contradictory

i wish i were less brittle than i am
"sensory overload, everything's turned up to 11, please don't bother me"
"get the fuck over yourself, this is why you have no friends"

and i think i'm sick of people depending on me for everything because i don't have all the answers
and i think i'm sick of myself depending on people for everything because they don't have the answers
and i think i'm just fucking sick

i'm freezing cold but too lazy to heat up my coffee
i'm never hungry
always tired
never wanting to do anything always wanting to drink always wanting to walk until i collapse
i don't want to see anyone but i can't stand being alone
that paradox always always always

fuck

You wish don't you

What if I liked it
The way our legs intertwined
Lover I love you

sestina

The crisp autumn air seeps into my skin as I zip through the park
I could never negotiate riding bicycles when I was young
As I ignore the pain shooting through barely used muscles in my legs,
I breathe in a faint scent of grass and dog, fresh, new
For once in my life I don't think to check the quickly passing time
My thoughts alternate between two concepts, one being keeping my balance

It is only when I can finally be alone that I have my life in balance
Wandering the city, hungry and alone, taking respite in any old park
Compact London quarters, I sweat and dread the passing of time
Only now do I understand what it is to feel both old and young
And only now do I feel like I have a chance to start off new
Not teetering between acceptable and wrong, standing on shaky legs

There are little things I miss about him -- his laugh, the sturdiness of his legs
He is his most confident on a bicycle, cutting through seats, a study in balance
Our conversations are disparate but friendly, hours spent forgetting what's new
I wonder how he'd take London's lack of leaves as autumn corrodes Hyde Park
I wonder about a lot of things, a future as murky as this new London, still young
A snag in my pedaling, I've lost my footing -- why does learning have to take time?

No, I haven't seen the Tower, nor the Changing of The Guards -- at least not this time
I don't know if I could keep up with the crowd, really, not with these short legs
Why am I so lethargic all the time? They say youth is wasted on the young
I am the biggest waste, delusions of grandeur between thoughts of my bank balance
Or the status of my course work, or lamenting on why I cannot parallel park
I fall into the same patterns -- no matter if the atmosphere is new

It's been a week since Eleanor arrived at work, making me no longer new
She fretted, knotted with nerves, but I told her she would learn with time
When we lunched she raved about her new home, how Bath has a riverside park
I envy how she can bike for miles without crying, the sculpted nature of her legs
And she is so much older than me life-wise, work and play keeping perfect balance
In America, university is the perfect way to stay and be considered young

Near head on collisions, the risk-junkie speed demons can tell I am young
The neon sign strung round my neck, "can't you tell I'm new?"
In sync with the hipsters and school children, protest pedals to regain balance
From Hyde to Green, no man's land, different rules when it comes to time
My skirt's too short. I don't own tights. Acutely aware of pale, flabby legs
I don't remember the last time I felt unguarded in public, in the park

The machine of London fails to balance the deficit of old with the influx of young
I find sanctuary in the theater, in the park, in the anonymity of what's new
As I long to slow down the passing of time, the dread of home I feel in my legs.

when you were sweet

when i didn't waste my time writing poetry about a boy man person who didn't care
i was an artist once
and i fancied myself the best one that existed
as i scribbled on cardboard and hot glue gunned bottle caps and was so creative
but really
i just wasn't very good
i'm not good at much

there was a time when i thought
that i would make a wonderful wife someday
perhaps not in a kitchen but beside him on a plane,
pinkies linked as arizona reaches for different borders,
"there's only one road and if you're stranded you're fucked"

i think i've missed something here

so what do i do really
with my love, so clumsy and rotund
when he turns away from my kiss and sweats palms up
i fancy myself the worst artist in the world,
for i draw and draw but cannot get the shape of his nose and i am not creative
i'm not very good
i'm not good at much

around a figure eight

how the fuck can i be
platonically in love with someone
i mean honestly what is wrong with me
never have i met someone so stupid as i
awake at night wondering what i did

the moments when:

you want to wrap yourself in who they are
lying staring at the sky on lawns, discarded coffee cups
and it's not about suggestion, that's out of the question
but they smile and laugh that awkward laugh
and you're alive for the first time in weeks and weeks

and i am:

staying up writing the most awful poetry
i should know better, i wrote decent shit today
in love with their words, so different from my own
and i try and try but the words fail me, fail to describe
at least the focus is shifted this time around, not elsewhere

and i know, i know what you're going through well
because i am so fucking in love with all my friends
and i want to wrap myself in who they are
when i am lying outside, inside, wide wide awake
and i feel the stupidest amount alive, just enough