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i like things now;

brushing my teeth, having a little sleep.

basking, asking for help,

unmasking, relaxing.

moderation, meditation.

relishing vegetation. 

hateration, holleration. 

i like birds, cherry blossom, empty blue sky.

i like having people to see and places to go. 

i like getting high and forgetting why I ever felt so low. 

Nbm

What happens if I just don’t eat?

On the proviso I resist temptation. 

One epic fast, how long would it last?

I’d die of old age before starvation.

The ides of march.

A resolute and solemn march. 

Winters bony fingers pinch my skin,

Slap my cheeks, flick my ears. 

The coiled spring desperately waits, holding back it’s potential,

A pregnant pause. 

Spring is an embrace, a kindness. 

Eager. 

Beleaguered cupped hands receive meagreness for half the year. 

Daffodils herald new beginnings, 

But more importantly the death of old things. 

In service of new growth, a brighter day. 

The violent murder of a dictator. 

Et tu, Brute?

Passenger princess.

You made it to your destination. 

All those years driving, striving for more. 

You had a wife to pay for. 

You steered your way into a nice career. 

Three cheers!

Big clap for the big chap,

Back slaps and that. 

You’re a winner,

Hold out your hand.

It’s a puppy and you’re both off to Disneyland!

Aren’t you lucky?

Must be a nice view at the top,

Cold though I’d imagine. 

Lonely. 

Shame there isn’t room for more than one up there,

if only. 

I hope the juice was worth the squeeze.

Lost paternity for an eternity on your knees. 

Wow, and all that for the low-low cost of your self respect! 

Oh, you’ve got none left.

I’d lend you some I’ve been keeping for you,

But wait! you’ve lost all that too.

It struck me the other day. 

We were both drivers,

I drove a truck, 

And you drove me away. 

Worth it though, eh?

Well go on, what are you waiting for?

What’s that, you can’t find the pedals?

No steering wheel?

Looks like you’re not in the driving seat. 

Never have been. 

A passenger,

Nothing more.

It’s your dentistry.

So stressed I need rest,

destiny manifested me jest. 

Love, kisses, and all the best. 

Blessed but not necessarily sharpest tool.

Been stressed since school. 

All those pointless rules. 

However, now I’m rested, 

I’ve invested time into space.

My shoulders have lost some weight. 

I’m smiling, on purpose, it’s great!

Alas, In my gleeful cheese I see some mould. 

A weighted blanket of agony unfolds. 

You have to tackle a few home truths. 

Trace the pain to the root. 

Pull out a few wiggly teeth.

I thought I only had one set of adult ones. 

It’s all lies, 

it’s teeth all the way down. 

It’s a wiggly tooth conspiracy,

I’d rather have no teeth,

Than, painful, ulcerated pips.

It’s the juice/squeeze ratio. 

“Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.”?

I don’t fucking think so. 

Mini me’s for tea.

I used to have some pretty scary thoughts. 

In a recurring dream, I would be attacked by an army of tiny me’s.

They’d clamber and climb all over me and I would grab them and eat them.

Crunch down, slurp the sweet coppery insides. 

Until I was full, and I’d disintegrate into a million tiny me’s.

We would charge towards a giant me and hope we would be the ones destined for dinner,

Sooner the better. 

My life is like that, 

Some days I’m the big one. 

Greedily enjoying myself at the expense of all the tiny me’s.

Some days the small,

Running headfirst into oblivion at the behest of me on better day. 

In a better mood. 

Less anxious. 

Less autistic, more masked. 

Who the fuck even am I,

or who are we?

There are a million tiny me’s that make up a big one. 

I don’t know which one is the real me.

Or if it even matters.

Maybe I am all of them, 

None of them?

Now, that’s a scary thought. 

Vitamin D

The sun shone on me, my skin, my scars. 

My clothes felt too warm in the warm car.

Such a beautiful way to remind me I’m ok.

You won’t need that brolly today. 

Can’t promise you won’t need it again, 

But you have it with you now, 

for when the rain pours. 

Like the horrors I endured,

Inured me,

Quelled but not cured.

Inoculated.

Took a few jabs.

Cross adults jocularly mocked,

Better pull up those socks!

You’re lazy.

Strangely, this one hurt. 

The effort I exhibited putting everyone first. 

Worse still, I tore pieces from my flesh to paper hairline cracks in other people. 

How fucking dare you!

Say that again when you know what I’ve been through. 

I’ve learned my lesson now though. 

Just say no. 

So easy. 

Look, 

No.

Further freedom from a far away father,

Some semblance of self esteem.

Whatever’s clever, see how it goes. 

No such thing as bad weather,

Just bad clothes.

Act your A-j

i b lx, lx&r.

i c u, u qt.

u r?

a b.

a b, 1 2 c n nml n a k-j?

Y?

d nml 1 2b 3.

Lx, lx&r r u 3, 3 2b u?

Y?

Lx s n nml n a k-j

Lxe 1 2 b 3.

Gaze anatomy.

I love watching tv, maybe some Chinese.

The food, not Chinese telly.

Perfect evening, feels right.

I really don't like going out at night.

It’s the people.

I can’t stand the sight of you; well, more the fact you have sight.

It's the eyes I don’t like.

the gaze, not those.

I’m not homophobic, just a homophone.

I’m scared of the glare.

It’s like staring at the sun,

I have to look away.

I think that’s why people don't like me.

I’m like a bull, huge and scared witless.

Shitting about with cunts baring witness.

I throw a 180, to protect these bullseyes.

I like to look up at the sky,

It’s more amazing than anyone can realise.

Fucking size of it.

It makes me feel small and safe,

anon.

Eyes don’t make me feel like that.

They make me feel huge, on show,

seen.

Perseverant in the pursuit of perception,

A familiar scene.

Windows to the soul, more like cameras.

Or little screens,

tiny tv’s.

Drugs not hugs.

I can’t bare touch.

Touching moments between friends, a celebratory embrace.

I can’t face.

Fuck off, it’s my space.

Space that is seldom enough for me.

My universe doesn’t feel vast, it’s tight.

A Plaster-cast.

You know, the ones that hold broken people together.

”Come on let’s have a hug!”

I hear squealed by one of those neurotypical twats.

A quaint insistence by an acquaintance invades my existence.

A hug, what the hell is even that?

So proceeds is a procession of squeezes to various degrees.

180 is my preference.

Why not a curt nod?

Contactless deference.

No difference to them, but all the difference to me.

In the meantime I’ve sought solutions to safeguard my solitude.

Invaders beware,

my beard is full of food.