The Beast

“Beware the beast,” she should have said, but fed him sweetness instead.

 

Oh the songs her heart really sang,

but he was her dream, she wouldn’t lose him again

She showed him her sweetness and love as she spoke, 

she told him the stories of how her heart broke. 

 

Now she knows, all that she should have explained, 

has landed on her doorstep, where dissension reigns

though he may not yet know it, she see’s the truth,

that one of these days he’ll be a story too.  

 

‘Brace yourself for disaster,’ the real world screamed out,

 but real wasn’t a concept that she knew about. 

All she knew was the beast, soft and tame at the start,

but searching for reason to be let out of her heart.

 

But because she can’t lose him, she’ll believe all his lies,

even if it’s not true it still makes her heart fly,

and though he says he’s not scared in the least,

she been there and knows there’s no taming the beast.

 

And nothing can stop it, for it there’s no death, 

it needs no sustaining, it has no use for breath.

It lays in her heart, somewhere deep in the black,

poised and ready for thrill, as it waits to attack.

 

And she knows, all that she should have explained,

it’s only fair to let go, but she wants him to remain 

cos he might be the one to soothe the beast that has risen,

although she knows in the end he’s just going to get bitten.

 

“Beware the beast,” she should have said, then fed him sweetness instead.

 

 

 

 

 

In Your Eyes

In your eyes my decisions aren’t guided,
my judgement skewed and faulty,
based entirely upon a perspective,
that you are unable to see.
In your eyes I have made bad choices,
my reasons for acting are wrong,
I didn’t think on you long enough,
I thought of me for too long.
In your eyes I am walking the wrong path.
In your eyes I have not tried enough.
I haven’t considered what’s better for you,
in your eyes I have given up.
In your eyes I’m unable to tell you
my reasons for all that I do,
yet in my eyes it seems you’re not listening,
because I’ve already explained it to you.
In your eyes I am not learning your way,
and that’s why I’m claiming heartaches,
in your eyes I have carved my own headstone,
in your eyes I am making mistakes.
In your eyes one day I’ll wake up
and realise how deluded I am,
and you pity me enough that you hope for me,
it’s not too late to start again.
In your eyes, you think I’d be better,
if only I saw it through yours,
and you know it would be much clearer,
I’d have risen above my own flaws.
In your eyes I am weak, wrong, incapable,
selfish and impossible to bear,
so I thank God for the fact I have my own,
and that mine are the eyes I must wear.

Stone Sandcastles

Her chest rose with the effort,
of breathing tired air,
thickened by a heaviness
that wasn’t really there,
it cloaked the streets, that heaviness
it muffled comforting sounds,
the grey of her mood reflecting
the sky and all around.
The buildings stood as though
they’d never fall in all their years,
her eyes, in turquoise prominence,
seemed brighter for her tears.
The sand blew at the water,
the waves, an angry squall,
tossed against the wind as though,
they had no strength at all.
Through all of it the buildings,
stood in greyed out solid stone,
emboldened against the bitter wind
by wood and steel core bones.
Their stalwart faces held against,
the gloom that slammed their pride,
unafraid, defenders of their
clinging billboard signs.
But even as she watched them stand,
monsters of steel and stone,
she felt the corners crumbling,
the solid facade thrown,
and tumbled into an empty wind
that was never there at all,
proof that unseen elements,
can force even the mighty to fall.

Damsel in distress.

They come to her aid with a wave and a smile,

To listen to aches of the past,

And comfort and ‘tut’ over meaningless stuff,

As she complains of a broken heart.

They infuse her days with reason,

And soothe what the previous displaced,

They promise to be there for the girl,

Who expects too much of the human race.

But, as the soothing turns to indifference,

And the cure becomes the disease,

That uncared-for feeling starts rising again

To impart a familiar unease.

Through her promises not to be fooled again

And her oath that she’s given up counting,

Unbidden, a cry rises clear from her heart,

‘are you coming to save me? I’m drowning.’

So they come to her aid with a wave and a smile,

To soothe what the previous displaced,

And they promise that they’ll be there for the girl,

Who expects too much of the human race.

Safe.

I guess we have all known a callous soul,

watched them play with lives outside their own,

been hurt by their relentless stranglehold,

and broken down, abused, worn to the bone.

So we come to building our defence,

and piece by piece we build it of our doubts,

quickly so, we don’t see the expense,

that what keeps us safe, keeps all others out.

We occupy the space inside our walls,

bearing our entire load alone,

better to be lonely than to fall,

better for the friends we’ve never known.

Still we choose to isolate our lives,

with elegant appraisals of the risks,

and shake our hearts free of any ties,

so what can hurt us one day, wont exist.

 

 

What I say to you when you can’t hear…

When I tell you to go away, it’s not because I want you to go away, it’s because I want you to prove that you wont.

No, you’re not going to lose me, but the only time you seem to care is when you think that you are.

“Because you would do it for me,” is not the right answer… I want you to want to be there for me because you care about me being ok, not because you feel like you owe me for all the times I’ve been there for you.

On many of the time I have supported you, I have disagreed that you were in the right.

I think you deserve the lonely life you’ve found yourself in, if you were serious about finding someone you would have cleaned up your act the first time I offered my help.

I’ve caught you out on more lies than I’ve ever told you about, but I’ve let them slide, because being cornered only makes you angry.

I am scared of you when you get angry, very scared.

I don’t hate you, I’ve only made you think I do, to keep you from hurting me again.

When I say I don’t miss you, I’m lying.

What I don’t say to you…

Sometimes it’s necessary to not say things. Even though you know you want to. Even though if you do things might change and possibly for the better. Sometimes we just don’t.

Maybe it’s because we are too scared to say what we really think, for fear of our confessions will make us seem weak or unworthy of the one we confess to.

Maybe it’s because we have already convinced ourselves of the response that saying what is on our mind would illicit.

Maybe it’s because we care too much for the other person and don’t want to hurt their feelings, or because we care too much for our relationship and don’t want to bring obstacles to the attention of the universe in case talking about them makes them more visible and in turn needing to be dealt with.

Maybe it’s our morals or ethics that keep us closed mouthed…

Or maybe we just know they don’t want to hear it. Maybe we understand that what is important for us is not so important to someone else…

Whatever the reason, it always seems so much easier to say such things when the subject of our thoughts can not hear them or is unlikely to read them…

In the spirit of this, here is a post from a fellow blogger I wanted to share with you…

What I don’t say to you….

I shall be back tomorrow for more of this… because it’s a subject that has captured me…

The boy and the starfish…

A small boy came across a beach full of stranded starfish dying on the sand. Diligently he started picking them up, one by one, and throwing them back into the ocean. A man came and asked what he was doing.

“I’m saving the starfish,” the boy proudly declared. The man shook his head.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, young man, but there are thousands of starfish stranded on this beach, one little boy like you isn’t going to make much of a difference,” he said.

The boy thought about this for a moment, then reached down and picked up another starfish.

Tossing it back into the ocean he said, “I sure made a difference to that one.”

Another Memory…

Did I give you up too easily?
Now you’re just another memory.
Remember when you told me of the day,
An old flame tore your heart and trust away?
Remember how you bared your soul to me?
All that’s just another memory.
Remember how you’d call me baby girl,
Made promises, and made me your whole world?
You inspired so many dreams in me,
But dreams are only made up memories.
I replay conversations in head,
Trying to ignore the common thread,
Trying to pretend I can not see,
Why you’re just another memory.
Remember when we walked along the beach,
I listened to your ‘I’m so sorry’ speech?
I forgave the anger and deceit,
Yet another bitter memory.
Remember how you’d pull me up to dance,
To try to buy yourself another chance?
I guess you had too many victorys,
Once again – now just a memory.
How many times did I beg you to see,
The girl that you once spoke to lovingly?
When all your charm dissolved in apathy,
I’m glad that’s just another memory.
In the end I gave you up so easily,
And now you’re just another memory.

You have to finish your novel…

That’s what my friend said to me the other day.

Apparently I have a habit of monologuing everything I do in a mystical narrator-style voice, using melodramatic adjectives and self created nouns. I don’t think there is anything wrong with that, obviously… but upon announcing how my soul was withering in the absence of musical accompaniment to a group of strangers we’d been talking to for only an hour, I was delivered a swift scrunched mouth look and a barely disguised sigh of defeat by my friend.

So I have decided I need to create some adventure for myself… something that can be written about and dramatised. Which shouldn’t be hard seeing as I don’t really exist anyway…

It got me to wondering how many people out there have stories to tell… and whether they’d let me tell them…