Friday, August 10, 2018

A boy I used to know

You've become
That boy I used to know

Who would have thought back then
That you would be reduced to that

A boy I used to know 

Tuesday, August 7, 2018


What I liked the most about you
Was that I didn't have to pretend
You let me be exactly what I was
You never laughed at my insecurities
Or fears, as absurd as they may have seemed
You never grew tired of listening to me
Rant about one thing or the other
You were there for me
At eight in the morning
Eleven in the night
Time didn't matter at all

What I miss the most about you
Is how you would pause before you spoke
Those few seconds of silence
Between everything that I said
And everything that you said
Said much more than the words
Either of us chose
I rarely finish sentences
And people always interrupt
There is no silence
That lets me say what I need to say
Lets you say what you need to say

What I hate the most about you
Is that you left.

Saturday, August 4, 2018


By love
I'm surrounded by love
And it pains me that
I cannot participate
In the game of loving
And being loved
That is going on around me

Wednesday, August 1, 2018


You smell of cigarettes
No surprise
Since you smoke all the time
I still remember the first time I saw you
A cigarette between those lips
I so wanted to kiss

And five years ago
If we'd met five years ago
I'd have been repulsed by you
You would have reminded me of death
And sickness
Those images of charred lungs
Cheeks with massive holes in them
Images in our science textbooks
On cigarette cartons
The health risks of smoking
You would have reminded me of them

But today
I don't care anymore
I'm no longer repulsed
So I take a deep breath
Inhale that smell of cigarettes
You carry around with you
I want to fill my insides with it

I want to walk up to you
Hold you
Kiss you with all I've got
But then leave
Because I can never love you
Not now


Because five years ago
My heart was yet to turn to stone
I was still capable of love
And I would have fallen head over heels
In love with you

Wednesday, July 4, 2018

The art of not writing

What I love to do:

If there's one thing I truly love doing
It's to write
The scratch of a pen against paper
Recharges my batteries
The clack clack clack
Of a typewriter, keyboard
They are the air I breathe in
I take out my notebook with a sense of pride
When people tell me they can't remember
When they last wrote something
Because to write is to create
Letters unique to me
A page filled with squiggles
To be found nowhere else

What I'm good at doing:

I have stories built up in my mind
Like skyscrapers displayed on construction sites
That are nothing more than empty land
With a worker's hut in a corner
When I can't sleep at night
I build these stories even higher
I know them from beginning to end
But I can't write them
They don't pour out of my fingers
Staining paper with ink
So I close my notebook
Hide it because I'm ashamed
Ashamed of its blank pages
Ashamed of the unused pen
Ashamed that I've mastered
The art of not writing

Tuesday, July 3, 2018


I want to reach out
But I don't know how
So I swallow my words
I choke on them

You think I don't care
Because I never ask
But can't you see
These words are stuck in my throat

I want to tell you
Everything you want to hear
But I can't move my lips
My mouth is so dry

You wait for me to speak
But your patience runs dry
So you walk away
And I choke to death

Sunday, June 24, 2018

Roses are red

As songs from before I was born
Play on the radio
Celebrating love
I find myself missing a boy
That isn't mine

Saturday, June 9, 2018


All the pain
That courses through my body
Has now formed a clot
In my head

The pain in my knee
And ankle that makes me wince
When I walk
Has now formed roots in my head

The pain in my wrist
That comes and goes
Making me consider a career
In anything but writing
Has found its way deep into my head

The pain in my chest
When I over-exert myself
With exercise or walking
When my lungs tighten
Begging for air
The pain that stabs at my chest
Has crawled into my head

All the pain
That courses through my body
Has now formed a clot
In my head

It has come to a standstill
And every movement
Feels like a stab right through my skull
Loud noise
And bright light
Feel deafening

I was to cut open my skull
And remove that clot
Before it

Monday, June 4, 2018


You have become the person I write for
Even though you are no longer a person I love

Saturday, May 26, 2018


For the first time in a while
I'm happy

This is not the kind of
filled-to-the-brim happiness
that'll have me
running down the streets
with a dozen balloons
tied to a dozen ribbons

This is not the kind of
in-your-face happiness
that reminds me of
sunflowers and sunshine
so much yellow
the colour of happiness

This is not the kind of
all-consuming happiness
that spreads like a
juicy rumour or
common cold
it's not contagious
my happiness won't make you happy

This is a different kind of happiness

This is the kind of happiness
that only shows itself
in a smile that is no longer forced

This is the kind of happiness
that fills me not with butterflies
fluttering about, but a calm emptiness

This is the kind of happiness
that makes me want to hold on to it
for as long as it lasts