Category Archives: sheep in wolf’s clothing

safe ii.

i thought
you could
protect me.

i thought
you wanted
me safe.

i thought
you could
understand me.

i thought
you would
be proud.

i thought
you would
admire me.

i thought
you would
want to know.

i thought
we would
love.

i thought
we would
fly.

nobody is perfect.
i thought wrong.


instead.

i wish
it was
you.

instead,
the hole
remains.

instead,
another
year.

i wish
it was
you.

i need
too
much.

i speak
too
much.

i give
too
much.

i ask
too
much.

i expect
too
much.

i want
too
much.

instead,
still
not enough.

i wish
it was
you.


stride.

eat my
hand;
draw breath
and see
the raw mist.

call the
question
unearthed
and captured
in real time.

my brain
permanently
intoxicated,
high anxiety
and the dull grey.

watch her walk
see the stride,
a purpose
unknown
but free.

loose flesh
and fish oil
stains;
waiting in
silent terror.

longing sobs;
inevitable loss.
leave quietly
or rather,
don’t let me fall.


infinite.

imagine if we met,
before time had burnt us;
before the heat
was pooled at my feet.

i would clasp your hand
for eternity;
and the grey burdens
would be warmer and shared.

silence could protect us,
as we built a nest:
preparing for hibernation
in an infinite winter.


safe.

now i understand
why my wrists
have been aching –
it’s where you
held me
while i struggled.
as you spat
at me,
and i begged you
to go.
as you raged
at my riddled body,
and i begged you
to go.

i know
it’s always my fault;
i know
there’s no point arguing.
i am reduced
to the pathetic doll
once again.
another christmas
and another year
pretending.

i thought
you knew.
and i thought
i could be loved
by you.
turns out,
it’s all
just the same.
but now i understand
why my wrists
have been aching.

you might
as well
compare notes.


list.

it wasn’t long
ago;
the whiteboard
was heavy
with ink
and ideals,
scrawling passion.

is it all
that surprising,
the maddening lust
has been replaced:
just give me sunshine,
and your hands –
i’ll be happy forever.


luxury.

some days
it would be
a luxury,
to stop time;
halt the moments;
and find
a sort of respite;
a pause,
in the spinning
globe.

this place
is done.
the wars
won’t end.
and the hatred
only grows.
the people
can not be trusted.
and the animals
have fled.


rubber.

sometimes
you smell
like blu-tac.
it makes me
imagine
your veins
as twisted,
malleable,
rubber.

sometimes
she sounds
like rubber.
it makes him
recoil
and remember,
she was raised
on a farm,
with pigs as best friends.

sometimes
he looks
like music.
it makes me
imagine
his veins
as twisted,
charred,
rubber.


gentleman.

i see your images of folly
and circles of wisdom;
i see the route ahead
blocked and porous.
“how do you sleep at night?”
he asked with an intrusive,
political smile.
“what sort of cat
asks for supper before 10am?”
“what sort of fox
opens the door like a gentleman?”
lick his throat
and watch your fingernails
down her back.
watch the black liquid
pool and flood.


peter pan.

they will never
be the men,
that their
fathers weren’t.

they will always
tussle and try
to hold dearly
to the “bro-hood.”

they will try
to stay afloat,
but the truth is
you cannot trust them.