get bigger

oh, there's a poem 

in this irony

that I'm dressing up in silver 

and gold glints 

each night

and feeling like 

the biggest fraud

feeling weak

feeling dull in my eyes 

soft of voice

barely able to cope with the day itself

shedding tears before breakfast

like I'm a child back at Uni

crying my way

through my un-favorite thing 

failing only because

I think that I'm failing

my body always betrays me

it won't let me lie

I can put on a face

but my body will yell the truth

until everyone is listening

and me -

reveling in my humiliation. 

In the end, everything is beautiful.

life.model

It would seem
they're all
watching me but
actually, I'm watching them
whilst they're all distracted
with thinking they're
watching me.

post-meditated

When I open my eyes afterwards, the world is washed in a metallic cyan. I'm that sleepy kind of alert which you feel after sharing skin with another person. I can hear the world with immense clarity: the silence of empty space amongst the gentle wave-like crash of cars, the creaking of swings holding small bodies in the playground next door. The surface of me is breath-held still against the bright white air. Blood and atoms are rushing through my insides. I am an Arctic stillness with a powerful undercurrent. I am potential and possibility. I am with only myself, and myself is embedded in the world.