Are You Prepared For This Undertaking?

I stand and lean

Against

Ancient granite.

Ancient by the standards of my short life.

Another waits a stride away

Seems this is the place.

Who knows how many have done this

Who knows how many will after I'm gone.

She takes a step closer

And fixes her eyes my way

I look up and smile

She's looking past me

Which I'm glad of

This is a time of leaning

Not of interaction.

She takes a step closer

Still looking past me

We wait together

Though entirely separately.

I reflect as I write

And watch the people pass by In this cool, clammy heat.

There's no message here

Just narration.

Let's start with something easy

Or let's not. I write because the words speak to me, when they come, I stop whatever I'm doing to record them, it's like possession, it takes over and I lose control. But saying that, I like to write, I could never keep a diary because I think it was too regimented, but I've always enjoyed writing, for me. It's only recently that I've let people see this side of me, let them read my thoughts, which is essentially what it is. I guess some of what I write is pretty deep, but that's because I like to rant to get how I feel out of me, I can understand it more if I can see it, like a tangible reflection. Conversely, I write some random things that aren't deep. Essays, poetry, conversations, it's just how my brain deals with life. Anyway, welcome to the ramblings.

Do I exist if they no longer see me Am I the tree In the proverbial wood. Do they forget what they no longer view In the stream Like the fish within the herons shadow. Do I leave their thoughts Like the night As soon as the sun has risen. Am I out of my mind When I am out of theirs Was I out of mine To leave.

Questions of waiting

I find myself In a waiting room The real life Purgatory Realised With seats And nonsensical material With which to 'entertain' And pass the time. I'm Not free And not Accepted, Imprisoned, perhaps, But Just there. Between a boy And a beast Perhaps they symbolise me Perhaps that's why I find myself between And not beside. When they call my name Will we all rise? Or will they be left behind?

Breath

She's only happy in the sun Or in bed My bed We inhale Hold Exhale Push our souls out Through our mouths Share the light And the darkness Share the space Between our touch Feel All there is Care and care not Drifting with purpose.

Marian

That kind of look that just breathes "I know what the fuck I'm doing, And you want it, You want to know". It captures me At the basest most innocent of levels. She stands Forever still In black and white. This wolf at my door.

Closed, go away

Too much duvet In the way Thinkings not allowed We're closed The mind opens at 10 Come back then Wait outside if ya have to Just don't expect any Privileges for being keen Sharp as a stone The mind opens at 10 On The Dot Just five minutes more Just five Minutes more

Subversive social commentary

...we’re fucked.

I'm finding that as I get older Getting older feels divine Now I don't believe in the divine There's just no better word to describe The feeling of age in my mind Now sun is dead ahead And the road is behind. I'm being blinded, Is this the cost of freedom? Too much coffee And not enough sleep Black. Light. Spots. Peaks don't help when Stars are staring you down And December is no place For tinted lenses

Let's talk about sex

I wrote this drunk, on my way home from god knows where. I guess I wrote it because of how hung up everyone (even me) gets about it, when it is the most natural thing there is, every living organism reproduces, we are one of the handful that enjoy it, so just fucking enjoy it.... Sex is not a goddamn performance. Sex should feel as natural as drinking water. It should not require confidence. Sex should happen, because the moment is ripe. Ripening lips, ripening labia, ripening cock, ripening pupils, ripening state of being. Ripe and augmented and brimming. Your energy goes to your pumping heart, then to every external nerve, then to theirs, on fire. You bask, roll, play in it. You sigh, moan, laugh. It’s not about being “good in bed.” It’s about being happy. One should never worry if they’re doing it “correctly.” Sex is not factual. I don’t want your cookie-cutter sex, I don’t want your meticulously crafted, calculated, fool-proof fuck. I don’t want a show. I want you. Let your instincts, urges and whims define that. It’s enough. What do most girls like? Forget about it. Statistics are meaningless when there’s only one. Hello, here’s me. Here’s you. Don’t worry about taking it too slow. We got time. We got infinite rhythms, combinations, possibilities. Explore each fuck. Take our time. We can do a different one later. Don’t worry about making me come. I’m here. Right where I want to be. I am overwhelmed by wanting; you don’t have to convince me. I want you because I like you. So don’t put on a front. Don’t taint this. I’m frustrated—it’s just authenticity I want. It’s originality. It’s passion. It’s joy. Don’t say that something I like is ugly. Don’t compare yourself to the rest. You will live and die with and within your experiences like everyone else. If someone thinks you are amazing, they are not wrong. Their universe is as real as any other; it is forged through perception. I don’t care if you accidentally slammed my head into the wall, if you slipped out, if my arm cracked, if the delightful pressure of your wet lips on my anything made a silly sound. There is no right way and no wrong way. “Good in bed,” what. You’re good in my bed. I’m pleased you’re there. I feel it suits you. Shove your technique. Let your memory swallow it. Fuck me like you’d fuck me, fuck me like you feel. This isn’t a test.