thoughtsonthebus

15 stops. 40 minutes. each day.

Tag: Poetry

Real

It’s been a while
A grin
A smile
Warm days seep into cloudy nights
Whilst neighbours shower
Unaware of observing eyes.

Trauma seeks warmth in the hands of love
And finds, much to everyone’s surprise,
There is trust.
There is need.
There is comfort.
Fear finds no solace here.

Skin feels skin
a warmth rises from within,
its too delicious to be real,
it’s too real,
it’s real x

Advertisements

Spring break

Actually, it’s not Spring yet.

Another 2 weeks or so until the equinox.

But that’s not why I’m here, the title has nothing to do with the weather

and everything to do with love.

Such a laden word. Love.

Yet used so flippantly by many.

Day to day, I can say this word multiple times

but it’s been some time since I’ve looked into eyes

and seen it reflected back with equal ferocity and compassion.

“But you suit single!”, they say.

well, sure – if by that you mean I take all of life’s opportunities, haven’t settled into crazy-cat-lady, coupon cutting, Wheel of Fortune watching, middle-aged spinsterhood..?  

I am none of these things, despite the lack of of a “significant other”.

What else am I to do?

I have life.

Am i not meant to live it?

I’m fit, healthy, intelligent, artistic, employed, fun. I love life, and every morning I invite it.

Oh, but to have that one amazing partner, with who I could jump rainbows with..

That’s my Summer.

To feel the same love that I feel when it’s a 28c day, seagulls are flying, gorgeous glassy waves are calling, it’s 2pm in the afternoon and I’ve cracked open a beer, and cranked up the tunes.

I explode into particles of love on days like that; dancing across the crests of the waves, up through the wispy clouds, into the very sky I’ve been dozing under for 20 minutes, while I secretly listen to conversations, kids playing, waves crashing.

Until then, and it’s not long now, like jasmine in the air taunting me of future delights;

Fly open the school doors, let me cast my books into a messy locker,

as we all run out into the playing fields of potentiality.

I am in my own Spring break.

Temporary. It is.

Desirable. We all are.

Hopeful. I am.

Till Summer.

Till you x

 

Burnt

The images that are
Burnt into my brain
That taunt me with their vividness
Are those moments when I was
Sacrificing my soul
For the wrong cause
Knowing it wasn’t the path to take
Knowing it wasn’t me but another so
Fake
Desperate
In a lie I’d been
Caught
In your beam of pity.
It’s 22 years ago.
It’s yesterday.
Doesn’t time matter to matter?
Images shine on, no fading
Degrading
Would have chosen other moments.
If moments could be chosen and not just branded.

you know

From the way I write,

you probably thinking I’m down, depressed

under the weather all the time.

I’m really not.

My blog is my gym, my screaming, my outlet

where I can write whatever the fuck I want

and I don’t care if you like it or not.

It’s not always about you,

you know.

Round 3.

some days are good

some days are bad

this isn’t worth writing about.

We all have them.

What makes the difference though?

Is it internal thoughts,

external occurrences,

or both.

Fucked if i know.

I just know today is a good day.

Even though it’s pissing down with rain outside,

I’ve got no dates this weekend,

no whiskey in the house.

But to watch you smile warmly at me,

for the first time since..

well, that made all the difference.

But….you’ve got a girlfriend,

even though

this weather,

the easy procuring of a bottle of whiskey

a warm blanket, and a crappy movie we could pretend to watch

would have made a perfect

Round 3.

x

 

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.