i want you to tell me your dreams and your deepest inhibition
like curious lace from antique grandmothers chests
you vary in patterns
but all the same the delicacy is returned.
it eludes me to imagine you with so much loss of colour
and slightly frayed at the sides
can you reconstruct it with a bit of thread,
its been around so long we've forgotten what it looked like laying on the table
with candles and good smells all around
you've soaked in those smells magnificent and soaked in the wine
that was spilt on you so many times
really you are just an ornament from far away
little notice
their minds float astray
but to me you hold the memory of so much
and when i trace my fingers on you i remember clambering down the stairs
to see you underneath that tree
and how shy i was to approach you and stroke your delicate features,
those eyes that bore into mine
but i was too young to appreciate what lay in front of me now
now we are old and we swim in different lakes,
you dont notice me when i walk by
no matter what colour heels im wearing
your wearing a different colour than when you were first made
youve turned into cotton
spun into a comfortable old t shirt
that i can no longer find.

she's lost control again

my mind wanders from vocation to vocation
im in the mood for some new sensation

i just really want to be easy and free with someone. i dont want attachment, definetly not an emotional kind because my declaration of independance has been stated. i'm looking forward to bad weekends. i havent read the NME in so long. text in topshop
i need to get a move on into france. i think i'm flying to england. england. london. calling me consistantly since age 3.
i hear a cry and i;m following it. im standing tall. i can see art everywhere and it inspires me. life is awful and at the same time, i;m feelin it more than everrrr.
i need more materials and for more materials i need more money.
i need photopaper and scrapes of fabric, lots of fabric, possibly some felt, some more markers and more tons and acres of paint. canvas. water colour paper! shiny chocolate bar wrappers. everything! i can see it all coming together and tearing apart.

these grrrlz are my lyfe.4eva

i am constantly running and knocking down hurdles
i remember what it felt like to fly over them, to be the fastest and best and they couldn't keep up and people admired my skill and ease over those hurdles
grade7's problems seem so simple now and yet its the same game of making people like me
and i'm always losing it. i'm always losing them no matter how hard i try to keep them. they are lost and i am odysseus on a long journey home to a person who i dont even know if they love me anymore. except i dont know where home is and i havent got that person to even hope upon.
i just run and jump and hope i dont twist my ankle on the otherside and feel gravel in between my teeth that i grind so angrily while i sleep and walk and ride that pointless bus every fucking day.

i'm feeling sexual and vampy
i just want to go and dance and feel and dance
i want someone to touch my hips

i'm not sure how i feel about poetry anymore, or well my poetry.
anything that jumps out at my i write and then i doubt its validity and wasnt that the point of poetry alltogether in the begining?

my eyes are only as
crooked
as my smile
my thoughts lopside
wayward
because i'll fucking unleash and stab with some forks
for causing forks in my path
3 is a magical number
i'm not choosing an illusion
i'm choosing reality
i'm choosing realism
beyond that divinity
i cant even divide properly
besides of course my path in life
you shredded so nicely
and industrial sized.