First times

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i thought i was so in love with you back then

I thought the way your blue eyes glistened

under the orange summer haze

was the most incredible thing I’d ever seen

the soft cleft on your lip

and the half smile you had stitched onto your face

made my stomach flutter

Here’s to first clumsy kisses

rolling around hidden in tall grass

evening gloom

sun kissing our hands

intertwined

oh i miss those simpler days, those first-time loves

those first-time i-want-yous

first time i think i want you in adult way

those first times i felt

kissing you turns me to fire

and i think my body wants to feel your hands

oh i miss those soft summers

first-time drinking summers

first-time legal summers

first-time secret love summers

man, i thought i was so in love with you

and I was.

I was in love with the way you treated me

for the first-time

like a woman

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Farewell, Grandad.

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I never got to meet you 

But I love you like I love my father, and like my mother loves you.

She’s kinda broken, though still fierce.

Kinda messed up and kinda figuring her life out still; even though she’s already past 40.

I guess we never really stop doing that, cause life changes all the time and you’ve got to keep adapting, keep forwards. 

Her heart breaks which makes mine break even more.

So I’m hurting doubly for her.

I’m hurting too cause you were always far away, but the stories made me feel like I knew your love, always.

I got to know and love granny and I know that you were probably like her.

So I hurt again for her too. 

Losing you is like losing her all over again, and it’s hard to think that loss is inevitable in life. 

You were the last granddaddy standing. 

I hope your spirit keeps me moving for the rest of my life.

Thank you for giving me my mother.  

When they leave

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When they leave you, don’t keep fragments of them in your purse.

Take out the old train tickets from journeys to see each other,

and take out the old receipts from your round of drinks together in dark little pubs.

Don’t let their forgotten jacket linger in your wardrobe,

and don’t let the old pair of trainers they left on your shoe rack catch dust.

Don’t you dare wear their stray t-shirts at night, convincing yourself its just for a moment — to reminisce.

Don’t hold on to the memory of their kisses, or the tender way they spoke your name like butterflies.

Let your heart only sometimes ache with the bittersweet pang of the end.

Know that you’re better for it,

happier for it,

wiser for it,

and anchored to nothing else but your own self and your own freedom.

They don’t know

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I hate them,
I hate them because I lose who I am when I’m around them
I forget the person I fought hard to become and embrace
I forget my strength, I forget my voice, I forget the power of my wisdom and the rationality of my mind
I am small and powerless, a victim of nonchalance and subconscious belittling
A product of self-motivated educational brilliance, and nothing else
They don’t know that I was exceptional, because I was never free enough to be anything less
They don’t know that I stopped striving for perfection because it filled my body with dread. It ruined me
And it still ruins me, and I’m lost and hurting and hungry for some release, hungry for danger and power and control because I’m dying to be someone else
I die to be someone else whenever they’re close, as though their auras were made of my own personalised happiness repellant
And they kill me with the kind of affection that my heart can’t understand
They kill me because I’m too different and sometimes too alone because of it
They kill me because just BEING aches with them, it hurts,
the feeling of being alien hurts
every time I leave im mad and sad and bitter and the tiniest bit more broken than the last time
Every time I leave I know I’ll need days to recover
I know I’ll need nights of toxicity
Loving, toxicity,
To filter the madness, soften the anger, lessen the hurt,
turn my blood back to red ink
Instead of salt water tears

Some days

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Some days I’m barely making it out on my own two feet.
I’m gliding on fear and confusion,
grappling on the ledge of desperation –
Desperation and despair
Some days I’m deafened by the pounding
of my heart, and the rush
of blood in my ears. F e a r.
Some days I’m blinded by the dryness of my eyes. The
greyness of my vision. The bleakness of my mornings,
in-betweens, and nights.
alone again.
I’m weary of life. Weary of consistent living. Weary
of my comfort in nothingness.

Steadfast

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Is it not enough
that I have the ghost of your touch
lingering on my skin?
That the tips of my fingers still tingle
with the echo of your stubbly cheek,
every time I breathe your name?
That the memory of your hands
still makes me stroke my cheek and
the memory of your eyes are still branded in my soul?
Is it not enough
that your shadow lays beside me
when on Siberian nights I finally
coax myself to sleep?
That your laugh still echoes inside
my walls like Dorothy’s cruel tornado.
I am cursed to feel your presence
in the place I called my haven.
I had let you into paradise,
my cool, tattered paradise.
I had you dreaming of my sheets, and the innocence of my glare –
I took you homeless took you hungry,
Gave you shelter and caresses
Gave you purpose showed you hope
from the chest of my affection.
Is it not enough
that all I wanted was redemption
yet I’m haunted by demons –
your steadfast footsteps.