Thursday, March 31, 2016

you are loved

the gentle wrapping of a tender wound
smooth out the band-aid
soft embrace
"you are okay"

a sombre sigh accepting sad sentiment
the reluctant understanding
warm empathy
"I won't make you stay"

the contagious smile stretching wide
joyful laughter chimes and entwines
golden souls
"you made my day"

a vulnerable comforting delicate caress
 rough insatiable intimacy
confess breathless
"It's you I want anyway"

the compassion clutched hand held hard
tears streak black down cheeks
vital life saving sympathy
"here for you, always"

Then Cry

it's better to laugh than cry
at least that's what I tell myself
at most what I convince everyone else
it's my coping mechanism of choice
manipulating the circumstance to not shed tears
but instead rejoice
at the sad hilarity
the series of unfortunate events we've called life
but funnily enough it feels less like a safety net
and more like a double edged knife because it's what I tell myself
in the midst of darkness humour creates light
although it often shines a little too bright
cruel irony at its worst
and finest
tell me how can you solve a problem when you struggle to see to find it
I lost where the sadness ends and laughter begins
what a mess I have made, look at the predicament I'm in
a pile of puzzle pieces sprawled on the ground
searching with anxious shaking hands no edge to be found
relax it doesn't matter, laugh it off you're the class clown
crack a fitting joke don't fix it if it ain't broke
but that's what it is a flawed sense of hope
a picture is worth a thousand words often misread
when it's an image of a smile people are often mislead
the hidden message ignored, the cheeky cheerful grin adored
they are absolutely enamoured with my silly sense of humour
telling me it's such a useful gift they wish they had
I attempt to explain its not all it seems it's mostly a
depressive destructive contradictive fad
they mock me
in eye rolled disbelief
"but you're constantly laughing,
you can't be sad."

Wednesday, March 30, 2016

When I Grow Up

tiny ringlets of brunette baby hair curl gently around
pink rosy cheeks on soft pretty porcelain skin freckles
speckled dots of evidence of sun drenched exploration
infantile eyes wander the garden every crack and crevice
invites inspiration a sparkle shines mimicking the night
sky young lungs fill with ease the air clear and painless
to breathe juvenile mind untouched naïve imagining all
of the things and people she can one day be baby girl
this world is your playground run wild and free honey
when you grow up tell me what do you want to be believe
nothing is out of your reach the education system is key
sweetheart no pressure but please make a decision right
this second your future is on the line your quality of life
threatened try harder to twist and contort to fit in this door
no no no you're doing it wrong look at that your grades are
poor fistfuls of hair ripped at the roots stressed dull pale flesh
beaten bruised self blame to blame this is all of my fault
sixteen years of age now this isn't a game like before no time
of day to dream any more no night to sleep classes failed rinse
and repeat day in day out the constant weight of defeat crushed
spirit balancing learning life becomes a joke a juggling act trying
too hard to squeeze into their small mould of high As & Bs they
yell 'potential' repetitively gripping my shoulders attempting
to compress and condense me to fit you have potential they
say throwing the word in my face as if it could exist in this
prison restricted to a textbook script inside of their box is the
only place allowed for thought think for yourself but wait not
like that creativity is nice but be smarter at science and math
confidence destroyed insecurity out grew my weight and height
lacking motivation for life the future no longer looking bright
so pray tell little girl what do you want to be if you ever grow
the childlike twenty one year old sighs "I don't fucking know"

Wednesday, March 9, 2016

crushing on you is like

crushing on you is like
a paper cut
from my favourite book
I hurt every time I pick up the paperback from where I last left it
thrown onto the dirty ground
spine bent
pages stained, sprawled
but my hand repeatedly reaches to read the same words over and over
the same sentences strung string around my already constricted chest
I foolishly grip the worn out dog-eared novel hard in my fist as an
attempt to keep it all from falling apart to keep the thin torn text
together to keep it together just fucking keep it together
I can't
tiny tears of salt melt
they fall they drop heavy
stinging the raw wounds
I know I'm only to blame I know this is all of my fault
I know I'm hurting myself a masochistic mess
no there isn't a method to this madness
it's just simple pure unadulterated self indulgence
I suffer to feel to feel something anything everything nothing like this
is as addictive as the storyline spoken with your voice in my mind
the cover wrinkled, worn battle scarred finger tips leave an impression
I highlight the best bits like a shameless open confession
the scent of old novels brings warm familiar comfort yet creates chaos in my head
the chapters are named after all the sweet sinful things you had said
if only I had the idiotic intelligence
the self destructive smarts to burn books
to numb myself
to leave the words on the page
to watch tv instead

Thursday, March 3, 2016


hi, wow, it's super nice to meet you
but please before you speak take the
time to read and reread and reread
these terms and conditions
and sign here and here and here
I know your eyes will scan over the fine print
don't make that mistake no, this isn't a contract
merely a disclaimer, or perhaps a warning
that the unassuming 5'3 20 something
in front of you is more than the red lipstick
bleach damaged hair and short skirt
walking mel stringer artwork that
you can see with your own two eyes
I need you to look harder and please
please read carefully

if you flick through the pages mindlessly
you're going to miss the crucial parts all the
in depth gritty details you must know in order
to kind of sorta maybe understand why and where
and who I am even though I don't know either
because I'm painfully indecisive
or am I? I can't decide that's the reason why 
I thrive off impulsive spontaneity but
I haven't done anything that I regret except
letting self hatred and insecurity stain and
steal my teenage years away I swear sometimes
I still feel that poison seep back into my mind
my fingers fight their hardest to write promises
to never hurt the skin on my body again I have
replaced physical self harm by etching cute
and colourful tattoos deep into soft flesh
a lipstick and dagger decorate the side of my leg
like a picket sign of aggressive femininity I like
to convince myself I'm tough even with tears
welling in my eyes threatening the winged lines
sharp enough to kill a man, ten confirmed dead
if only I wasn't so forgiving and damn sensitive
but that's who I am a sweet sour strawberry like
the one on my forearm as bruised and red as the
open broken heart on my right sleeve did I tell you
I'm irresponsible, vulnerable and naïve
have you signed here and here already?

you'll wish the pink glitter ink was erasable like
lead once you get to page 33 detailing just exactly how
difficult it is to be around me please accept my
sincerest apologies in advance I might forget what
you literally just said I can't help the mess brewing in my head
with an imagination so vivid and creative fooling my heart into
crushing on made up ideas of people and places it tends to
blend fiction and reality I try to stay grounded as much
as I can sorry did you say something again?
physical affection is how I show my appreciation I
would prefer to hold your hand and no I won't send
the first message unless I have something to say despite
being easily excitable and overly opinionated I communicate
better with comfortable silence and although you may not
hear from me please keep in mind I will forever and always
care mumma once described me as a mood ring because of
the ever changing shades and colours of my hair but it rung
too true I feel I feel I feel too much of everything all at once
only made more overwhelming with a slight mercurial personality born
on the fifth of the tenth a little quirky INFP libra baby I identify
most with the fictional manic pixie nightmare girl clementine
just a fucked up girl looking for her own peace of mind with
a gift of self-aware sense of humour the talent to giggle at the
misfortune of myself I have been told my laughter is
contagious are you keeping up, are you reading all of this?

scribble your initials and date just on this corner here if
you feel up to the challenge of keeping up with me no
not like trashy reality tv but more like a weird mockumentary
although sometimes flaky and introverted and yes
the number of flaws is of equal or more to the number of
freckles like little stars dotted on my pale skin sky I am
celestial with the warmth of the bright sun a body round
thick fiery full of silly contradictions and misplaced good
intentions making the mistake of seeing only the best in
people because that's what I give to them even if they don't
deserve it like a gift delicately wrapped with a silk ribbon but
I can only promise bad puns and poems and perfume that
will linger for far too long on your clothes and sheets
I see your hand shake a little with apprehension sorry
is this all far too much for a first time meet I guess I just
believe it doesn't hurt to have a little or maybe a lot of
transparency oh and I should also warn you that my scent
doesn't ever really leave and in this time I have already written
in my head a blurb for the story starring you and me and I have
already memorised the curves and lines of your signature to forge
forget I said that last bit
my name is courtney
what's yours?

torn between
what is right
what I want

Tuesday, March 1, 2016


do you ever think about the thin red string
we both tied around our adolescent ankles
knotted by inexperienced hands and whispered promises
are you as curious as I am to follow it?
but what would happened if we meet again?

would we suffer through painful small talk
like how my day was just fine and how
your career is still adding scars to the hands that
shaking and nervous once held mine
would we stand in awkward silence or would it
feel as familiar as the four walls of my bedroom
that are stained with tears and every memory
every hug and laughter and 'I love you'
every eye roll and bicker and 'don't touch me'
or would it feel slightly different like how
the furniture placement isn't what you'd remember
my hair colour lighter and face relaxed
but I wouldn't care to talk about the weather
my lips would be impatient and trembling to
spill in great depth everything that happened
after the day you left
like how I finally achieved the things you said I would
and that I have done things I swore I wouldn't
physically I'm not much different but boy, I've changed
I would word vomit everything I ever wanted to say
except I wouldn't tell you that every single time
something happened you were the first in mind
that the death of a pet was the day I almost called
and the date my nephew was born is the same
as your anniversary
would you smile and tell me
how much happier she makes you?

would I be able to speak at all
or would you just sneer in disgust
at the person who trapped you for far too long
in a relationship that did more harm than the cigarettes
you were so persistent you never touched
and I tried so hard to believe
even when your words
were exhaled with thick smoke
did this begin to feel like a heavy chain
like a life sentence you never asked for
like a burden, an anchor in the shape
of the girl you were in love with
I cried the day I felt the need to tighten the string
too blind to see it had cut your blood circulation
I promise my intention was to never hurt you I
only wanted to keep you where I thought
you were supposed to be
there aren't enough words to express
the remorse and guilt for being
part of the reason
you found it so hard to breathe

my legs twitch eager to follow it
because it's sometimes too difficult to accept
that I will never be able to ask the questions
which fill my chest and scratch at my throat
desperately trying to escape for the answers
I know you won't have and
you won't be able see the faint bruises on
my neck from every time I have roped
the red string like a makeshift noose
woven with broken promises in hope
for this all to just fucking end
and yes there still are times I want to spit poison
to burn you with angry words so that
you would feel a slither of the pain
you singlehandedly put me through
but more often I wish I had
the chance to apologise
to you, my first love, my best friend
to myself
I guess this is why it's almost like
I'm trying to write you back into existence
because if I follow the red string
still cutting into my flesh
my heart knows I will only find
the lonely frayed end