Letters to Myself

You know,
I've written the letters to myself,
incoherent, messy, torn.
They chart a story
that winds around my wrist
and writes out missing pieces
in my heart, in my mind
in the very body which contains
no soul. It writes out pain,
anguish and loss.

But you'll never see this.
You'll never read
my letters to myself.
Because they are broken
and incoherent and messy
and torn.
And you wouldn't understand.
You wouldn't, you wouldn't
see the words the way I do.
You wouldn't get my story.
You wouldn't see it my way.

Who am I?

I forgotten what it's like to be truly alone
where the only problems are the ones in your head.

An Introducion

Forgive me for not properly introducing myself. It didn't occur to me that I needed to but clearly it was a bit rude. I apologise.

Hi. I am anyone. I am every person who passes you by, every person you have only briefly met, every person you didn't even notice. I am every person because I carry a story and that story carries a narrative - be it prose or poem or a grainy photograph. I am every person who carries an unlikely story.

So look around and wave because I'm standing right there, waiting to meet you. I hope to see you soon and when we do meet, you might realise that I am you.

How One Shall Go

Talking under the covers
we talked about where we'd go
and how we'd go. Standing on edges
of platforms on London's Underground,
walking ignorantly into Oxford Street
(not looking both ways);
we talk about what we'll leave
and never get back;
we talk about families and friends
and who we will hurt the most.
We talk about us
and how we think we will go.

I trust you

I trust you to tell me a lie.
I trust you to do so because
I know you will.

I trust you to hide from me.
I trust you to do so because
you know you are wrong.

I trust to run and hide
and to be always afraid.
I trust you to disappear forever
when I find out you've lied.

Deeper

Keeping Old Clocks

I put away some time
and paperwork
to love you.

I face my fears
and insecurities
to hold you closer

But you still keep the old clocks
and boots which trod muddy grounds
to keep me at arm's length

and then,
you get angry when I go.