drafts, alot of em

she paused. for what seemed to be a long time.

she dreamed of tiny black heels on linoleum floors. a degree for a future she never would have wanted. a face mask and scrubs. graduation robes-

then nothing

and suddenly she dreamed of daisies, the splitting warmth of the sun kissing every inch of her face. platonic hand holding in the middle of a noisy campus. laughter, so much laughter. footprints on pavements, periwinkles, white fences, cold breezes, daffodils-

the feeling that there is no place she would rather be.

“what do you want to be when you grow up ?”

she looked up and smiled.

“content”

this mess of teenage laughter. clashing opinions, a cacophony of a million and one voices, soft hand holding. greeting and goodbye hugs to each and every person ( there’s a lot of us) though, like always-

-we’ll be there, all encompassing, taking up space at 12 pm tomorrow. like always

a family. dysfunctional, accepting, noisy, quickening, growing, uncomfortably comfortable.

they’re little monsters, all of them.

but you’ll love them, i promise.

two : i can’t forget the brown of your eyes shedding light on every inch of the room

three : you never could hold eye contact with me

four : i wanted to kiss your face when i saw you fall asleep in language class

five : you never liked me anyway

six : i hate that i liked you to begin with

seven : you never could take your eyes off of me

eight : you’re a sweet heart. a rose. you were this image of cocky pretty boys with diamonds in their ears and pride in the lilt of their eyebrows. i thought i could hate you. but you’re so shy.

nine : you never liked me to begin with

ten : you liked to smile at me. too bad i got star struck

ten : i’m starting to lose count. i got too busy remembering how many freckles you have.

to write about you is to indent your name in a part of my soul.

this is for you.

made up of star dust and pretty lies,

you’re a mouthful of goodbyes,

and i wish i could leave you behind,

some teenage one with fingertips soft as pillows to hold my hand when i got afraid. to hug me like tomorrow would never come. to kiss me like he was going off to war.

i used to think i needed a boy.

but daylight comes around and i hold the hands of my friends in the middle of a 9 am lecture, heads on shoulders and eyes all sleepy.

lunch time comes and i’m hugging the people i’ve chosen to call my family as if i didn’t see them yesterday. lunchtime. 12 o clock.

i kiss them on their soft faces as if they’re the most precious beings to have crossed my path. each of them.

i used to think i needed a boy.

but friendships, like periwinkles growing underneath white gates, seem better

like i was a million stars stylised into a one of a kind constellation.

like i were the sun, daisies, a purple galaxy, cosmos, vanilla frosted cupcakes !

you keep looking at me like that. i might just fall in love

again.

crushingly beautiful, an inferno of everything i’ve ever loved, wanted, hoped for.

i thought you were a ghost. don’t laugh, i thought you couldn’t be real. even your eyelashes were dreamlike and i was star struck.

you were so dreamlike i thought i had to be in a nightmare.

so when you looked up at me in the middle of campus and gave me that gentle, summer sky smile i began to cry

i walked out, i stormed out, you pulled me back and i could have slapped you

instead i shoved you away, i might have even punched you.

but you damned angel

you were so patient even though this was all your fault. your eyes smiled first and then your lips and then i crumbled

you hugged me and i smelt your ocean spray scent, ocean spray and eucalyptus and dark wood and my hands shakily wound round your frame

my almost lover, my best friend, my twin flame.

i. there is a hollow, grey ache in your soul and it burns and shutters like thunder and lightning. you reek of hopelessness and dutiful rain. you look upto the heavens and wonder when you can come home without feeling like you’re falling.

ii. golden child, lion boy, tell me what it’s like to reign, to pray, to win. you stand at gritty bus stations, abandoned churches, the tops of bright green trains, searching, searching, losing. your hands are covered in blue biro and blood and tears. static voices of mortal newcasters ends up in your ear. you hear war, you hear death, you hear children, you hear guns. holiness is a choked up word in your throat and your halo digs into your skull like barbed wire. so you sleep.

iii. fearless boy, damaged king, tell me what it’s like to burn. dirt on your knees and fine stardust in your hair. you just want to fly. so when michaels asks if you’re happy, you tell him you are infinite. “are ye happy?”, he asks once more. you take a breath into corrupted lungs. “no. art thou?”

iv.when a boy with fine boned features puts a hand on your weary shoulder and takes a pamphlet you hand made yourself, you smile, for the first time in weeks you smile.