thoughtsonthebus

15 stops. 40 minutes. each day.

last

last night was different.

new.

Sure, I’ve been to your house before,

but this time

I was different.

my shoulders dropped,

my breathing calm,

until it wasn’t.. 😉

more willing to be present

I submitted to it

no judgement, no modus operandi

just a meeting of kind souls

desiring a human touch.

my brain shut down

when you kissed me

arms wrapped in the red light

tattoo’s and skin and smiles and

oh my god, your arms.

strong, and warm, and soft,

behind my lower back as I arch.

I’ve been having delicious, secret-smile, flashbacks

all.morning.long

You’ve gotta love a friday that starts as such 😉

with words

concrete walls bear words by

permanent markers marking time

of when you were present.

 

these are not four walls

but a cube of second skin

this sheltered silence

so often indulged.

 

This isn’t just my home

it’s our home

every.single.one

of you that’s graced

my house with your presence

my kitchen with your cooking

my pillows with your rhythmic breathing

my skin with your…

 

Alone now, but not always.

A different story, a different name.

I’ve walked these boards

a thousand times

and when they bring in the wrecking ball

those words will explode into the air as dust

indistinguishable from the kitchen sink.

 

my wild animal friends – your trees, your shelter.

I’m so sorry.

I can move , have to, move house.

They will watch their home turned to concrete,

With words by permanent markers forever lost.

writing wall

I finally became myself here x

Should.

Should I stay?

Should I stray?

Direction should show me the way

yet paths I do not take

still unsure by what’s at stake

leave me confused in your wake.

 

Do you know?

How the desire on your face shows?

or not the desire per se

it’s not specific you see

More like intrigue, mixed with love

now to think of a good word to rhyme with love.

nah.

 

Really,

all i just want to say

is one.day

we’ll need to come clean

with these feelings, not real yet a dream

for the truth

it deserves to be seen.

slowly slowly

I’m sick of fucking slowly slowly

I’m also sick of moving faster than a speeding train.

Middle ground.

ground.

grounded.

I guess it’s the same as grey. It’s not black, not white

it’s a melding of the two.

Is “middle” a melding of fast and slow?

not really..

it’s more an acknowledgement of the fast

with a conscious effort to slow down.

Either way,

either i’m moving too fast, and your moving too slow

or this is middle ground,

ground

grounded to grey.

 

 

Like you

Trying to find a good man to spend quality time with

and all i’m wondering is if he’ll slap my arse like you did.

Like you.

Something new, yet older and never anticpated.

crazy times call for crazy stories

and we all know that what goes on tour

stays there.

But not when you see it come through the door everyday.

you didn’t stay on tour, and neither did I.

We both came back home,

and now Monday to Friday I see you.

Cheeky smiles are painted across our faces

knowing

oh hell yeah.

we know.

raincheck.

no one said

No one told me that beauty would make me cry

or that disappointment might make me smile.

that love was full of hatred,

and hatred can be fuelled by love.

That a smile makes the world go around,

but so does fear, and anger, and isolation.

That words, words spoken with a breaking heart

and a tear in the eye can be more beautiful

than the worlds most lauded sonnet.

No one said that beauty could pick you up,

smack you in the chest,

and drop you back on the floor.

Beauty is not skin deep.

Nothing is skin deep in a world of energy and thought and ideas and creativity.

Men have told me for years that I am beautiful. But as much as these words are appreciated by the ears,

most of the time, they speak only of what genetics have passed to me.

They speak not of the heart that resides within me,

that drips with the all-encompassing love and hate for this world.

Goosebumps prickle my skin, sliding up my back

and across my shoulders to embrace my heart as it struggles with how much beauty there is in this world.

You are part of all that is what is beautiful

and all that is beautiful is you xx

I feel

That sometimes I want to write

even when I don’t have words to type

That sometimes I want to scream

even though it’s only a dream

That sometimes I want to run

even though it’s me who’s holding the gun

That sometimes I want to cry

for those who now know what it’s like to die

That sometimes I want to be patient

even though the delay makes me feel ancient

That sometimes, I want some times

just to feel.

bus stop

So..we have a problem.

I don’t get the bus to work any more.

I was thinking, it kinda makes the name/ethos of this blog

redundant.

I drive now – a rise in my pay packet

and that I have a car means

I drive over the Harbour bridge every day.

Tunes blaring, foot to the peddle,

left foot just on the edge of the clutch,

ready to push it in, hold-hold- as I go around the corner,

quick check, look see

nothing coming

bang, slam it into 3rd, and push it around 

in the outside lane

around that gorgeous hairpin on to the bridge.

But I digress,

thoughtsonthebus

thoughtsinthecar

thoughtswhilei’mwashingup

thoughtseverysinglesecond..

Creatives, huh?

Who’d be one??

I would.

And so my bus stops.

But i never will

x

one.last.time

I’ve always been good at identifying songs from the first few bars

My folks noticed it when I was young, and it’s just one of those *things*

Seems though, as I get older, I don’t only just recognise the song

but the emotions the song brings up.

Some songs.. some songs just kill me

For example: I could be kissing my as-yet-located husband at the alter after just getting married

and if someone put on ” John Lennon – War is Over”, I would go weak at the knees, crumple into a heap on the floor

and ball my eyes out at the humanity, and lack of humanity in this world.

I’ve just found another one.

Except, it has to do with just one person.

I’ve gone from bouncing around the house, to sitting here,

appreciating the fact I can touch type because I can’t see the keys properly through the tears that are bulging in my eye-lids and streaming down my face.

It wasn’t “our” song. In fact, it was more the ” after we broke up this song became his song to explain the emotions he was going through”.

he mentioned it.

once.

and i listened that night

and cried so hard for the heartbreak we’d both obviously dealt with.

were still dealing with.

I’m still dealing with.

I remember the strained car rides in the rain, needing to talk things over because

god-damn but we were so amazing at some stage

we have to try once more.

I remember holding each other while we listened together,

held each other so tight, too tight, scared-of-losing tight, because we both knew this would never last.

When i allow myself to think about you, i fall back down that hole

and end up writing bullshit on this blog to try and relieve myself of the ache.

That’s why it looks like I don’t care

because i care too much,

I’m going to have to walk away

but not before we both hear this song

one.last.time.

x

 

 

ninja valentine

I’ve got 10 minutes before my meeting will start

but I wanted to take a second to write what’s in my heart.

You brought me some flowers, I’ll write you a poem

you can copy the link, tell your friends and show them

a sweet little ditty to show my thanks

to the long afternoons, with a couple of spanks

and cricket and beers, and soft flowy curtains

we’re now really friends, of that I am certain.

Only 3 months ago, I didn’t know who you were

except someone who raved, my life was a blur

Mr Fluffer they call you, I think that’s quite sweet,

I really am happy we’ve gotten to meet

each other and laugh, and goss and unwind

these last 3 months, I would not rewind.

I am the best landlady you’ve ever had

little gnocchi one day, just might have a dad.

So thank you once more, my day you have made

Happy Valentines Day, let’s hope you get laid

xxxxx