part 5

23/11/08
I’m doing it again. The bed thing. Only this time the bed is different, my whole world’s up in the air. But you are here.
This past week has been bizarre. My fingers are freezing as I write this, curled up in duvets, my breath uncurling before me as I breath, in, out. This house is cold. I don’t like it here, I need to get sorted and find somewhere else, but it’s the worse timing. I was thrown out - you don’t know this, no-one does - but I yet again messed up a good thing. And now I am paying for it. My life, in boxes, are scattered around the room. It was kind of them to let me stay, I don’t like to think of the alternative. But I wish they’d get some gas, turn the radiators on, we don’t even have much hot water. They spent their last bit of money on weed. I can’t ask my family for any donations. I’ve got nothing. Except you.
Last night was one of many evening trips, driving fast and then stopping and stealing glances, trying to avoid touching each other in the dark. Since I got the courage to tell him it was over, we’ve been a bit more free. I was relieved when I told him, that was before any of this happened. But I think if we’d been together, it wouldn’t have made much difference. And anyway, now I can see you. It’s amazing, I don’t know anyone who makes me feel more relaxed. I’m just there and there’s nothing else to it. It’s just us. I’m longing to see you all the time, I’m waiting to kiss your lips and hold your soft cool hand. You’ve started meaning more and more to me, and now I’m just plotting and planning ways to have you to myself. I’ve looked at flats - no more renting rooms - nearer to you. I can get a bus to work, I need to be closer. I want privacy, somewhere where I can reach out for you without looking over my shoulder. Somewhere where you can stay the night, with me.
It can’t come soon enough. I daydream of telling him about us, us being bold and confident, nothing coming between us. But it has already, and it worries me. I am willing to live with the consequences, I’d be gaining much more than I’d stand to lose. Yet you, you’d be losing your best friend. Are you as willing as me? You refer to it as a secret, yet I don’t want to live behind closed doors. I want to scream from the top of my lungs and tell the whole world, tell them that I think I love you.

fallen

i think that i am,
slowly but surely,
falling.

the touch of your smooth, cool hand
under my fingertips.
the smoky smell of you,
there is more underneath it,
more to it
more to smell and sense
and see.

i cannot stop these lips from smiling.
you make me delirious.
grinning from ear to ear,
like some cheshire cat that
got the cream.
only-
this cat didn't.

our tender hand holding
in the shadows,
our lurching stomaches
as the phone rings.

and as this maddness seeps in,
love,
i tell myself we could confess.
i don't care about the consequences.

i have slowly
but very surely
fallen.

the dark end

there is no fight left in me
my days are numbered
the clock is ticking
my head is spinning
i am alone.
i have a life for now,
my life,
i will do what i want with it.
end it if i chose.
and who would miss
the pale skin and eyes
the ruined smile
the goosebumps?
there is no laughter here
care free and young are for somebody else.
i am not gifted or lucky.
the hard slog has been too much for me.
my eyes can no longer focus
one foot in front of the other is not that easy
i am crawling, fading, slowing down.
i know there is nothing
but blackness
i yearn for the dark end
no bright, warm lights, no hands reach for me
to pull me in
or even pull me back.
i sink in, this quicksand is to much for me
to struggle any more.
there is no fight left in me.

november

i have never seen
the moon so bright,
illuminating the moors,
bathing each ditch and curve
of the landscape
in it's soft silvery light.

i have never heard
the wind howl so loud,
that it seemed as though
the atmosphere
was crying out
in pain and in pity.

i have never watched
the crisp golden leaves
give themselves up so easily.
and leave once again the
wise, ancient bark
naked and self concious.

i have never felt
the fog slowly creeping in
enveloping and devouring,
so that i could only peer
to the end of my nose,
giving me shivers.

irresponsible

you do not
understand
me.
you asked me to share
my insides
and spill the guts and bloody,
messy pulp of my soul
all over this space.
and tearfully
i explained how
in those pages
the massacre of the innocent
made me gasp for breath
and gave me nightmares.
your eyes stared
at me.
and then i went ahead
and told how
my body longs to donate itself,
each cell throbbing
for the chance
to create this
‘better world’
that we are all screeching for.
you called me
irresponsible.
inspiration
is not to be jeered and pointed at.
dreams
are not for your kicking.
i think it’s best
you leave this fragile place,
where hearts will not withstand
breaking.
again.

~r.j.m.

part 4

12/11/08
Today I’m sittin’ in a coffee shop. A coffee shop! Not my bed! This makes a nice change, here with my latte and my notebook, feeling all important and typing away. It’s weird though, no-one takes any notice of you even when you do something as cosmopolitan as this. Ooops!
You have literally, this second, text me. It’s put a big grin on face, which funnily enough, makes people look over. Funny what people will stare at you for! I feel I have been over-analysing your poem. It’s a beautiful poem. But I think I might have looked too deep. Maybe you just feel that way, happy but disappointed due to the situation. I wish I had the courage to be open about how I feel, but I think part of the problem is that I am not entirely sure how I feel. So. Where do we go from here? I have confessed to you my uncertainty about him and me. We are not in each others futures, whatever way you look at it. He has plans; mortgage, car, money, promotion, savings. I have plans; freedom, experience, life, travel, adventure. We do not have the same plans. What are your plans? You seem quite philosophical and relaxed. Might you travel, seek out an adventure? I do not know, you have never said so. I don’t think you would. Not like me, “Pennies in my pocket and the shoes on my feet”. I’m that kinda girl. As long as the shoes on my feet are pretty.

precipitation

dribble drip drop
tiny beads of glistening wet
fall faster and faster and faster.
tiny droplets of light and colour
closer and closer and closer.

change.

street lights distort
the corners
of doorways and windows.
each piece of rain seems to glow.
golden globules of clouds
hurtle towards the street and
miss
and land on a shoe.

change.

no umberella.
water seeps into his hair
drip, drip, drips onto his collar
and trickles
slowly
down his back.
the streetlamp’s obscure his vision,
the rain blurs everything, like a smudged out painting.
he waits.

~r.j.m.