that I will get to kiss you again.

Try not go to bed with a heavy heart tonight, you're the loveliest thing I've ever seen.

Yours faithfully,

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

i have learned

I have learned that free will is still the most powerful force. You can't change it.
I have learned that you can make the same mistake over and over and still not take a lesson from it.
I have learned that being vulnerable isn't the same as being romantic.
I have learned that love follows the law of gravity - you can fall fast but it'll take longer to get up.
I have learned that words can fix a broken heart but they can't claim it afterwards.
I have learned that silence between two people can mean a number of things. Don't mistake it for something it's not.
I have learned that cars are better when travelling at high speeds.
I have learned that some playlists should never be burned.
I have learned that just because someone holds tight onto you, it doesn't mean they won't let you go.
I have learned that distance doesn't mean they'll be farther from your thoughts.
I have learned that you can find traces of her in every song.
I have learned that sometimes it's better to write about love than to feel it.
I have learned that happiness is fleeting.
I have learned that "but" can break your heart.
I have learned that just because you've stopped crying for two years, doesn't mean you have stopped for good.
I have learned that stolen kisses always come at a price.
I have learned that when you think something is too good to be true, it is, so run.

Run as fast as you can.

I swallowed the ocean in search of her beneath the waves. Now water spills from my fingertips and it gargles at the back of my throat and my shoes are weighed down like boats that lost the wind that used to fill their sails. "There goes that girl with the tidal wave heart," I hear them say.

My anchor catching on memories as I drag it through islands of good intentions. I suddenly realise that I've been looking in the wrong place, only to turn my head up to see her ablaze in the sky. "But how do I get to her?" I ask, "you can't," they say, "you were made to sink."

Tuesday, September 18, 2012


I'm not even sure if this makes sense but I wrote it anyway and then posted it here and now you're reading it. Cool.


I don’t know why people are so scared of it.


I think that’s where we discovered each other. In the silence.

She sat there, pouting her lips at the floor and I grew to learn that she did this when she was content, not when she was thinking of things to say.

So I sat there too, with my hand over hers, but with my fingers slipped between hers like keys trying to find the right lock.

I didn’t have to look at her, her face was stitched into the bedding of my mind and the sheets tied a rope down my spine – the first place I’d feel her presence when she invited herself in.

I’d never known anyone to be so there, so present in their being that you’d imagine her heart to be a forest – static but ever-growing – and I was sure that I could count the seconds between the blinking of her eyelids even with my eyes closed.

Everything she did echoed onto whoever was near her. People blissfully ignorant in their freedom of choice but they had no idea that it was no choice of theirs at all. They were the ripples of things she had done and when she stood still, you could hear the purpose escape them.

That’s why I could live in her silence. Because it was more than the absence of sound, it was the world re-wiring itself to fit our moments. How selfish of me to keep them all from their intentions, but how lovely she is, much too lovely for me to change that now.

The truth is, I’d watch the world crumble so I could hold onto this continuum of her.

Monday, September 17, 2012

Titanic by Andrea Gibson

I grew up in the town that received the first distress signal
saying the Titanic was going down.
It was the only thing we were ever known for.
In face, we prided ourselves on our failure to save the sinking
which is maybe part of the reason I prided myself
on drinking my first fifth of whiskey at eleven years old.
It’s cold where I come from.
I learned to drown young.

At fourteen I showed up to my 8am high school art class so drunk
my art teacher took a month long sabbatical to reevaluate
her ability to make the world a better place.
When she returned she had a face like a gravestone
with an already-passed death date.
I sometimes wonder if I killed her.

Which is maybe part of the reason
I sometimes paint this world prettier than it is.
Have you ever had the feeling you owe somebody somewhere
a really good reason to live?
To grow old?
To be ninety-eight-and-a-half
with a laugh like broken glass
so whenever folks walk barefoot
they’ll get hidden pieces embedded in their souls?

I’ve spent too many years
sewing my tears together with thread
and hanging them like Christmas lights,
spent too many nights watching the sunset
on the edge of a knife’s glint
to wanna let myself or anybody else drown anymore
so I call this poem shore
that when the message in the bottle finally arrives
it’s not gonna ask why't broke us in half
it’s gonna ask why we survived

Why did Rumi dance when his beloved died?
Why did children search Hiroshima’s sky for the moon
when their wounds were still open as hope’s suicide note,
when the clouds were still bleeding?
Why did Frida Kahlo sculpt a paintbrush from her scars?

My mother says the thing about wheelchairs
is they keep you looking up.
Says forest may be gorgeous
but there’s nothing more alive
than a tree growing in a cemetary
and sometimes it’s the cup that’s half empty
that fills the heart so full
it could pull a bow
above the strings of a row of combat boots
and make them sing like a pair of lovers calling each other’s names
into the echo of the Grand Canyon

Three years ago my niece’s eyes
kept the needle from my sister’s veins
for the very first time.
If I could collect that day,
the sweat from her shaking palms
the cramps knotting like a noose in her gut
I would have the stuff of monarchs taking flight,
of nights when the smoke of burning flags
float across our borders like a kiss.

It hit 170 degrees in the locked trailer of the truck
when the women locked hands and sang so hard
the Texas desert shook
like the hearts of the folks
who would find them still alive.

Why did Rumi dance?
We have cried so hard our tears have left scars on our cheekbones,
but who finds their way home by short cuts?
You wrote your first song on  homophobe’s fist.
She wrote her first poem on her mother’s dying wish.

Sometimes the deepest breaths
are pulled from the bottom of the ocean floor
and if the soul is a mosaic of all our broken pieces
I won’t shine my rusted edges.
I’ll just meet you on shore.

Sunday, September 9, 2012


I'm sitting in the dark.

The kind of darkness where you aren't sure if your eyes are open or closed. But I already know that I'm not alone. I can feel your closeness but I'm not afraid of you. Instead, my hands yearn for you like you're the buoy that will save me from this lithium.

And there it is, the awakening of skin on skin and I'm keeping myself from melting around you.

We don't say anything but the darkness is shifted by your smile and somehow I'm home. Here in the nothingness, I've been born for the first time under your fingertips.

But we're joined by someone else and although I'm clutching at you, you're pulled away. I've lost you before I got to the chance to have you.

The lights come on and there's no one there.

Thursday, August 30, 2012

Blissful Dreamer

I could always tell when she dreamed of me. She would wake up and spill her lips onto mine and leave them there for the longest moment, peeling them off with a sigh. Even after she arose, she’d go about her routine, making sure I was always within view.

“Good or bad this time?” I’d ask.

She’d never say. She’d climb back into bed fully clothed, pull my leg over hers and spend the next few seconds kissing my face and telling me how much she’s going to miss me when she has to leave. I’d keep my eyes closed, pretend I was still caught up in the night’s rest but her childish fingertips, working at my cheeks, couldn’t keep them closed; I had to see her eyes, they were always full of fascination (even when studying my comformable face, the ordinary only broken by my sharp nose).

Her smile. She was so happy to share that moment with me. The simplicity of just matching her stare thrilled her beyond containment and her smile spread to her eyes, which widened at the same rate as her mouth did. She had to release her intrigue and kissed me hard on the mouth.

“When I wake up to find you next to me, not a single bad thing can exist in the world.”

Friday, July 20, 2012


I think the moment I knew I had feelings for you, it was an irrevocable love. I was young, but this love has matured with me and instead of starving it and cutting it loose, it was constantly fed by every daydream I had of you (I still have those by the way. Through everything, I end up with you in the end). And I think of how we were and it was silly and brief and since I let you go, I can’t help but plot every other scenario that could have, that should have, happened. We hardly talk but that doesn’t matter. Because you’re like that ink stain on the thigh of my jeans. You’re like every stain. A stain that I want to lift to my lips and inhale, to catch little fragments of, long after you’re gone. I’d scratch my fingertips raw to catch you under my nails. And then there’s your nails and how you bite them and how you wish you didn’t but I think it’s as endearing as your fake giggle. God. You’re so beautiful, it aches me to look at you. But I can’t stop because I’m sucker for you. I have to remind myself not to stare and to never let my hand linger on any part of you longer than it should (which is like trying to prevent my face from getting wet when all I want is to taste the rain). Even when my life was consumed with [her] and she was everything I wanted, I’d still see a future with you. The only future that has ever made sense. Like I met you at the wrong time (God, that sounds so cliché) and I apologise for knowing you now and not when the time is right. But I’m not sorry that I know you because I love you irrevocably and as far as I’m concerned, nothing else matters. And I’ll probably spend the rest of my life, wandering around just as hopeless as I am now, believing that love is all you need. And in the back of my mind I’ll know I’m right because…well…to me, you’re my love, baby.

Monday, May 7, 2012


She lies (what seems like) miles away but even as I drift into sleep, I feel her body inch closer. There's a knocking at my heart and I awake to see her hair creeping onto the pillow where I'm trying to forget about her. All attempts crushed when I hear her breathing from below the covers and I feel my defences melt away. In her state of sleep she pulls the covers down to reveal the feline curves of her mouth. In that second I want to put my lips on hers, steal back all the breaths she robbed from me and then happily trade them back for another kiss. But I can't. I can't kiss her. I can't tell her that I want to know everything about her. I can't tell her that while she's talking to me about another, all I can think of is how perfectly her eyebrows sit above her shallow-water blue eyes, the way a boat floats atop the gentle waves close to shore. And how I want to run my fingers down the side of her face to see if it's as perfect as it looks. I can't tell her that when I see her crying, I want to lay her in bed and place her head over my heart. How I know she can't possibly want me or like me or need me, but how I convince myself she does, just to fall asleep at night. How I notice everyone else in the room watching her and how I hate that they got to share that moment, they got to soak her in. Mostly I'd like to tell her how I'd try anything to steal her heart but I don't trust myself with it. So as I watch her chest lift and drop while she sleeps, I rest my head back on my pillow, close my eyes and try remind myself that I don't deserve her. I never will.

Thursday, March 29, 2012

The Untouchable

Tagged to a faceless name, hooked before I had a chance to make her up. Her eyes swallowed by flames, the water that cools, washes away, but never drowns. But in her I am sinking. Like a tsunami, it comes at the wrong time. And where I was standing firm, the debris of forgotten ego and childish charm drifts around me. Like gripping at the sky, my palms laced with her scent but never her heart. A heart on the shelf in another's room. And now the colour of my sights have been stolen away, brought back with every tide led by the upturned corner of her lips. I watch her being carried away by a former wave and from my point on a surrounded rock, I can only pray for a bigger moon. And so here I am, waiting to be resubmerged. Waiting. Always waiting.

Monday, January 16, 2012

2011 – a year of moving and standing still

This is going to be a long one so bare with me…

I’d like to start this journey from the end of 2010, if you’ll allow me.

It’s no secret that 2010 was a tough year on my heart. I was in a very disastrous relationship and I can’t recall a moment when my heart was fully functional or not constantly in pain. And around November, all of that came to an end. I rekindled old friendships and made a conscious decision to make up for lost time and I brought in the year 2011 in Cape Town, making a new start and building up a new person from the ground up.

Like any start, things were shaky (perhaps ‘unstable’ is a better term) and I became more aware of the word, ‘loneliness’ as I could feel it in my very core. There are so many things we can do to appear fulfilled but then it’s just that, an appearance of fulfillment. So I went out and got drunk and made friends and wrote down things and erased things, I walked a lot and ate even more and somewhere in the middle of my loneliness, I found myself. I discovered that I’m a sensitive person. I say mean things when I don’t mean them and I’m not happy unless I’m making people laugh. I look for acceptance in everything I do and I fall in love with every girl who gives me the slightest bit of attention. I can be ebullient one minute and then quiet and insecure the next. I feel, actually I know, I have issues that need addressing but the pile seems overwhelming and I’m scared that if I attempt to fix things, it’s all going to come tumbling down on me. What a pitiful way to lose grip, drowning in one’s own demons. So for now I’ll look at the pile from a safe distance, knowing in the back of my mind that if I can’t face it, no one who loves me will be able to either (forever alone haha).

But in the midst of finding Jenique, I got to find a few dear souls who made 2011 a friendlier place to be.

Sarah Scrimgeour: It’s the cheeks! They’re devilishly cute! No but really, if ‘cheek to heart’ ratio were a real thing, I could firmly believe that Sarah has the biggest heart of them all. I’ve yet to meet someone (especially a girl) who is as easy to get along with, unpretentious and down to earth as Sarah. We got to spend time together for the first time at Ram Fest and we ended up on a see-saw, calling out a certain good-looking boy’s name and stealing umbrellas. Soon after, I became a permanent fixture in the HBK (Sarah’s house) and I spent almost 80% of my time with her. Memories of us never leaving The Assembly sober, midnight McDonalds runs and watching Vampire Diaries, Glee, Modern Family and Cougar Time (with the exception of Dexter *cough bitch cough*) with an unspoken agreement of friendship that was solidly digging its roots into everything I do. Sarah, I love you. No matter what I do, you’re never far from my fond thoughts and reminiscings. I take lessons of your kindness and willingness to accept people as they are and try to be a better person. If I have to live another 50 years with you as my makeshift, pseudo girlfriend, I’ll be just fine. Thank you for letting me in and for never judging my mood swings, inclination for nastiness and for going along with my crazy impulses to choose movie snacks by simply walking into the shop and pointing. “I know your body!” and I can’t wait to find Mr. Boots and rehabilitate her out of her sultriness.
Come home soon<3

Robert Davidson: Pretty unlikely right? Well as unlikely as this friendship seems, I’m glad it happened. At first, our friendship consisted of going out and getting horribly drunk. It then upgraded to going to movies and now I can happily say that I take great comfort in spending days with Rob, talking about how bitches are crazy, while listening to music and sharing some cane. I got to see a side of Rob that I don’t think many do and I realised that all I have to do is ask and he’ll be there. I know that when he’s listening to me, he’s doing it free of judgment and he’s one of the few people I feel completely comfortable around. Rob, thank you for being a friend and putting up with Breaking Dawn premiers and being someone to talk to. I love you.

Kieran Frost: I don’t think I’ve ever given anyone as hard a time as I’ve given poor Kiki. But I think that he knows that I have nothing but love for him. I don’t think anyone truly understand the extent of my hilarity quite like Kieran does. He puts up with my terrible moods and appreciates my sarcasm more than anyone should. He wrote a song about me, which is probably the best thing anyone has ever done for me and he will hopefully be performing it at my 21st. This man is endlessly talented with his writing, intelligence and capacity to love. I hold him very dear to me and I hope that life has great things in store for him. Thank you for welcoming me into the HBK and for having a never bending soft spot for me. I appreciate it and you more than you know. Please don’t ever change, you’re perfect the way you are and I love you.

Alez: the girl who will endlessly intimidate me with her talented way with words, effortless coolness and her passion for things unnoticed. This girl inspired me every day in class to try be a better writer and Journalist. From the small town of East London, her heart is without limitations and her drive is ever-moving. I think between the two of us, you will never find bigger cynicists but you’ll also never find a softer soul. With our struggles with money and willingness to give our last pennies away, I think we found in each other a similarity and weakness. I owe a lot of my accomplishments of 2011 to her encouragement and guidance and I hope that our paths are never far from crossing. Babezies, stay beautiful, I love you.

2011 was not only a year of making new friendships but also rediscovering old ones. People like, Franki, Asbo, Candice Dayton, Klara, Devin, Pano, Kirsten, Polly, Candance, Leni, Lauren and  Natalie who I found a deep appreciation and love for. Even though we may not speak every day or see each other often, imprints of you guys remain unchanged and I hope that as everyone grows up and finds themselves, they’ll still find time to work on our friendship because I love each and every one of you, always.

And last but not least, I have my two best friends, Odete and Claudia who have been there to a degree that no one else would have understood. You are so beautiful and have made me feel that I don’t have to be a product of my unpleasant past. We can make fun of each other which verges on utter bitchiness but we can still laugh it off and I think that’s so important. You have put up with my last-minute plans during my returns to Joburg and there’s no one else I enjoy getting drunk with. Jesus, you sluts are sexy. I hope we’ll be friends for pretty much eternity because life is boring as shit without you. P.S – I hope you guys are working on your speeches for my 21st.

Here’s a few moments that made 2011 a sad and great time and mostly, memorable:

  • -          The festivals: Ramfest, Rocking the Daisies, Synergy
  • -          Sangria Sundays at Fratellis
  • -          Brief romances which didn’t ever end well
  • -          Odete falling in Greenside
  • -          Meeting Jonathan Rhys Meyers
  • -          Falling in love with Natalie Portman and Florence
  • -          Having feelings for friends :/
  • -          Wearing bowties
  • -          Kings of Leon. Twice.
  • -          Moving on from a draining relationship
  • -          Halloween at Town Hall
  • -          Ceremonials
  • -          Discovering Twitter
  • -          LOL cats
  • -          Getting all my clothes stolen
  • -          Discovering a dislike for lesbians resulting in me being forever alone
  • -          Kisses boys. Lots of them. and having a fake boyfriend.
  • -          Hyperbole and a Half
  • -          Heritage Day with never ending cocktails
  • -          Rediscovering my love for words
  • -          Being irrevocably fascinated with Marilyn Monroe and Audrey Hepburn
  • -          “U mad bro?” “I aint even mad!”
  • -          Fighting with Meagan and then becoming, like, best friends.

And then a few songs that stole my heart:

  • -          Big Jet Plane by Angus & Julia Stone
  • -          No One’s Gonna Love You by Band of Horses
  • -          What If by Bombay Bicycle Club
  • -          Skinny Love and Flume by Bon Iver
  • -          Just Like Heaven by The Cure
  • -          Dance, You’re on Fire<3
  • -          Home by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros
  • -          Landslide by Fleetwood Mac
  • -          Almost every song by Florence + The Machine
  • -          Violet by Hole
  • -          Don’t Stop Believing by Journey
  • -          Simple Math by Manchester Orchestra
  • -          Iron by Woodkid
  • -          Calendar by Panic! At the Disco
  • -          Crazy by Patsy Cline
  • -          Scar Tissue by Red Hot Chilli Peppers
  • -          Hero by Regina Spektor
  • -          Kiss Me by Sixpence None the Richer
  • -          Something Good Can Work by Two Door Cinema Club
  • -          Dance So Good by Wakey! Wakey!

I hope that 2012 triumphs 2011 and makes more good blogging. I have a lot to be grateful for and a few new friendships I have high hopes for.

Thank you for tuning in, you’re beautiful<3