Too Young to Say Goodbye

Skin and bones under paper skin-

Ghost white, almost faintly glowing,

She scares me suddenly

With her fragility.

She looks different, somehow,

And she feels far away.

My own problems once seemed big

But they were small and unimportant.

She never wanted to be like this-

She didn’t want to lose herself,

But here we are

Listening to the same story once again.

Sometimes we laugh and in that moment we forget.

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Little Miss Late

She’s very busy, she has no time,

Perhaps her time is more important than mine.

Rushing about, to and fro-

She doesn’t even know where to go!

Running in circles round everything

Not even sure where to begin-

Or so she keeps telling me.

One of us has to be patient, you see,

To sit around waiting, every day;

Wondering what excuses she will say.

I ran through the drizzle to catch the bus

But she splits her life between all of us,

So we feel quite ignored and forgotten,

Lesser, not as valid, slightly rotten.

I’m waiting at the café now, alone,

While I suspect she’s still at home.

Wine drunk

I’m wine drunk and I’m sleepy,

This guy is acting a little bit creepy.

Not enough to speak out-

But I am looking about

For my friends in the club.

Maybe they left and are at the pub?

His hand is on my leg-

Yuck. In my mind I beg

For someone to rescue me;

To come over and set me free.

He’s telling me about his life

And I know he has a wife

But she’s not the topic at hand,

He needs me to know he thinks I’m grand

My male friends don’t know why he scared me;

“He was just trying to be friendly,”

But I know the mood can turn like that,

They go from nice to angry in three seconds flat.

That’s why  I want to get away;

Save this pain for another day.

 

 

 

Gap in My Heart

The empty space where you used to be

Fills me with sudden misery

The gap that appeared next to the chair-

I look for you, and you’re not there.

Hairs on the rug remind me of you,

The things we used to see and do.

Now I am dogless, without a dog;

It hits me, fills my brain with fog.

I went out and saw a dog the same,

Which made me cry and feel insane;

I hope you’re up in heaven somehow;

I hate my life without you now.

 

 

 

 

A Book at the Beach

At the beach, my favourite place,

The wind blowing my hair into my face,

A stranger approaches to chit chat;

To be polite about this and that.

 

Amongst the grassy dunes, sandwich in hand,

My toes drying out in the gritty sand,

The ice cream van goes tinkling past,

So I go to buy a Fab at last.

 

Near the end of the pier I’ve opened my book,

But now I’ve got to take another look

At the surfers, learning to surf down below

Falling and splashing everywhere they go.

 

I lie down to sunbathe under blue skies,

Yet clouds roll in over seagulls’ cries,

As the rain starts to fall and won’t leave me alone

I decide it’s best if I just go back home.

 

Here on the sofa with tea at my side,

I don’t have to worry about high or low tide;

I’m determined to see, by hook or by crook,

Whatever will happen next in my book!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sorting

Feeling sentimental over boxes;

Boxes of knick-knacks,

Clothes, cards, old gifts.

I cannot let go of these things;

Each one reminds me of the past.

The skirt I wore to my first day of college,

Folded over a stack of tickets;

Cinema tickets, train tickets, exhibition tickets,

Faded ink and forgotten films and journeys.

Forgotten until I go through these boxes.

I have kept every letter ever written to me;

Handwritten, with scribbles and doodles and stickers.

However I cannot keep every book I have read,

As I have filled the attic already-

My bookcase is overflowing too.

“Just use an E-reader”, you say,

Then I will not remember the first time

The book was opened,

Neither will I enjoy the smell of its pages.

Now I try to find the balance

For my home:

Between clinical, impersonal, empty,

And a hoarder’s paradise:

A museum of my own life,

Stuffed to bursting with things I never use,

Because they are not for using;

Yet they are mine and I hold them dear.