Michael

For all the times when my body wasn’t mine,
Please remember
I was just a vessel,
A pathway to something better.
I had room to grow,
I was still this cookie dough
That legends talk about.
All I could do was
Resist and pout.
Now I’m not better,
And I’m not worse either.
I’m the same vessel,
With a little more stuff in me.
I still have room to grow,
And will probably do so
Until there’s no more room left.
Then this vessel won’t be as deft,
And things will spill,
And that’ll no longer be a skill.
Spillage becomes louder,
Spillage becomes death.
Spillage becomes chowder,
That’s when I’ll lose my breath.

London

And it took me ages to get home,

In a city I would’ve never thought I’d call home.

This is where magic happens,

Where I’m equally invisible and very observable,

Where you could walk without getting anywhere,

Where you could go without getting somewhere,

But where places are home everywhere.

You can walk on the Southbank,

Imagining how it feels to swim down the river,

Or you could go south the Thames, where all the fancy people live.

You can walk through Camden

And taste the wild side,

Or go to the museums and galleries,

And find that life is on the palm of your hand,

Listening to you, feeding you, tasting you…

I know I’m home now; I’ve stopped missing myself.

Legacy

And all of this time I’ve known about the brevity of life,

How special, tiny and scared we are,

How little we matter

In an ocean of feelings,

How big we are,

And how small are our healings.

I knew that you’re leaving,

And somehow it made sense.

But I am still dreaming

Of days that are less tense,

Of days when you’re here,

Your legacy unforgotten,

Of days when I’m happy,

And smiling more often.

Displaced

It’s difficult not to feel displaced in an apocalypse. Somehow, for some of us, things are the same, but for the rest of us, things have shifted immensely. The worst thing is that I don’t know which group I should adhere to, and somehow this brings a grave calm to my falling in love with me.

It’s not a restart, not a continuity. For me it feels like a pause from all the urgency of life. I’ve put the world on hold, and I’m rummaging through old memory boxes, and reliving things I didn’t have time to enjoy or grief at that moment, and I’m taking my time to think of them, feel them, heal them.

At last, the world isn’t loud anymore. At last, things are not life or death anymore. At last, I’m here.

Bangs

All of the bangs I’ve had
They weren’t loud,
They weren’t tasty,
They weren’t mornings,
Nights and dreams,
They dissipated
Without disrupting,
They left a shadow
Without leaving marks,
They left a traces
Without leaving a scar.
All of the bangs
They didn’t give me power,
They didn’t give me pushes,
Love and gushes,
They gave me bitterness
And loneliness,
Without giving me a safe space.
They gave me wars
Without winning a battle,
They gave me sorrow
Without winning me a smile.
They gave me everything but me,
And everything but you.

Animal

I have a habit
where I love you so much,
I stare into your eyes
and they’re so deep,
and yet you never liked them,
and then I have another habit
of dreaming of you,
but loving me more,
and these two loves keep fighting each other,
and only one will win.

Wonderwall

Some time, all that will be left of me will be rain
and maybe wasted dreams,
wasted breaths,
but above all else
the smiles,
the tries,
the times it took for me to grow.
And some time, all that I am
will be enough,
and you’ll look at me and laugh,
because what else can you do
when I’m here with you?