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.