"Dear world, you look tired today."

No one knows the danger of you,

the enticing glow of your excited eyes and solemn lips.
we struggle for sleep on the cold sheets of lonely beds.
Eye contact is
awkwardly always avoided,
in favour of staring into coffee or bright laptop screens.
Talk about nothing is everywhere;
we feel we must make noise, or be forgotten.

That summer we read a lot of coming-of-age books,
kidnapping inspiration for our angsty poems,
dragging it by the heels into hotboxed bedrooms.
Bed beckons,
over and over again I wish to be tangled in sheets
where I once tangled with you,
a sorry sack of feelings with beautiful eyes.
Does the world need another angsty teenage love poem?
I have a million words but your name is my favourite.
(My words are like a window,
through which I can see all that you feel.)

I have no desire to fix or be fixed;
life is something happening
outside the doors and curtained windows.
The world passes us by,
out of reach of the realms of our blanket fort.
You liked to pull me out of bed to the window
on starry nights
and point out the constellations-
darling i miss your conversation.
You are the rhythm and rhyme to every day.

Pride painted across pained faces;
something has been detracted,
and you are not whole as you once were.
Eyes meeting across crowded rooms,
my pulse pounding through my palms,
knowing I have no words.
Your apathy will be the end of me.
I say nothing if not invited;
My thoughts aren't as wonderful as yours.
You lean close,
whisper...
"Are the moon and the sun friends or do they fight for the sky?"
"One day,
let's just buy train tickets and hope they take us to the end of the world."
 "I hope it's warm there."

-g.m


______________________________________________________
some context:

this is a poem made up of little fragments that my friend and i have been adding to a journal for months. these fragments are anything from few words long to whole stanzas, but i was getting sick of them not amounting to anything, and so i put them together in a long, slightly rambling piece of very very very free verse.
and that is why it possibly makes very little sense.
oh well.
it is still a thing made of words, so you can have it.

much love

x

Youth

A Poem Made of Words I Didn’t Write.

I’m an addict with a pen,

Find me spineless and pretend;

It’s five past three,

I can hardly see

And I’m on the verge of passing out.

I’d be an anchor

But I’m scared you’d drown,

We’re watching the television with no sound.

You’re just a pair of frozen hands to hold,

Not your typical stoned 18 year old.

The story unfolds;

You should take my life, you should take my soul.

Where we go, nobody knows,

With guns hidden under our petticoats.

Step into your skin?

I’d rather jump in your bones,

New clothes

Bloody nose

Retching on the floor alone.

My trial-by-fire was filed,

(I’m a crazy suicidal head-case)

Totally wrecked and polemic in the way we talk.

I bet a lot of me was lost,

T’s uncrossed and I’s undotted,

But your hands still catch

The light

The right way

And our hearts still beat the same.

You’ve got a lot to say,

For the one who pushed me away.

Our brains are sick but that’s okay.

Can’t they bury us at sea,

Far away where the world can’t reach?

Vocal Sabbatical

Delayed

By churning out the same-

Why do you talk so loud?

I’ve got a feeling that the marijuana’s rotting your brain.

-g.m

______________________________________________________

some context:

this is a piece of found poetry that i did for a uni assignment. it is made up of lyrics from a lot of my favourite songs (all of which are credited below) so none of these words are mine. i just put them in a new order and stuff.

much love

x

Credits:

Addict With a Pen – Twenty One Pilots

Holding On To You – Twenty One Pilots

Fake You Out – Twenty One Pilots

Stay With Me – You Me At Six

Menswear – The 1975

TALK – The 1975

Heart Out – The 1975

Girls – The 1975

Chocolate – The 1975

The 1975 – The 1975

M.O.N.E.Y – The 1975

Nobody, Not Even The Rain – La Dispute

Such Small Hands – La Dispute

Viking Burial – Gerard and the Watchmen

teenage truths

your voice is too loud;
echoing through the suburbs,
past perfect airbrushed families
having summer barbecues
in the warm evening.
you laugh
smile
brush your hair from your face
and light your cigarette
ignoring the bitterness
of adolescence even as it fills you up.

we bypassed rebellion,
until our 18th birthdays
when we dusted off heavy coats
of teenage angst
hated you/hated me
hated the perfection
we were brought up in.
so when you shout through the suburbs
I know it isn't accidental
or excitement from all the covert cider and nicotine.
it's you breaking through
the bonds of family
to begin to grow
into you.


-g.m

pebbles

you took me to a pebble beach three days running
once to see the sunrise through to the sunset
once for fish and chips
and once to look at the stars and the pebbles.
the sunrise was nice, the sunset was average,
the red and yellow squashing the orange,
and the deep blue stealing the sky so very fast.
the fish and chips were the best i've ever tasted
but i think it helps that i ate your chips
and you ate mine
sharing is caring?
the stars were breathtaking,
"the celestial dance troupe presents
the stars of the heavens"
as they took centre stage
it felt like they danced for me.
but the pebbles were my favourite.
because they were so simple,
starting from huge mountains as old as time
or grains of sand that had found their way
all over the earth
to be this pebble,
in this moment.
and what a beautiful moment it was.

-g.m

notions of self

you are the quiet and the loud

the self finder self hater self maker

the shine of sun on water, the drop of rain in puddles.

you’re that song we hate, song we love, that song we haven’t heard yet

the melody in everybody else’s head.

you are the words and the paper and the pen

the rhythm and the rhyme of every day.

you are the start of the race, sprinting all the way to the finish line.

the “once upon a time” and “happily ever after”.

you are infinite,

but only in your own eyes.

you see all that is beautiful.

you see yourself,

so maybe you are beautiful.


-g.m

writers

Here’s my social commentary;
it’s not funny if it’s me,
but it’s funny if it’s you.
Pass your judgement,
make it true.
Take me to the rivers,
show me the stars,
the fate, the faults, the dead, the wars.
The city is in my heart,
but your country is in my veins,
my wrists look like a battlefield,
please take away these stains,
marks of the pain.

We’re just silly children,
with our truth and entitled words.
What do we know of loss?
Happiness is elusive,
but our sadness is not conclusive;
we take the fast lane,
no dream, no gain,
“don’t hate the player, hate the game.”
Never hesitate to wear your shame,
our past goes up in flames.

Now all you have are the clothes on your back,
a pen in your hand,
and a head full of words.


-g.m