I have words that long to escape
and sentences that are held against
my head like a gun,
explosive but it isn’t enough to know
me in the daytime. you need to know
the secrets that appear at three am.
you can wish away the scars
on this fragile aorta until there’s
nothing left of you,
but I warned you against me.
dear world, please leave
my side. remove your thorns
from my ribs and your jagged
words from my throat.
dear boy, fire is more mesmerising
than your eyes. puddles are deeper
and broken glass is safer, it’s time
to go dearest.
maybe it’s because you left
without saying goodbye,
it’s three am and I haven’t slept
in a while, it’s been three days
and I’m not entirely sure why.
maybe it’s because I have a
new boy who doesn’t know what
to say to me. maybe it’s because
you left. maybe it’s because I have
a puzzle for a heart and a maze for
a soul. maybe it’s because you left,
without ever saying goodbye.
he tells me that he could save me,
like I was a puzzle to fix and put
together, an equation to solve.
I tell him that it isn’t beautiful to be the glue that holds me together, that I’m
not a tragedy waiting for a knight.
he protests his difference, his charming
abilities and perhaps I’ve just been
looking in the wrong places for a hero.
and that is why he cannot save me,
because he doesn’t believe in my
capability to save myself.
I’m lying on my back and we’re staring
at the same sky, canary wharf is
glaring and telling us that the city
and that is when you call, when we
can’t sleep. in the dead of night when
you get lonely searching for stars.
I could pretend that you’re looking
at the same sky and trying to connect,
trying to love;
but you’re just lonely and I’m sad.
your mother has warned you
against girls like me;
she’d tell you that the eyes you
could drown in like an ocean,
will not soothe you but only drag
you out to sea.
she’d tell you that I could only be
trouble with baggage so full
and a heart so fragile. she’d tell
you not to be a hero,
that you can’t save a person with
so many scars. she’ll tell you that
we’ll never be the sun and the moon,
but Romeo and Juliet and that there’s
nothing romantic in a broken heart.
that some people aren’t meant to
be whole but that isn’t your burden
to hold or to carry.
your mother warns you against
girls like me.
I can hear fireworks and I’m
not sure if it’s because we spent
an hour on the phone in soft tones
or if because it’s a new year.
I wait for your calls that come
infrequently, in the dark when I’m
unprepared and your face when I
do not expect it. and it’s enough to
break my fingers in the door, trying
to shut you out.
your voice is just like honey, it’s sticky
on my mouth and ears and heart and
I can’t wash it off.
I cannot wash you off.
I don’t have the words to show
you how boys with their prying
hands and worried egos stole
the silence from my heart.
colour me with the love of a
beautiful soul. wash the sadness
from my eyes and the loneliness from
it took years to convince me that I was
loveable, minutes to tell me I wasn’t.
you called on christmas eve,
you called me beautiful and asked
where I was, where had I been.
sometimes in a crowded space
I can smell you and it almost gives
me a heart attack.
sometimes, I miss you back and
it takes my breath away. I never
would have been your exception
and that hurts more than a little.