Excuse Me, SirSo my hair is a little messy today,Excuse me, kindly, I'm not in my best heels today,I apologise in advance for not being on the ball today,I had a very restless nights sleep, sir,And that is why I was late for my train which left without me, you seeIt's hard to sleep when everything weighs on your mind,But I couldn't find an excuse, I wouldn't have thought you'd see it as an excuseI'm not ill, not got a temperature, I've not had fillings, and my blood pressure is down, todayI've not had a doctors appointment, a dental or the physio,Just bloodshot eyes, lava lined eyes, pink cracked mosaic eyesI woke up this morning a different person, todayI spent this restless night, thrown around my double bed, it's empty now, todayI felt fine yesterday, my hair was tied up,I let it down as I cried into the cushion, when he shut the door behind himExcuse me, my eyes are a little downtrodden todayHe walked out on me, just left, and that's why I'm here like I am this wayIt's not an exc
'Hug'The smell of cocoa vanilla, of faint cigarettes and of youDiffusing into my mind, catalysing every last endorphinI hold my breath, scared the next will disappointEyes locked shut, faint smiles, gripping armsMy stresses extradited, perspired, squashed between usYour heart rate slowing down like mine, slowly knocking against bonesBones, hugging bones, arms over lap and I cup your back,It reminds me of memories, of faded, untouchabale memoriesOne more second, of this momentary companionshipTo remind me I am not alone, even when I'm told that I'm not, and promised that I'm not,I'm tired of being solo, momentarily beaten by this world,Just for these precious few seconds, these quiet, glorious, moments, tells me in five hundred words, that I'll never be alone.
RunawayKindly rewind, kindly play back the morningKindly remind her where she's going, and where she came fromTip toes delicately land on each step,The occasional creak slows down her stride,She moves like a ballet dancer across the hallway floor, opens the door, lifts the latchAnd closes it behind her, quietly, so very quietly behind herBreathe in, she does and disturbs the morning blueThe sunrise has not graced the leaves and trees with its morning dew,It is still fast asleep, in god's pockets while she walksNo need for iPod, no need for sound at all,No need for no more delegating, she slowly picks up her strideHer trainers gently tap the pavement, again and againHer limbs are light but with clockwork motion only heavy machinery could imitateShe's concentrating on each breath, each glorious breathRuns past petroleum stained puddles, and locked out dozing catsShe soon hears faint engine noises, the rubbish lorries are early for onceShe sees a faint silhouette of the postman,
The power of delusion.I am the exception and I live how I love,I live low, aim high and strive for far and far aboveI'm caught, I'm yours and you treasure me dear,My radiance explains why you're wanting me here.I'm confident in relighting our little old flame,I'm brave in looking at "us" like it's a game,I play this go, and shake my hair nonchalentlyAnd we look to the stars, of who we are now and who we will be.I am the mountain flag you've been climbing up to for days,I am your ocean deep, I'm the tide, the glitter and the wavesI'm your Eve without the apple, and your princess without a crownI'm the mirror that reflects the sun, your world is apparently brighter if I'm around.I am sitting in this garden, wild with roses and of bees,You're climbing strong but getting tangled within all the treesI'm on top of Kilamingiro, near the stars we used to knowHolding it close..fooling myself, I tell myself, "just, let it go".Truth be told, you're not just a gameNeither my reserve or an insurance cla
Why I don't like librarians.It is in her absence I sit in Penny Jones' chair, I sit on it and swing myself childishly as I scan her desk. I get up with a sudden ferocity, and scan the files above her desk, they are stored in old cardboard boxes, in shoe boxes and such other vintage storage systems. I walk around the raised mezzanine, away from the sight of the partners, of the directors and of employers and walk away from the desk towards the boxes of books. I flick through her notebooks and try to picture the woman whose name is written on the stamped unopened mail.Her desk is fairly untidy, there are books stacked infront of a prehistoric computer, one afternoon I tried to start it up in need to check the office diary, no network, no the computer had only just discovered colour never mind wireless. I imagine Penny to be frustrated at this, to have whined playfully at the partners that she doesn't see any new technology, and that she is shooed away. Although she has a point, her pristine smile gets h