outsest

That single mother
not the one who raised me.

The one I have been secretly in love with
since the hight of my adolescence, 15
Since the night of the only school dance i ever attended
were the former single mother mentioned
drove the later home
because she made it there with out a way to get home
on a whim, with out a plan
little did i know
staring back at her threw the mirror the whole ride
that would be "just like her"

That single mother
after eight years of a desperate want,
six years of exponentially intimate texts
compliments thrown back and forth, passed time zones,
two years of when, when
please tell make it now,
four months of putting it off
fear of a climax, an outcome, an answer,
and one night at a party
of deep gazes, light touches,
and a light headiness that
vertigo cant ever compete with

That single mother
is my valentine this year

You cant kill time, it doesnt exist

Its an hour before work,
that menial desolation of faces consuming,
farcing about and talking loudly
making me envious of rest

Its an hour before that
and i am spending that hour
dancing on ice.

At the waterfront
watching the few fishermen
take advantage of this brisk, but
invigorating day,
I slide from foot to foot
yard by yard
to the music in my ears.

Some band explaining an emotion
that doesn't fit with here and now
or even then,
but the sound is sympathetic
to my mood.

My smile is genuine and stuck
in its position by the the nip in the air.

"Fuck you plymouth, for being so,
so fucking beautiful"
I think and continue to
dance on ice.

It is firm
but i can feel the waves below.

This isn't about the danger
of being on ice
at this time
I feel no danger.

It's about that.

A whole months worth, life's worth
of things that would of murdered
someone who wasn't indestructible.

But here I am
dancing on ice
cursing beauty.

The pants i wear

We grew fat in that apartment to small to hold us
One room and our clutter
Forcing us to never stop touching, as a necessity

We moved to bigger apartments
Growing a part with the space
Getting skinny, trying to find each other

I still wear her pants, and shirts
The ones I took after we lost the weight
After we moved into places, with out each other

I hardly think of them as hers anymore
But then I look down
And remember that they are, I was

From every night
To once a month, maybe

From, don’t leave
To, hey how you doing

Ive grown skinny, and fit in your cloths
You’ve grown up, and fit in the world

Plenty have tried to live in small houses with me
And she's had one or two herr self
But we know it only works, when it works

Thanks for the jeans and t-shirts.

Just delaying

So i have been writing a lot. But not posting. So maybe im just really into my self right now or something.


This winter is pretty bad. Its actually worse then last years. So if its true what they say and it happens in three next winter will be the worse. But shit like thats stupid. My writings kind of course in this, Im probably spent from all my other writing projects.

Living in plymouth is awful. I miss the city, any city. Im waiting on a job at this production studio that i feel like will never happen. I am paying about 700 a month in bills not including the money im giving my mum to help them keep the house (I call it rent for now) Ive been yelled at a couple times already for being to loud during sex, which is great when its your mum yelling at you for that.


If the studio doesnt work out i dont know what im doing... My dad is thinking about opening a restaurant/bar venue in atlanta. I may just go down and be his partner. Im quit skeptical of ATL but what else am I going to do... Oh, i may save up for a year and get my bikram certificate. I doubt i can save that much though with the bills the way they are now.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Ive been eating free indian food lately at-least. Except working there is slowly killing me. Jeff and Josh are at school. And most people here are boring...


blah.