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Say Okay to the World
I’ll be okay. That’s what you want me to say, Isn’t it? No more talking can be done No more change is going to come So it’s okay I’m fine I’m okay. Aren’t I? There’s nothing you can do There’s nothing I can do So I have to be okay I have to be. Surely? Is that would I should say? But what if I open up with honesty And say things really bother me That it burns and rages At the imprisonment of my skin With an anger I can’t justify And a despair I can’t console But it’s old I felt this way five months ago So it’s time for me to be better So if you ask me I can’t just go and say There’s no way I can bear another five Of this alive. I thought my thoughts belonged to me But they keep fighting with each other And ridiculing my every move With so many voices Until I want a pit To scream into And keep screaming Until my lungs combust and burst out into ash And my throat is like a game of Kerplunk with razors And the whole fucking world Can hear this incessant agony. … … … … But no. It’s cool, I’m back from the fall. I’ll be okay. That’s what I’m meant to say, after all. |
I Choose
I know I’ve been unkind And I know I seem resigned To the misery I find In this torturous incarceration of thoughts I can’t get off my chest And it may seem like I chose death. And I did choose death. For a while, I did. And that was okay. I seeked out the end of sorrow I didn’t want tomorrow, want to deal, I neglected anything that was real, Because I dreaded that I might feel. And that was okay. And that is why I now no longer choose death. Because I am going to allow myself to feel it. To feel every bit of it. To drown myself in torture and realise That is what life is; it’s getting stuck In the downs and the ups, You win and you lose And I choose… I choose life. I choose a house with the picket fence and the neighbours I say hello to after picking up the kids from school And saying things that show that I’m not cool As I ask them about their homework And smile at my wife And share her Monday morning misery And Sunday night television. I choose the heartbreak when it all backfires And she chooses anything but me And my world shatters down Because it doesn’t shatter It just shakes And I look up and find myself in rubble; And, yes, you can never rebuild a building exactly as it was– But you can rebuild something. I choose to rebuild. I choose Christmasses. With my family. Watching as the toy I bought a niece or nephew That will be next year’s charity shop throwout Brings delight that makes the extortionate cost Of annual consumerism Seem like it’s all just part of the magic. I choose sad movies. I choose to watch them with you As we hold hands and I don’t pretend not to cry Because you, and only you, are willing to tell me That it’s okay For a man to show he hurts when he sees pain That brings it all back. I choose funerals. I choose to stand as I watch the curtain billow In front of the coffin amidst cremation And hear nothing but a song and some tears But know that it’s okay As that person existed Which was a miracle And damn me to hell if I can’t appreciate A good miracle. I choose my dog. The deep yet fleeting pleasure as she needs me And she wants to play with me And though my arm is tired from throwing your toy duck And I just want to watch television I will throw it anyway As there is nothing that can compare To the sight Of you bursting back toward me With the duck battling the aerodynamic speed of wind As you hold it in your mouth And place it back on my lap. I choose forgiveness. For bad words and bad acts For hurting me by shouting the facts For cheating and abusing Your taking and removing And I forgive you Not because you deserve forgiveness But because I deserve to be free Of all the anger That exposes me every day. And, most of all; Most of all; I choose me. I choose to prioritise my health over your insults. I choose to be creative and not care whether I achieve greatness. I choose to make mistakes. I choose to make lots of them. I choose to love, freely and openly, Like I did back when I was a teenager And I loved for the first time In a way that was wild And untainted. Yes, I think I’ll choose to love. Even though it could kill me. And then I’ll choose it again. And again. And again. Because, when you take away the noise and the silence, The fights and the defiance, The religion and the science, That is all you have left. I think that will do me for now. I think I’m quite done. I choose love, pain, and freedom and scars. Because, in the end, It’s all actually quite fun. |
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Pointless Death
I don’t think I can get Any lower than this. It seems like writing you these words In meaningless syntax As if there’s a point to a metaphor Is the thing The only thing Between me and the noose Or setting this raging fire To this house. These aren’t words for critical acclaim Or rhyme or deeper meaning Some teacher would attach If these words had enough craft To be taught. They are a vacant expression Of complicated composition that Truly, truly means Little but diatribe About a misery Not at all unique To every stanza already written. I write these words Because they are harder Than a blade But leave less scars. Oh, look, another verse And a new line Enjambment to symbolise the ongoing nature of pain It’s the same And I blame Everyone else until I blame myself Then blame no one. Nothing is ever at fault. People just are. Walking around life doesn’t get you far But I’d sooner end it all Right now than just Keep rambling to a page Who will never hold me back And will be destroyed by water Which means It cannot even survive my cry. But I can die. Oh, I can die And go down in glory I’ll never get So my obituary can be The wrapping for Tomorrow’s fish and chips. See, I have a purpose after all. Give me a reason to save Suicide for next week Because it’s looking bleak There’s nothing else on my todo list to do. So goodbye I say with words That mean even less Than the life it took to type them And even less Than each syllable I just Wasted my time Writing. |
Those Perfect Flaws
I want to be your stretch marks. I want to be that mole by your mouth that you had surgically removed. I want to be those perfect flaws you hate Yet those things you hate are the thing I love. I’m sorry this couldn’t work. I’m sorry I couldn’t be that wrinkle on your forehead, That premature sign of ageing, That thing you see but no one else can. I want to be that hit song that was stuck in your head So you deleted it off your iPhone with The words going round and round And round And round. I want to be your closed fist. I want to latch onto your soul that does not exist In your belief as you’re an atheist, I want to be that god you vilify But don’t hate Just know does not exist. I want that blemish, be that scar, Be the drugs in your chemist you used to depart Your mind from its illness. I want to be those stretch marks. I want to be that illness And be that cure But I don’t think that’s what you want. At least not anymore.I want to be your stretch marks. I want to be that mole by your mouth that you had surgically removed. I want to be those perfect flaws you hate Yet those things you hate are the thing I love. I’m sorry this couldn’t work. I’m sorry I couldn’t be that wrinkle on your forehead, That premature sign of ageing, That thing you see but no one else can. I want to be that hit song that was stuck in your head So you deleted it off your iPhone with The words going round and round And round And round. I want to be your closed fist. I want to latch onto your soul that does not exist In your belief as you’re an atheist, I want to be that god you vilify But don’t hate Just know does not exist. I want that blemish, be that scar, Be the drugs in your chemist you used to depart Your mind from its illness. I want to be those stretch marks. I want to be that illness And be that cure But I don’t think that’s what you want. At least not anymore. |
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Endless Talking
I can still smell you on my hoody. A scent that once made me miss you Is a stench That becomes a welcome pain. I can still sense you behind me, The pain in my back, And I fumble in the darkness For your arm To pull it over or brush it off But the kiss on my neck doesn’t come And I roll Into the empty space Where you Used to reside. The trial I put you on Produced a split jury And a judge Too eager to condemn. Maybe you should have stayed. Maybe I should have left. Or maybe we should have stopped the words. They mean nothing, after all. |
Are You Enjoying Life?
Are you enjoying life? Sitting there Caring what every Single damn person Thinks of you. Is it what you imagined? To be so concerned By the glances of strangers That you can’t think clearly With others Or alone. Is that how you wanted it? To be so infatuated with misery To the point that you reject What’s good for you What’s right for you Because you’re too fucking insecure To let it be Okay. To just let things Be Okay. Can they ever be okay? Not when your self-image Falters so much that Your self-disgust Is the only barrier Between someone who finds you So attractive And you believing them. It can happen At any moment But never a moment If you bury your head Deep Deep Deep Into the abyss Of your self-hatred Self-abuse And self-substance. I have scars too. They mark my arm Beneath my tattoo. And I hate that they are there But they are there And will be there whatever So okay They are there And I like it Not really But that’s how I live with it. And you just sit there Hating yourself so much That you can’t even function. And your hatred is such That the strength of it Will never let you Be healthy With yourself Or with others. It’s a decision. The simplest and the hardest At the same time But a decision nonetheless. So tell me. Who really suffers? Those that you push To the corners of your life? Or the one who you hate To have forever In its centre? |