I reread what I have written before.

Endlessly amazed by my new beginnings.

Wake up, shed a layer of skin.

Try again.

I spent 6 months last year trying to be warm-hearted,


I tried it for you and the stars in your eyes.

It fit like a too-tight shoe.

Cramped, painful, claustrophobic.

Wake up, shed a layer of skin.

I wanted to want to be held in your arms.

I wanted to want your love.

But it made me squeamish, uneasy.

Wake up, shed a layer of skin.

What happens if I’ve shed the last layer?

My exposed and frost-bitten heart wonders if maybe we’ve taken this too far.

Wonders if maybe there is a way back to the security of your arms?

Wonders if maybe transformation has lead us in the wrong direction?

Wake up, shed a layer of skin.

realize you are alone by your own making.


All or nothing


I’m a sore loser

but my heart is the gambling kind,

upping the stakes until there is no where to go but down.

Glutton for punishment, perhaps.

I muse

with the lights low and a rapidly growing void in my chest

contaminating my ability to think logically.

A pessimistic dull thud spreads through my veins,

tells me it is time to cash in my chips.

Pride pleads a different case.

Pride’s hungry, icy hold is unfaltering. Do not let go, it urges.

Maybe if I tried harder? Bet more?

It is a rock bottom realization:

The house always wins.


Words I should have said sooner.


To wake up one day and realise that I am

not in love with you.

Worse, to realise that I did not

wake up one with this realisation.

It has been there

for weeks.

I ignored it, questioned it,

explained it away

except that sort of thing,

feeling nothing, wanting nothing, needing nothing,

that sort of thing doesn’t go away.

It is a hungry, gnawing ache that demands to be felt.

I don’t mean to do this.

I won’t mean to break your china heart.

Arson. I won’t mean to burn it all to the ground.


But this is what I do.



How will you know you’re in love?


“I’m going to say it before I have a nervous breakdown waiting for you to say it.”

Shuttering breath. Reverberating silence in my lungs.

“I love you”

Three words

I lap up like water in the desert.

Words that make botanical gardens bloom on the tips of my fingers.

Make me wonder if, possibly, I am slipping into a black hole.


Make my heart teem and overflow.

My heart is responsible for the currents and tides.

Love feels

As easy as turning your cohesive matter into individual, excitable atoms.

Love feels

like your heartbeat in my eardrum. Still not close enough to satiate

my greedy heart.


With the universe swirling madly through your veins,

coursing, molten magma

how could you not know?






“You’re hands are so warm”

I say

What I mean is “I probably love you”

The words rattle themselves fiercely against the inside of my scull,


pinball their way through synapses

As electric as the currents fighting to keep my heart beating a regular rhythm.

The unsaid words creating a fine chaos of my inner workings.

You hold your hand over my heart.

I fear the words will sear through my ribs and

singe your hand.


I swallow the words

to the bottom of the galaxy in my chest.

Bury them amongst stardust and supernovas.

I kiss you deeply,

hoping you can taste the universe on my lips.




I can’t help it.

I know but you don’t know I know.

The oppression and misery that follow

stings like that damn cactus that I cannot water without

impaling myself on.

You know that feeling too.

You know fear like a churning sea

a dark stormy heart.

You know how to compartmentalize.

How to take your rainbow spirit, your sizzling creativity,

your magnificence and shrink it to fit in to the palms of those with

small, hateful minds.

You know how it feels to be made small by others cowardice.


If I could travel back  in time

I would go back

7 years and 4 months to that dark car, in that parking lot.

I would hug you and tell you that you are every star in my sky.

You are light and power and have always helped me to see possibility

I would tell you that nothing matters but my whole heart full of love.


My regret and shame is unending.

How does one go about healing a damn cactus wound?




The door opens and it is far too cold for my exposed knees, bare toes, naked thighs.

My Arctic Monkeys tee barely covers the delicate thong I put on. For your eyes only.

Your smile, sleepy. Your eyes, unbridled.


You open your arms to me and I slip in to the warmth of your parka.

Breathe the last 5 hours off your skin. Fingers laced in your belt.

Pulling you as close as I can.

You tease a pattern in my hair knowing that drives me wild.

I kiss your scratchy jaw line. Your lips. your ear lobe.

My lips can’t seem to get enough. Greedy.

I might happily stay here. Wrapped in safety, sanctuary.

I pull away. Bite my lip. Cast you a farewell smile.

Immediately missing your heat.

I slip in to dreams of you just as carelessly as I slip in to your arms.