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.

rudyard

there is a village.
and through that village there is a road,
and off that road there is a track,
and by the track there is a path,
and up the path there is a lake,
and beside the lake there is a bench,
and on that bench there is a heart
that i gave to you.
i don’t think you realised though.

~r.j.m.

nothing but.

i might change the world, you know.
i might.

i yearn for freedom,
without the constrains of:
pay your rentbillsmortgage.
RE
SPON
SI
BIL
I
TIES.

i want to feel light,
feel the wind in my hair,
sand between my toes,
and so on.
i want everything and nothing.
i want nothing but
the pennies in my pocket,
the shoes on my feet,
the smile on my face,
the love
in my heart.

~r.j.m.

part 3

10/11/08
I’m on my bed, again. This is becoming a common theme of these evening ramblings. Only this time it’s different; I have company. He’s here, and I’m sitting here typing away, thinking how different it was when it was us two on this bed. Because we have been on this bed. I remember that night and I can’t help but smile. Guilty grins behind his back, but we weren’t together at the time, what have I to feel guilty about? Oh yes. Because he’s your friend.
That night was unplanned, accidental. The innocent offer of tea, one sugar. You came in, and we came upstairs, and we lay here. It was freezing that night, the heating hadn’t been fixed then. We talked about the songs of my childhood, Squeeze, The Cure, Rush. I feel like I’m back then when I’m with you, all my childishness returns. I confess my silly dreams, my confusions and thoughts and memories, and not once do you laugh. You confessed your secrets to me, I don’t know if I am one of many who know these things, but I feel clued in. The cold makes us lie closer, your hands, next to mine, the hug, the eyes, the sigh, the scent. The kiss.
Oh my god. We kissed that night.
I snap back to now, him on my bed. The correct one? I do not know. We made love - sorry, we had sex - tonight. I came, really quickly, he flipped me over. When he does that I’m paranoid he doesn’t want to see my face. Your kiss was so soft I had to push to feel it, to feel your lips. You always look into my eyes, even when we’re not together. It’s always about the eyes. I wonder if I’d have to push on you, if we made love? Would you push back? I like it be aggressive. You’re not very aggressive.
I know that I want to see you again. I keep saying as friends, but who knows? I am not that good a liar. I know that since you said how you like naked faces, I started wearing less make up. Yet I won’t grow my hair long for him. How come?
Before he was here, you sent me the poem. I especially like the lines “but some days, in little ways, love seeps out in the things i say”. I like the imagery. Love, like a wound, weeping and seeping and leaking all over the place. It made me panic though. Have I wounded you with all this?

part 2

27/10/08
Now I’m writing in the dark, after seeing you last night again. We were at the lake and it was different this time, after all the things we have said. I asked you about your brothers ex, and the rumours, and you denied everything. I was so relived, I knew you’d admit it to me if you had. But now I can believe you not quite so blindly. We walked again, in the dark. And I kept my hands in my pockets, not because they were cold, but because the temptation to hold your hand, snake my arm around your waist and up your back, to touch your neck, your cheek with my cool fingertips, to pull you in; the temptation was too big. This time we sat by the dam on a bench. We could hear the water lapping against the boats, ducks swimming across the surface, but we couldn’t penetrate the night to see. In spite of this I could feel your eyes on me, feeling out my shadowy silhouette in the dark. I said I was cold on purpose, and you hugged me. I smelt you, not the smell of aftershave or bodywash, but you. The smell of your body, roll-ups, your car and probably oil, and it smelt nothing like I expected it too.

pancakes

tomorrow i may runaway,
to a far off place
with big leafy trees, and exotic fruits,
orange spices and flea markets.
where the moon is swollen and the stars twinkle cheekily.
where the days last longer,
the sun, somehow warmer, kisses your face
and arms
and ears.
where the air fills each lonely gap in your lungs,
and the people laugh loudly and have beaming white toothy grins.
and i sleep peacefully
and i wake early and make
pancakes,
or something.

but i don’t think i will.
but you might,
and i’ll be here alone,
without my pancakes or something.

~r.j.m.

part 1

just a note about these posts:
i don't know what you would call these, they are based on real events that have happened so i guess it's a journal, but they are slightly sensationalised for the reader.
anyway. they're part of an on-going 'project', the story is not over yet, to these posts may seem a little unlinked and hard to follow. i guess that's life for you though. anyway. enjoy these as and when they come (:
thanks for reading people.

26/10/08
I love those autumn days when you feel the sun, warm on your back through your coat and scarf and jumper, and the wind whips your hair up and it lashes your ice-cold cheeks. I love the juxtaposition of warm inside, cold outside. It’s one of those days today, and you’ve just text me, and I’m lying on my bed with the window open letting the cold air in, thinking of that walk in the dark by the lake when your hand touched my back as I leant to avoid a puddle. I’m trying to pluck up the courage to be honest, but it’s not that easy as I’m not entirely sure what the truth is. This is not what I imagined falling in love to be like - infact, I thought I had fallen in love so this experience is just baffling to me.
I’m wearing an outfit I’ve never worn before today. I don’t know whether that means anything or not. Maybe you’re making me be more adventurous, maybe I’m just trying to get myself used to change. I’m nervous and I’ve not even made a decision yet. How did we get to this point? I know something has changed as I’m writing this, I haven’t written in ages.

13 years

i think of myself
in a negative sense.
i am not ‘all that’
i am mean
and selfish
i spend all my money on, well, shoes.
i would not admire myself if i was a third party
looking in at me.

yet;
people say i am like you
in my ways and means and mannerisms,
yet, in my thoughts
i refuse to believe that
you are anything short of amazing.

maybe i have misunderstood my memories.
they are fragmented.
13 years is a long time to not be in my life,
6 years is not long enough
to remember.
and I am told stories, sold memories
that are not mine.

if i am like you,
daughter like mother,
then does that mean i am amazing too?
maybe i mistook myself for someone else.
or maybe i mistook you.

~r.j.m.

down the drain

i saw a dead man once
on the pavement, for a split second.
i was in the car.
if we’d turned the corner seconds earlier we would have seen him fall.
it was in the moments before people rushed to the scene:
i wonder if he was actually dead, or dying, at that moment?
i saw blood on the pavement.
we did not stop.

my day, my plans, did not change
and later that night, you confessed
you saw him fall.
you did not stop either.
i didn’t feel quite so guilty afterwards.

it was in the paper the next day.
they think he was pushed.

days later, I noticed they jet washed his blood stains away.
down the drain.

~r.j.m.