I’m mad about how often I change for people.

I don’t realise it just then, it starts with the small things, the little adjustments

But when they’re gone like they always do, like now and I get alone I have steps to recovery. I’ll write a poem and I get comfortable within myself, I realise the furnitures rearranged.

I stub my toes on broken bones, pieces of old hearts and pieces of broken thrones.

Throne. Singular. Your throne. In my heart.

I’m a sad sight to see, I’ve lost all gravity. Again. And again and again.

You were supposed to find me on the bathroom floor, but you never even came home. It’s like you stole all the colours from inside of me and painted the inside of my arteries black like roadside tar. Filthy.

You were not black. You were a Technicolor galaxy, you might have shards of glass embedded in you by people who’ve stabbed you, but these shards of glass make you an unimaginable nebula of life.

You have at the tip of your finger, life and you might have discounted your ability to give life but teach yourself. Relearn it. Block out the black noise.

Five easy words that would have shattered our worlds,

I love you, I think.

It’s not you, it’s me.

Your self esteem’s too low.

You’re too insecure for me.

To this day I don’t know all the details because it seems like an invasion of your privacy but I’ve pored over all our conversations, searching for the secret message you certainly tried to send to me, and I’m sorry but I only almost found it.

After some serious consideration I’ve decided to change my least favourite word from “moist” (which for the record is still gross) to almost.

Almost means taking that big step, putting in 100% blind trust and ALMOST getting there. Almost is messy and unfair and a thief. We were almost on the brink of something beautiful, we were almost there.

Sometimes I try to tilt my head the way you tilted it when you looked at me, it reminds me that you see things at a different angle than everybody else.

I was the type of girl who laid in an awkward position around a sleeping cat, trying to avoid waking it. You were the type of boy who picked the cat up and laid it at the foot of the bed. Maybe that’s what you did to me, while I tried to tiptoe around your heart to avoid you leaving.

But if there’s one thing that you taught me, it’s that the world is too much for a feeling to break it.

Stitched beneath my collarbones, behind the book of secrets, lies tucked the hidden masks I wish I didn’t have to use. A woman should always be mysterious, but I’m not afraid anymore. I just want to let someone in.

there’s a dirt track


and I think that I left all my nightmares

on it

the day that I met you.