Circle Of Life

"Wear these" he said, pulling them from the stand.

He'd bought her those yesterday, a peace offering -

round, colourful,

passive circles of metal, and plastic, and wood, and thread,

hanging from his extended hand.

She'd taken them quietly, picking them up

and feeling their weight,

pulling her down

encircling her.

"Thanks" she had said, a single response,

to all things unsaid -

the thoughts, buzzings in her head,

the sting behind her eyes,

the dryness in her throat,

belied by those circles.

Those pieces of wood, these circles of thread.

Running Race

“Run”, he yelled so I ran.
I ran like I’d never run before
I ran so fast, the wind,
It chilled my nose.
My fingers got numb
And my toes went cold.
I trundled along,
Rolling, huffing-puffing
I ran, and ran.
Throwing up little clouds
Of chalk dusted track.
“Run”, he yelled
It’s a race for one,
So I ran
And I won.

Only a few things are really important,
Like say warm tea on rainy afternoon..

The Fallen

I suppose it would be easy to make this a post about death, the end, and all those mortal conundrums. But then where would that leave life, light and beauty?

I suppose it would be easy to focus on the dirt and the mud. But where would that leave that fighting life, that new blade of life?

I suppose this could have been a sullied ending. But it just as well could be a benign beginning.

I suppose things could be anything. People could be any one. Something one minute. Someone another. But where would that leave me.

I suppose this isn't about flowers or the grass, beginnings or the end, or anything of that sort. But then again, I suppose this isn't about me.

End of the Road

Running. Hurrying. Scrambling.

Away from you.

Done.

Living life the way you want me to.

Because my world is mine -

happily grey.

Contently growing up.

Letting go, moving on.

Slotting - where I want to be,

Who I wan to be,

Where I want to go

What I want to do.

And yours is strangely yours,

much like you.

Stuck in your rut

Holding on, grappling

where you wish you could be.

Contradiction.

Black and white.

I'm done trying.

You're you, I'm me.

Somewhere, grow up

For once, let it go.

You know as well as I do,

The twain shall never meet.

Addicts DO Ramble.

“This is insane,” I think to myself, as I stare watching the shadows chase each other on my ceiling. “There's needing and there's Needing. I know you can be addicted to cigarettes, to chocolates, to coffee, or even Irish rock, but can you be addicted to a person, to a feeling, to a sense of happiness, satisfaction and well being? If you can, then I am, to you.”
I shift uncomfortably on my bed, acknowledging the cold draft across my ankles with an impatient tug on my blanket. The whole thing shifts, now there are drafts everywhere. Oh the frustration. I pull at my sheet hoping to get it back in place without having to get up but to no avail I curse and get up.
Suddenly I realise, it’s just a sheet. The frustration isn’t about drafts, I realise, it’s about warmth and snugness and belonging. My bed is literally metaphor for my life. Brilliant.
At 3 in the morning epiphany moments are rarely well received.
I fall back and watch another shadow – a fleeting presence, thrown into relief by a passing car and then gone... I sigh. “What have you done to me?”
Before you, I was happy alone. Now, every moment alone burns, bores me.
Before you, I had friends. Many. Plural. Girls and boys. Now, I have friends. Few. Those who’ve stuck with me, who’ve seen me through. I suppose I should be grateful to you for weeding out those who don’t matter. But more importantly I’m grateful to you for letting those who do bloom.
Before you, I used the word friend often. Now I’m not sure what it means…are we friends?
Before you, I was an eternal pessimist, convinced of a morbid end with only feline company. A secret lover of all things dramatically cheesy. Now I’m an open lover of the dramatically cheesy. I sigh wistfully all the time. Look out of windows. Sneak surreptitious glances at you. I’m nuts. And yet the felines are faithful.
Before you, I used to like hugs, love them even. Now, I crave hugs. I could live my life enveloped there. Just standing.
Before you I was ‘do-I-look-like-I-care,my-pjs-are-comfy-and-I-wear-them-everywhere.’ Now, my pjs are still comfy but they are pjs for a reason.
Before you, I was rational, sane, cold even. Now, I’m just asunder. My very basis of rationality torn from me, because you chose to see me, and my world, differently from the way anything any one had ever seen.
Before you, I wanted to grow another 2 inches, so I could scout for the tall hot boys. Now I think I’ll settle. To be able to fit myself under your chin, rest on your shoulder, seems like the perfect height to me.
I close my eyes and groan. Who the hell am I? This is turning out to be disaster, I can’t even think straight anymore… I sound like a love struck heroine, a terrible caricature of something I only derided, convinced as I was, that a) that no one would want me in the first place, so such issues would only safely by pass me, after boy meet girl is hardly reality is it and b) even if non platonic feelings existed, a miracle in that, I would be strong, I was smarter than that after all.
Everyone knew the rules. I knew the rules.
I turned. The wall stoically stared back at me. I used to be that wall. Now I’m addicted to you, madly enough. Being a wall kept me sane. Strangely enough, my total and supposed loss, or rather surrender of sanity to you doesn’t bother me much. I need rehab. Now.
Unappreciated epiphany number two. The morning is a strange time I guess. The mind operates on an entirely different level of thought, minus the psychotropic materials otherwise needed to induce this level of whackjob. I had officially lost it.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Pause. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. My phone beeps and lights up and I start. 4:11 am. I have class in 4 hours. And yet, sleep sounds amusing. I grin. A private joke between myself and me.
Before you, heartbreak used to be a terrible emotional marsh, wet with tears, unyielding with all the raw emotion, choking. A hunger, an ache, never to be satiated. Now, heartbreak is just a temporary loss of sanity – ‘the customer you have tried to reach is currently busy, please hold the line or try again later’. Heartbreak. A moment of absolute confusion - past and present, emotion and reason - a giant fondue, into which I was happily sticking my finger, enjoying the warm and gooey cheese, finding a sense of satisfaction, a feeling of being replete, giggling as I lick it off.
I turn again. I drift away. Sleep isn’t very elusive after all.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. The sheet shifts and falls gently to the ground, a yellow puddle in the gray of the night. I hardly stir. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.