as good as it gets.

i will say thank you
for the honesty
our conversation did provide

i will say fuck you
for the outcome
our conversation did provide

i will say i understand
because in truth i really do

i will say i'm fine
because in truth thats all you need to hear

i will say alright
because even if you dont believe the least you can do is pretend

and eventually i will say too late
when you realise this is
as good as it gets.

real things. part 2

one day
you will
realise
just how perfect
it could have been
had you actually
looked me in the eye
and said
sure
yeah
that sounds good

but until then
i'm too tired to go out drinking
pretending to actually like the company of the friends you keep
i'm too tired of pretending full stop

i'd rather be real
at home
making music
or listening to music
or painting
or drawing
or writing
or just being
real

the blue room

the blue room

is where we lay in slumber

lost in the space of each other

the sheets a mess of tenderness

smile into his chest

the warmth of you seeping into

this worn out mattress

as we fall into each other

full of some unknown endless hunger

i am in love

i am in love with the mere memory of it all

oh my beloved

you are mine

sweet blue room

sweet bedroom eyes

taken from my travel journal 11 February 2009

dug up by your neighbours dog.

you cannot fight history.
it has been
and will always be
as it is
as it was

it maybe disguised perhaps by some new change
or it can be hidden beneath a vast landscape of excuses

OR

it may be buried in the neighbours yard
where now you must only fear its submersion

heaven help the day

it's dug up by your neighbours dog.

untitled

she is having nightmares

about the dog that scared her face

and all i want to do is walk down green parade

and sit in my orange afternoon and smell the rain.

i looked at Australia today

and saw the burnt land

the dry leaves

and the bluest bays

i can remember being able to smell the rain before it fell,

the tight feeling of sun burnt skin

and salt water hair.

i am beginning to miss.

very much.

come sit by the fire.

come out of the night
and sit by the fire
it knows the story
you've not the energy to tell
after such a journey
through the storm outside

let you feet
sore and tired
warm inside your boots
let down the burden of your pack
and let your back stretch in this heat

the eternal furnace that glows before you
burns not only in front
but through you
reaching past your experience
to simmer your memories

the fire knows what it must be
to be you
it knows the road
was long and perilous
it knows you've seen more
felt more
earned and lost more
then one would like to recall

so come out of the storm
and sit by the fire
for it knows the story
you've not the energy to tell

the best person i could be.

i want you on my team

i want you to feel what i feel

i want you to understand

how it is

to be on this side

on my side

and yet

we are disconnected wires

crossing and fusing at odd ends

we are half lit up Christmas trees.

faulted and misused,

we are wasted and misguided.

and i cannot promise what i cannot keep

but i can attempt to carry this

i dont want you to see me as more then i am

for i dont want to disappoint

but this is no disclaimer

this is just a warning

what i want

i fear

does not exist

for us

but if it could

i would then probably be

the best person i could be.

watching our video.

it could be
10,000 years ago

that i left you.

yet i am watching that morning like it where an old film
on repeat in my mind

i can see my hand siring the coffee
pouring the sugar
and watching it spill
and disappear into the froth
twirling my spoon like a clock hand
counting down the minutes left with you.

kissing out of need and desperation
kissing a goodbye so bitter and obscure

i will not turn back
i will let the tears burn in my eyes
but i will not turn back to see
the number plate
dissipate upon the dry road.

drink. drunk. drink

why do we have to be drunk.

.to.

.get.

.close?

are we that unable to communicate,
that we must slur our meanings
and stagger over our questions?

must we disable our conscience so thoroughly
to share ourselves
without hesitation

gin spoke of sorrows

vodka made him approachable

whiskey had her seeming interesting

and tequila left him paralysed

.but honest non the less.

three in the bed.

my first boyfriend drove away in a yellow van.

he did not sing me love songs

and he could not empty the washing machine.

i think

if he were here now

he would be able to say he loved me.

because now i know

how to ask for what i want

and how to say thank you for it

i know how to let the argument slide

and how to reignite the pilot light.

sometimes i fear the memory of him

sits awkwardly in the room

for now there is always three in the bed.

untitled

she is pregnant

the little blue line screams at her

the sickening realisation pulses through her

so afraid

she sits and stares at the little blue line

ashamed and alone

she cannot admit it to herself

let alone tell another single soul

at night she lies awake

in fear but also in wondering

reaching down to hold the bump that is yet to form

she learns

that now

there is room only for love

in this space between the sheets

and the unborn

scary thought

it is a scary thought
your disconnectedness
finding rest in the beds of strangers
your warmed occasionally by some strange fleeting embrace
shallow intentions accompanied by short lived charm
your bedside manner Sir
leaves a lot to be desired

lost among your insecurities
badly masked by this air of uneasy satire
your inability to truly relate to anything
on more then an animistic level of attachment
becomes horridly obvious

BUT

i am not a journalist with the hard questions
i am the Au pair
the maid
watching everything swept under the rug

i will know

you will not know

the peace i know

the faith i have in love

love i will again know

as the innocence of my intentions

allows me to be

forever the child in your heart

i have no fear in holding your hand

i am not nearly as reserved

if i ever feel again

what i did for you

with another

i will be everything to them

that i never was to you

these two hearts

i am of two hearts

one that might

if allowed to speak

tell you of the love i harbour for you

somewhere inside my chest

the same heart that would long to unfold

and fold again into you

a heart that wakes

and sleeps

in

love

with

your eyes

voice

and smile

i am of two hearts

the other so full of appreciation

for the comfort your companionship provides

a heart so sure of your gallantry and grace

so assured by the sight of your understanding expressions

if

either ever have the chance

to sing out loud

i fear my love

you will run from this heart

run and not miss

either of them

the fire we all long to sit beside

there is nothing permanent about this place
there is room to
use
and leave empty again

so take with you the colours
the lights
and sounds
of all that make you smile inside
for YOU are the warmth of the fire
we all long to sit beside

to lean on

i have a garden
in which i plant things
that you will never see
in the quiet morning
i will tend the garden
and nourish the plants
you will never see
they will grow and die
returning once again to the earth
from which they had sprung
all the while you will never know
all the happenings of my garden
for you friend
are a tree no longer under my care
your branches grew wide and tall
and your roots struggled to fit
you once filled my garden with life and colour
the rich aroma of your leaves blanketed me
and i found comfort and relief in the shade your branches did once provide
but the sun filtered poorly through
and everything below and around
struggled to prosper
competing eventually for the light
i saw this tree die
from the roots up
my garden truly had no room for it
so now
there is a space in my garden
where you once stood
and as i water the pansies
that attempt to fill the space
you left
i remember the times i lent against
the strength of your mighty trunk
wondering if ever i will find another like you
to lean on