Trapped In Movement

I stand and lean

Against

Ancient granite.

Ancient by the standards of my short life.

Another waits a stride away

Seems this is the place.

Who knows how many have done this

Who knows how many will after I'm gone.

She takes a step closer

And fixes her eyes my way

I look up and smile

She's looking past me

Which I'm glad of

This is a time of leaning

Not of interaction.

She takes a step closer

Still looking past me

We wait together

Though entirely separately.

I reflect as I write

And watch the people pass by In this cool, clammy heat.

There's no message here

Just narration.

Thirteen - a retrospective

The innocence of youth Left me then I understood That we all Co depend It might end my pain But It would increase theirs The fear had taken hold And entered my mind Overdramatising My situation in life It was bad But it would get better Now I had no need To write that letter

PerfuME

My fragrance cannot be replicated

It is always with me

It comes from my toil

And from my love

It’s there in the cold

And the heat

It comes from me

And flows onto others

My fragrance is mine

And I am my fragrance

Introspective and whatnot

So this poem came from me looking at how I function in a group. I'm inherently a quiet person, but I'm more than happy to talk if I feel I can offer something to the conversation, but quite often I feel like the first line, just there, observing. Especially with people that have recently joined my life, and I don't mean it in a bad way, as I know there is no way I could contribute to years of peoples past or knowledge of their homes, I wasn't there, I didn't know them, and I'm fine with that. I quite like just listening. A silent observer  From over the edges of torn sheets Keep to the daylight To the peripheral shadows  at the edges of your eyes Just wanting to see Not to be Happy to listen And speak within Hiding in plain sight They can all see But not comprehend Or recognise  The distance between The distance within Steal yourself from the participation You have nothing to offer So just hover And exist in front of their eyes But at the back of their minds

Blerp

Everything was different, I wish I could say Now it's all the same, But no such luck Or maybe that is lucky. It's hard to tell When it's all in flux. Gains and losses Can't be measured Using any known system Only the feelings of Pain and joy

Marian

That kind of look that just breathes "I know what the fuck I'm doing, And you want it, You want to know". It captures me At the basest most innocent of levels. She stands Forever still In black and white. This wolf at my door.

The cage

Who let you

Out of your cage?

Locked away,

Yet with no key,

So this could never happen.

Though how does one truly cage

The intangible.

I am you made flesh.

Perhaps I then am the one who should be caged,

Locked away together.

Perhaps to let you out

Would in fact hold you.

Perhaps this is your poison speaking already.

Still sailing

The reef cracked my hull Yet I sail on My hold has begun to fill Yet I sail on The cabin is splintered, destroyed Yet I sail still Strakes fractured Sails are tattered Yet on I go And as I watch the last slow match fall I pray none of the powder is dry

Ambiguity is the core of good literature

It keeps you guessing. I know what it's about, you think you do. But different things mean different things to different people, differently... I get off on that a bit. You draw me in Oh, the way you do Taking my very essence From between your lips Dry or wet  It's all the same Taking me down  Into you Stealing my soul Then breathing me out  Into the world I knew before Tainted now Discoloured Part of me left in there Remaining Attached to your insides Like a memory of what  Could Have Been But will no longer come to pass Go ahead, take another That's all I am to you I'm used and I love it It's all I am

Let's talk about sex

I wrote this drunk, on my way home from god knows where. I guess I wrote it because of how hung up everyone (even me) gets about it, when it is the most natural thing there is, every living organism reproduces, we are one of the handful that enjoy it, so just fucking enjoy it.... Sex is not a goddamn performance. Sex should feel as natural as drinking water. It should not require confidence. Sex should happen, because the moment is ripe. Ripening lips, ripening labia, ripening cock, ripening pupils, ripening state of being. Ripe and augmented and brimming. Your energy goes to your pumping heart, then to every external nerve, then to theirs, on fire. You bask, roll, play in it. You sigh, moan, laugh. It’s not about being “good in bed.” It’s about being happy. One should never worry if they’re doing it “correctly.” Sex is not factual. I don’t want your cookie-cutter sex, I don’t want your meticulously crafted, calculated, fool-proof fuck. I don’t want a show. I want you. Let your instincts, urges and whims define that. It’s enough. What do most girls like? Forget about it. Statistics are meaningless when there’s only one. Hello, here’s me. Here’s you. Don’t worry about taking it too slow. We got time. We got infinite rhythms, combinations, possibilities. Explore each fuck. Take our time. We can do a different one later. Don’t worry about making me come. I’m here. Right where I want to be. I am overwhelmed by wanting; you don’t have to convince me. I want you because I like you. So don’t put on a front. Don’t taint this. I’m frustrated—it’s just authenticity I want. It’s originality. It’s passion. It’s joy. Don’t say that something I like is ugly. Don’t compare yourself to the rest. You will live and die with and within your experiences like everyone else. If someone thinks you are amazing, they are not wrong. Their universe is as real as any other; it is forged through perception. I don’t care if you accidentally slammed my head into the wall, if you slipped out, if my arm cracked, if the delightful pressure of your wet lips on my anything made a silly sound. There is no right way and no wrong way. “Good in bed,” what. You’re good in my bed. I’m pleased you’re there. I feel it suits you. Shove your technique. Let your memory swallow it. Fuck me like you’d fuck me, fuck me like you feel. This isn’t a test.