The Types Of Love

It’s cruel, this thing called love

It tears you half apart

And when you’re down, on the ground

It lifts up your heart

It tricks you, confuses you

Till you no longer know fake from real

These feelings and emotions

Are hard to conceal

Some people say it’s magic

And they are talking sense

How two people

Can stay together

Through the cracks and the dents

When you’re out in the streets

And a couple walk down the road

Holding hands, smiling, laughing

Carrying their daily shopping, load by load

But unrequited love

Is the worst kind

Tears falling down your face

And a song replaying in your mind

Knowing that you’d give

Everything that you had

To see that person smile

Makes you turn mad

It rips out your sanity

And throws it on the floor

But then you come back

Asking it for more

Because no matter how much

Your heart breaks in two

It will always become mended

Fixed with a powerful glue

As love is not a choice

A decision or a game

It’s purely fate

Only luck

That draws the next name.

Merry Christmas

So I wrote this poem

Just to say

Have a happy Christmas

A warm and cosy day

Bake some hot mince pies

The twinkle in people's eyes

Snow falling from the sky

Everyone's moods are high

Have a Merry Christmas

With lots of fun

Smiles all around

Gone away is the sun

Snow is here instead

Like cornflakes painted white

It drops out of the sky

All throughout the night.

Fairground

The merry go round

Moved in time

To the strong scent

Of cooked sausages

Whilst children chuckled

And chains clanged

The haunted house

In all its hostility

Invited people in

Purged them of breath

Toffee apples and

Tomato sauce

Enticed the hungry

And the sugar starved.

The Orange

At breakfast I tried an orange

The acid made my mouth swell

I threw it in the rubbish bin

And chucked the orange juice as well

That orange it made me so angry

My body can’t cope with such fruit

I moaned about it for the rest of the day

Until everyone wished I was mute

The rest of the day was crap

My sore throat and headache got worse

I’m beginning to think that that orange

Was poisoned, or filled with a curse. 

(Inspired by Wendy Cope's poem The Orange)

Science & Faith

Love isn’t science

And science isn’t love

But together, combined

They mix and match

The feeling of butterflies

Flying around your stomach

Cold clammy hands

And a flushed blushing face

This feeling is a trick

That we fall for every time

It’s disguised as love

But re-creates the human race

Fire in your eyes

It’s a biological scheme

Designed to make you feel

Weak at the knees

You won’t find heart and soul in the stars

But the universe is another matter

You can break everything down to chemicals

But your heart can still shatter.

(Inspired by The Script's song Science & Faith)

Oak Tree

The Oak tree stands

Tall and proud

Hundreds of years old

Was here before the town

How many secrets

Has this tree heard?

How many lines

Has this tree earned?

Perhaps a young lad

Tied a noose to a branch

Broke his neck in the jump

Left his death down to chance

A sixteen year old girl

And seventeen year old guy

Lost their virginity

Under the tree, drunk and high

This Oak tree knows

So much more than me

This Oak stands

Alive and free.

You Wouldn’t Have Guessed

She put her hair up in a bun

Applied red lipstick, mascara

Thick eyeliner, face powder, blusher

Her perfume was sweet, but

too strong, too much. Overwhelming.

When she walked out the door

You’d assume she was going

on a date, for a meal or a work do.

She bought a packet of Marlboro Lights,

lit one and inhaled the smoke,

popping her Prozac with a bottle of

Scotch whisky. She’d never liked

the taste. Sexist – but a man’s drink.

The bridge over the Thames

was busy with life, people – humans.

It didn’t take long to climb the railings,

ignoring the ‘We’re in your corner’ sign.

You wouldn’t have guessed. It was just

a normal day. But – it was her last day.

Passenger/The Step

Passenger

The train shudders as it streams along

A woman crying, a man asleep

The announcement “Next station – Fleet”

The smell of sweat, a window crack

This young boy, thirteen or so

Is on his phone, swearing – loud

The woman stopped crying a minute ago

The ticket officer appears, his face aglow

Sweat on his brow, in a musky cloud

A scent of unwashed body, dirty clothes

The pungent aroma of stale piss

The sound of laughter, a couple kiss

I hide my nerves, all the way to Hove

But when the train screeches to a halt

My inevitable fear takes hold.

The Step

The weather today is good

The clouds are light and white

The rain won’t come today

There’s no need for my hood

The autumn leaves are pretty

But not as pretty as my plan

I walk slowly – pausing for breath

Taking all the time I can

When I get to the station

I purchase a ticket for Fleet

Knowing full well it won’t be used

But I’ve got to be discreet

The sign above reads ‘Hove’

And my heart thumps with fear

Then I step out onto the tracks

And all the sadness and pain disappears.

The Problem

The Problem

The bruise on her face wasn’t

the problem, but hiding it

at work – people asked her

“Where did you get that?”

“What’ve you been up to?”

She’d have to lie – it was

the new dog, she jumped up at me

a bit too forcefully, or

I tripped down the stairs

and hit my cheek – let’s

go for lunch.

Change the subject.

The fractured ribs weren’t a problem.

Just walking like normal, in pain

“You’re so clumsy”, “Yeah I know,

It won’t happen again.”

The smack on the head wasn’t the

problem – just where to hide the body.

Phone in – “She’s not feeling well” whilst

carting her corpse into the boot.

A forty minute drive, the traffic was

a problem. The shovel, sweat, rain.

But when her boss needed answers

For his gain not hers, he rang

 her mobile, switched off.

‘Shit! Should’ve taken the battery out’.

The problem was becoming a problem,

so he took a gun to his head –

police raided the house, blood and brains,

found a note ‘I loved her.’

Eventually her body was found.

                                                              

Dug up, examined, confirmed:

that the husband wasn’t the only problem

but the lack of people concerned.

Jogging (The Dress)

I set off with good intentions

The time was quarter past eleven

It was hell, lack of breath

And not the glorified buzz of heaven

The trees and fields were pretty

And the dog walkers said hello

But I couldn’t wait to leave

Turn around, foot forward, and go

After I felt satisfaction

The sweat, the heat and the cold

And the euphoric natural high

Good endorphins, so I’ve been told

Although it was horrendous

I’ll have to do it again

If I want to look the part, a piece of art

And fit in that blue dress again.

Paralytic

Drunk words

Aren’t always sober thoughts

I don’t know why

I always get distraught

Smashing up my room

Like I’ve lost my mind

After too many vodkas

Peace is hard to find

Self-harm urges

Become so intense

Collecting packs of pills

I completely lose all sense

I don’t like who I am

When I turn to the drink

I don’t like what I do

And I don’t like what I think

Why can’t I just dance?

Smile, laugh and sing

I have now come to realise

Alcohol is an evil thing.

Fancy A Drink?

Do you fancy a drink?

It’ll make you feel good

Block out your worries

And turn around your mood.

A beverage does wonders

For the anxious mind

Cures the fretting

Leaves the sadness behind.

Alcohol isn’t evil

It doesn’t cause pain

And attending AA

Should come with no shame.

Because alcohol fuelled

My most darkest of days

It nearly killed me

But please don’t be fazed.

Whine

The Zinfandel won’t zest up your life

The Grenache doesn’t make you gorgeous

The Merlot never stopped your wife moaning

And the Shiraz won’t end your shyness.

Sauvignon Blanc isn’t a saving grace

And Pinot Grigio won’t kill the pangs

Chardonnay isn’t the answer

And Blossom Hill isn’t a place.

Echo Falls sounds so beautiful

Until you’re crying on the floor

Cause’ cold feet are better than Bare Foot

And Hardy’s won’t make you harder

When Jacob’s Creek is cold and dark

And Gallot just turns you shallow.

Stop whining and face your problems

Stop hiding behind the grapevine

Because you have to face your demons

You’re living on borrowed time. 

I Would Be a Serial Killer

The first time was the hardest

The anticipation and fear

Keeping watch – a close eye

Listening through both ears.

Once I got him sedated

And his limbs loose and soft

The slicing was quite easy

He gasped, sighed, then coughed.

The colour drained from his face

And his organs all shut down

He looked rather peaceful

Apart from the slight frown.

The cutting took a while

Peeling back layers of skin

The head was the easiest

It came off, while I grinned.

I got away with that one

I still don’t know how

But the second one went to shit

I blame that blood stained towel.

All was going smoothly

Until they found him in the bin

Well, just some parts

An eyeball and a limb.

The third’s the one with the hairy chest

But he’s still waiting for me

Maybe one day I’ll get out

But I doubt I’ll ever be free.

They say I’m a danger

To the public, and myself

They talk shit and feed me pills

To dull my mental health.

Now I lie here dreaming

About that scarlet tinted knife

And the one that got away

Still living his perfect life.

I was told I’ve a condition

Antisocial personality disorder

I would say I just like blood

And can be quite a hoarder.

The day that I get out

That son of a bitch will pay

He won’t see me coming

He’ll be looking the other way.

I’ll skin him like the others

And enjoy every second

Drowning out his cries

Until my ears are deafened.

But for now I’ll have to stay

And fantasise in my cell

But the world better get ready

I’m armed and I’ll cause hell.

Dominic

“Dominic, Dominic!”

I hear as I smile

The washing is on

Been on for a while

The cycle is spinning

The colours entwined

I’m waiting to hang

It out on the line 

House

A home to the ghouls

The skeletons in the closet

Skulls and bones with dead memories

And the carpet stain – lost deposit.

The blackout drunk nights

And the bloody faced fights

When you clambered into bed

Pulled the duvet over your head.

The food in the fridge

Some rotten and some squished

Between the shelves

Expiry date not far away.

On the worktop, a half-eaten apple

Decays in the sunshine

Some days this place is hell

And other days it’s all mine.

Made In Devon

I was made in Devon

Christmas party, 1994

Pink duvet, wine on the night stand

And discarded heels on the floor

I was three months early

A demon in disguise

Feeding off my mother

Almost causing her demise

My father was an engineer

Fixing broken taps in pubs and bars

But he couldn't fix himself

Hence the faded silver scars

My mother has two parents

Who were full of love and care

Teaching her to cook and clean

In case they were not there

I’m the first member of my family

To go to university, do a degree

But my family are so complex

There’s many layers under what you see

My Scottish Granddad

Beat my Grandma, left the home

And my epileptic uncle,

Grandma and Dad all alone

My other Grandpa, John

Survived the war and the bombs

Though his house was blown to pieces

He was in the shelter, singing songs

My Grandma was a chef

Feeding a hundred mouths a day

She still loves to entertain

Fussing and fretting in every way

I'm the black sheep of the family

The rainbow lesbian child

Although it took a while to sink in

And my dad became quite riled

My family are fucked up

But they don’t admit it at all

Acting upper class, prim and proper

Always dressed fit for a ball

I still remember the day

My father left the home

Suitcase packed, full of pills

Only moving up the road

Unanswered calls, frantic screams

Paramedics bashing down the door

To find him in a pool of blood

Slit wrists, unconscious on the floor

My mother loves control

She’ll tell me what to do

“Don’t eat that, you’ll get fat!”

“That’s a portion size for two!”

My crazy screwed up family

Half lower class, half posh

Some scraping by, day by day

Others rolling in the dosh

I'm a Munro, a quarter Scottish

And the other half from Hackney

I come from a time, that if I whined

It was okay to smack me

That’s the ugly parts of the past

Now I’m 20 years old

That’s half the story, half the book

But the rest I haven’t told…

Family Values

Laura wants a cat

but forgets to brush her teeth

Bobby keeps moaning

about hating corned beef.

Neil isn't much help

when he's snoring in his chair

or downing yet another beer

which really isn't fair.

I've completely had enough

of this domestic charade

so I've been seeing Jack

and he always gets so hard.

My bra comes off in seconds

my pants slide to the floor

he kisses me roughly

as I slam shut the door.

The room smells of sex

sweat, heat and cum

I don't feel bad at all

just breathless, sore and done.

Neil never fucked me

the way Jack always does

he put it in, pulled it out

in a five minute dreary fuzz.

He rolled over, grunted

and fell fast asleep

while I lay there disappointed

my clothes tangled in a heap.

I'm the naughty housewife

the fuck buddy, the whore

but Neil won’t be smiling

when I file for a divorce.

Meltdown

The tears come thick

And faster than ever

A Monday meltdown

Of self-doubt and fear

The worries haunt you

The world scares you

Everything is brighter

And faster, too fast

The people keep talking

The room keeps spinning

The sounds get louder

Your breathing heavier

You fall to the floor

Terrorised with fright

Wait for everything

To soon be alright.

Fighter

You think you're ugly
that your body is gross
you don't seem to realise
how beautiful you are

you don't know quite
how much you can survive
you deal with the pain
and take it in your stride

you never can see
your true reflection
you see a monster staring back
as you gaze in the mirror

you self destruct all over
again and again
never pausing to pat
yourself on the head

you deserve some credit
love and tender care
take my hand, look at me
I'll take you there.

Monsters

The monsters aren't fake
for your they're rather real
they're the sadness in you heart
and the pain that you feel

they hide under your bead
and come out at night
baring their sharp teeth
and put up a fight

they aren't ogres
snakes or ghosts
they're the darkness in your soul
the people who hurt you the most

they're your reflection in the mirror
your self confidence inside
all of the flaws
you try so hard to hide

the emotional scars
and red on your skin
trying to infect
your mind within.