hero

i'll let you be the hero
in another of my stories.

give me

she let me remember what we once were,
let me recall our long nights and early mornings.

she let me know that i may be many things,
but one thing i am not is alone.

she gave me someone to talk about,
someone to beat your stories with.

she gave me revenge

she gave me long drives in the front seat,
and the chance for me to talk about myself, not you.

she gave me the time to stop gossiping about your friends
and to tell the truth about you.

she gave me the ability to be ahead
for once.

she gave me a door, marked way out
and taught me that i didn't have to take it.

she gave me the right to leave,
knowing you'd be here when i got back.

she gave me a challenge,
and a place where i didn't have to be embarassed.



but the horrible part is
she gave me the one thing you never could.

she gave me a way
to remember you.

watch

I want to say
you’re not worth it anymore
but my mouth won’t open
and my tongue won’t move.

I want to yell and scream and dance
young and sweet, only seventeen
but the mirror is watching
and my feet won’t cooperate.

I watch you
not watching me.
Watch you
watching him
watching her
watching them.
Watching everybody else
and for once

I want to laugh, flirt, be the centre of attention,
and then you will watch
but you are not watching

and my feet will not move.

midnight movies

i've got things to tell you,
things to talk about
that only you could understand
right now.
but i have an itchy feeling round my neck
that says you don't want to hear.

and i open my hotmail-
but i can't.
i just can't.
because i can't stand
knowing what you'll think
when you open it.

will you look at the sender
and laugh?
and leave it unopened for days
until you read it,
snorting derisively,
with some other girl standing
behind your shoulder?
never paying any attention
to my jokes
or sarcastic comments?

i'm afraid you will.

and then, probably,
you will go onto your blog
and post about how lonely
you are.
and doubtless
i will feel bad.

i cut something out of the paper
for you
today. will
i ever show you?

oh you've made me so
mad now
that i can't even listen
to music
which you know,
so i'm stuck listening
to The Subways
of all people

who i don't even like.

me

perhaps i'm happy the way i am

watch

I'm going to bed with the curtains open tonight. I did it for weeks a few years back, when my curtains were being replaced, and I loved it so much that when my curtains came back I left them open anyhow. Kind of seems a waste of new curtains, but...
It's kind of a comforting feeling, seeing the sky, and tonight it is pink, even though it's almost midnight. It's a kind of pink which has never seemed strange to me, but I've come to realise it's a colour unique to Auckland's clouds, and only ever straight after a thunderstorm, in the middle of the night.
I truly love thunderstorms, and the clap clap clap flash flash flash. Thunderstorms for me are always a very alone time, although I know for others that's totally untrue, but it's a very comforting alone feeling. The kind of feeling where you know you're alone watching the sky, but that so is everyone else. In a way you manage to feel completely alone but connected to everyone you love simultaneously.
I love the idea that everyone is watching the same scene from a different angle, like the sky is one great big screen, one movie on which everyone has a different take, and yet there can be no reviews.

must be love

i'll not wait for you
when i finally get ahead.

i'll think about it though-
take comfort in that.

explanation

i was last in Australia at christmastime,
mid-summer and boiling hot

and yet i insisted on wearing
my grey tracksuit cardigan
all the time.

cosidering the temperature,
nobody could understand it,
and i had no explanation.

my mother just kept repeating that i had been the one
to watch my grandmother die
two days earlier.

although what that explains
i'll never know.

hope

i'll not miss you this time.
how i promise,
how sad it is.

i'll not miss you this time.
but the minute i return
it all slides back,

to rack
and ruin.

smoulder

the lot of you
can have my rainbow
i've had enough for now.

take it, don't ask,
don't think i don't know
that you wouldn't, anyway.

steal it away,
give nothing in return,
i'll not fight back, you know.

just enjoy it while you can,
and wait,
for one day,
i shall come back for it.

this one's for the girls

This one’s for the girls
who laughed and danced
that day on the beach
screamed 70s songs into the wind
and snuck past the ferry conductor
for free rides across the harbour.

This one’s for the girls,
who worried themselves sick
over each other’s problems
and memorised books to help them cope,
listing loves and wants and wishes
and couples
on covertly exchanged
scraps of exam paper.

This one’s for the girls,
thrown together by another,
second best and knowing it,
bound by comfortable silences
and sprints in the rain.

This one’s for the girls,
who no-one ever thought
would work,
who could kick over sandcastles
at least to begin with,
but proved everyone else right
in the end.

This one’s for the girls,
who don’t know what they’re
missing out on,
or what’s to come,
who only know right now,
that if they share their insecurities
someone else will feel the same.

This one’s for the girls.

tire me out

I remember my mother being glamourous.
Smelling like powder, with her hair
blowdried out, around her ears,
ruched skirts swishing
around her ankles.

I remember my mother the way she was,
the way she should be.
Laughing,
entertaining,
playing.
Loved.

Now,
she is just tired.

for thunderstorms

For those who open their curtains
on rainy nights,
and stare out
into the pink-tinged clouds,
and dream
of dancing

on their decks.

For the double flash of light,
and the people who are missing it
for parents who know better
than their children
and for their children
who disobey them.

For the light at night,
bringing hope,
and for the people who stare up at it

and feel nothing.

plead

I am too much like my father
that much I know.

Too often I share his jokes,
too often I say his lines,
too often I wish he loved me more.

But please,
God,
don’t let me be like that.

Please,
God,
make me be
more like my mother,
not like him.

Because the more
similarities
she notices

The more
I remind her
of someone
once there

Then
the more
I see in her face
that she hurts.

and when she hurts,
so do I.

say please

talk





as though that one word
could inspire
anything
but awkward silences
and pauses.

like being commanded
to tell a joke
to be funny
to be yourself.

what can you possibly
do,
but the opposite?

silence

Silence
like nothing else
can tear down boundaries
and rip
the hearts of those you love.

Open doors
and lift up bridges,
finally let you
drop your head
down to your chest
or rest it
on their shoulder.

Silence, like the time between
clocks, ticking,
slowly passing
you by,
from chime
to chime
or breath
to breath.

Silence, my old friend,
silence,
that dreaded enemy,
silence to be cut with a knife
like tension
drenched in icing.

Silence in sleep
or in waking,
or best of all
in that forgotten state
somewhere in between
where dreams become
memories
and fears switch over
to dreams.

the only thing

the difference between me and her
is that i am in this for the words
while she is in this for the glory

stories

How much of our lives are shaped by the stories we are told?
And how do we have any of our own left, after we have been told so many?

stupid

i don't want to ever be to you
what you are to me
right now.

loathed

how can you be so stupid?

help

it’s so much easier
being on the other end
of a computer
where no one can see
your face.

but so much harder too.

to be or to dream

I always, always, empathise with the dependable one. The one with their head screwed on tight, their feet planted firmly on the ground. Never with the one who has too many dreams, who longs to chase clouds. Funny how in most couples, there's one of each.
The problem is,
I don't know which one
I want to be.

oh to be alone

To live with ghosts requires solitude.
But to live in solitude requires ghosts.

i was gone

Did you miss me while I was gone?

Funny thing is, I think you did.

Want to know something even funnier?

I didn't miss you.

promise me

'I'll be okay,' you say.
I believe you. Of course I believe you.

Of course you will.

But what about me?
Will I?

float

I feel strangely disconnected today, as though something major is missing. It's as though I am floating, somehow, as though the anchors that usually hold me in place aren't here.
It's a strange sensation, one of almost loneliness, but at the same time I'm not alone.
I'm not entirely sure why I feel this way. People who I normally see were missing today, but there's no-one I could put my finger on. In fact, the people I would expect to miss the most were around, and still I feel like this.
It's not like I had a particularly bad day or anything; in fact, by normal standards it was quite a good day. No internals, no real work, no homework due or horrid teachers to deal with, a nice evening surprisingly well-planned ahead. I even had hot chips for lunch, which was a completely unexpected bonus. But still. It's strange.
Perhaps it's the book I'm reading.

overreact

overreact should be a song
'cause it's all that's playing in my head.

overreact
overreact
overreact
overreact
overreact
overreact
overreact
overreact

until i can't hear
what it means
anymore.

us

i can't believe
how blind we are.

how we look at them and scathe
and laugh and mock and look away.
how we listen to them and look astounded
as though what they have is so ridiculous.

how we act as though we're so superior
so above so beyond reproach.

when if you peel us back, layer by layer
underneath we are the same.

underneath, they are no longer them
but us.

for the only thing holding us apart
is whether we scathe or not
and how deeply our secrets are buried.

slide

i’m beginning to feel
as though you are some kind
of slippery yellow slope
that i am slowly falling off.

once we sat together
at the top of the slide,
your hand
in mine.

me

how come all of my poetry is about you,
when almost none of yours
even mentions
me?

at my feet

my mother’s hair
like raindrops
falls in pieces
to her feet.

my sister’s tears
like cursive ps
fall, dripping,
down her cheeks.

my father’s dreams
like pitbull’s teeth
fall, loathed,
down to the street.

drums

Isn't it funny how lyrics can take on a tune in your head, even when you've never before heard them performed as a song?
Isn't it funny how a poem can become a melody, repeating over and over through classes, to a beat all your own?

hate (an awful lot)

I hated my sister so much this morning
that I brushed my teeth for seven minutes straight
just to wash her taste out of my mouth.

I hated my mother so much right after that
that I left and caught a different bus to school
just to annoy her.

I hated Becky so much before school
that I had to walk in the cold rain
just to dry the tears off my cheeks.

I hated Olivia so much along with Becky
that I turned my iPod up as loud as it could go
just to block out my thoughts of her.

I hated the idea of a group of three so much
that I stomped in the puddles I passed
just to give me something else to be annoyed about.

I hated my maths teacher so much first thing
that I didn’t speak all period
just to hear her ask ‘are you okay?’ at the end.

It seems like I have an awful lot of hate in me today.

blame

I want to know
what gives her the right
to pass judgment on everyone else
to wish ill on everyone else
after complaining
when they did the same
to her.

I want to know
what gives her the right
to start caring about everyone else
only after they
have stopped caring about her.

and then to blame them
for that?
she doesn’t deserve
them.

power red

Right now my hair has this gorgeous, thick, earthy smell, which somehow doesn’t go away when I wash it, but instead intensifies. I suppose I have the henna to thank for it- although I don’t know whether it’s the henna or what is added to it. I think the best thing about it, though, is the fact that it’s a little reminder of the red every time I breathe in.
It’s a reminder that I did it, that I went through with it, and that my hair is now a bold, couldn’t-care-less red with a capital R. It’s as though my personality, normally hidden in a little corner of me has come exploding out of my head. I mean, I was always red before, but this is a different kind of red. Instead of being my old, natural, almost-brown red, this is power red. This is red I can draw on, red I can cry on, red I can depend on. This is red I can smell.

exit sign

I hate to say it,
but now-
right now-
I think if you
showed me
a door
marked
exit

i’d take it.

redbloodbluedress

Blue.
is the colour of
the blood
running through the veins
on the inside of my elbow.
Mrs. Burke says that
blue blood
is the blood which
has never been touched
by the heart
while red blood has known
that feeling,
so red
is the opposite of blue,
she says.

Blue.
is the colour of
the balldress
that hangs in the wardrobe
of our spare room.
It cost too much,
that dress.
I don’t have a date yet,
and I suppose that makes me feel
red.
But red’s the colour of love,
isn’t it?
Red’s a colour
that has been touched
by the heart.

Red.
is the colour of love,
and the opposite of love
is surely hate.
Hate is not,
I am certain,
blue.
But then,
I’ve been told
that the opposite of love
is not hate,
but indifference.
And indifference is definitely
blue-
cold and unfeeling and eerie.

So perhaps
they are right.
Perhaps blue is the opposite of red
and indifference is the opposite of love.

But I’m not so sure.
I still feel
like the opposite
of love
is hate.
Red. Red.

home

It's only when you arrive home,
and see that everything there
is the same,
that you realise that the thing
that has changed
is you

which shakespeare play am i?

Your result for The Which Shakespeare Play Are You? Test...

Merchant of Venice

You scored 41% = Tragic, 43% = Comic, 34% = Romantic, 33% = Historic

You are The Merchant of Venice. Set in the beautiful "city on the sea," The Merchant of Venice is a romantic comedy about a locally prominent sea merchant who agrees to take on a costly loan from a covetous money usurer in order to finance his friend's trip to Belmont to woo a rich and beautiful lady. When the loan defaults however, the merchant's life is at stake, but with the help of his friends, he is saved at the last second and everyone lives happily ever after. What your score tells us about you is that you are most likely a romantic person who is willing to go to extreme measures to help out a friend in need. For this, you are highly regarded and loved by many people. You may be a bit greedy at times, and sometimes you might even get yourself into a little trouble, but luckily you have friends that are willing to help you out in your time of need. We'd certainly help you out if we could.

Take The Which Shakespeare Play Are You? Test at HelloQuizzy

terrible metaphors

'The moon has an anaemic glow that taints the stars.'

An anaemic glow?

The moon is anaemic?

Seriously?

inside out

I once told somebody
that I thought sex
was the wrong way round.

I said, surely it’s the man
who should protect the woman,
who should wrap his arms
around her

isn’t he
the strong one,
and she the one
who takes shelter in him?

shouldn’t she be the one
who can climb
inside?

That girl looked at me queerly
and said
‘what, you think chicks should have dicks?’

and burst into gales
of laughter.

hands

norah had it right.
george was the best,
no contest.

guess she and i share an opinion
on the beatles,
at least.

but the others had it wrong,
about the holding hands bit?

i want much more than that,
please.

you'll never know

Darling, I'm so blue without you
I think about you the live-long day
When you ask me if I'm lonely
Then I only have this to say

You'll never know just how much I miss you
You'll never know just how much I care
And if I tried, I still couldn't hide my love for you
You ought to know, for haven't I told you so
A million or more times?

You went away and my heart went with you
I speak your name in my ev'ry prayer
If there is some other way to prove that I love you
I swear I don't know how
You'll never know if you don't know now

You'll never know just how much I miss you
You'll never know just how much I care
You said good-bye, no stars in the sky refuse to shine
Take it from me, it's no fun to be alone
With moonlight and memories

-Frank Sinatra