Dear Diary

 

Dear diary,

today I feel low. Not because

anything has happened,

but because nothing has...

Loneliness is a shadow that creeps in,

a puddle ever-expanding. Before you

know it, it is wrapped around your toes,

and starts dragging you down.

 

Like gravity then, it pulls you in.

Every footstep becomes

heavier.

Where before you'd bounce,

now you slouch

ever lower

to the

ground.

Until you're crawling

like an animal,

begging for scraps.

 

And I want to call a friend, but then

I don't have many of them. And to call

would make me a burden, so I just stare on

vacantly at the wall, whilst all around, my

sense of perspective starts to fall.

 

Dear diary, it's been a day

and still I'm slumping in the grey.

I just can't lift this gloopy mood,

it seeps over every surface,

like school days glue.

Everything I touch just turns to dust,

and I feel my mental state

has already started to rust.

And I'm flat, like a tyre punctured by glass.

And I want to call, but I have no attire

and I'm tired at best.

 

Dear diary, I feel great. I got a call,

must have been fate - just one call,

that's all it took. Inspired me

to open my eyes and look.

 

See, I'd been asleep,

same as I'd spent most of these days,

just spending my hours in between dreams.

And then a buzz,

a vibration from my phone,

a call - my eyes opened.

Alert. focused.

I left my home. And

whilst I may have been

awkward, and slightly low,

the laughter lifted me,

and slowly

that mood started to grow.

So now I'm buzzed. But stupidly tired.

I'll retire to bed, I'll need a lie-in.

Overstimulated

 

I stare at your face, every soft curve

perfectly in place, your hair, every one

of its millions of strands elegant, a frame

for beauty, and I stare, with eyes glazed.

As your lips raise, I realise you're speaking,

and I regain my focus - those softly spoken words,

a wish of a dream, a kiss on the breeze, a drifting

lullaby of memories to be...

And the sound of the room

comes rushing in like a flood.

Every splattered laugh, every cough,

every gasp, every whisper, every over-excited shout,

the fruit machine in the corner, coins rushing out,

a cacophony of copper, a glass dropped,

a car alarm goes off. I feel myself shudder.

 

And I tune them out to focus on your sweet tone.

 

And you lead me along a road of so many stories,

fantasies, a travelogue of fantastic journeys,

and I walk every step. No, I dance. Because they

sprinkle spring in the heels of my feet.

A season of rebirth,

as the lush thoughts grow.

But the glow of the lights

pulls me back - the blinking

of the fruit machine, the reflection

of light in clinking glasses,

the movement, the discord,

 the flowing crowd of human rain.

It sounds strange, but it brings pain,

too much stimulation in the brain.

I'd be better in a computer simulation,

a hologram of my own creation.

 

And I breathe in. Your soft perfume

teases my nose, so delicate, gentle, loving.

A summer glade on a perfect day, I picture

rushing waterfalls and rosemary, a lush green

field, a blanket where we can lay, and wait

for eternity, and never feel time getting in the way.

But then I sense the scent of sweat and musk,

the overbearing aftershave, the waft of Lynx deodorant.

Did you use a whole can, young man? I'm stuttering

over my drink, I can barely

 

Think.

My brain can't seem to

 

link thoughts any

 

more.

 

But I'm drawn on your words.

Little scrawled doodles,

and I wish to be a painting

on your walls, a portrait that you

can look upon with pride

and love in your eyes, like I feel

when I look at you

and see such beautiful skies.

But I'm distracted, the waves

of this ocean are making me seasick.

I'm better company when it's just me

and some soft music.

 

We could escape. If you'd let me take your hand,

we could walk in the green, feel the grass

and the gravity, watch the stars playing with

love in their eyes. We could breathe.

And I'd liken that to a perfect eve.

The sort that makes the world we walk on

weave the air with fairytales.

We didn't ask

 

We didn't ask for this,

to feel everything, to be

awash with so many emotions,

all at once, to feel our skin tingling

with every spasm of rain that hits.

We didn't ask to trip over the

same object every time, even when

we are staring at it, or the bruises

from walking into walls, when the

door seems to move from its hinges

and step out of our way. Like a tree

uprooting itself and walking away.

And I didn't ask for every straight line,

to curve when I walk along its spine.

 

I didn't ask to have so many questions

rolling through my head, or so many

moments where I fear I've said something

wrong, because my mind can't connect the signs.

 

I didn't ask to see every blade of grass dancing,

or to be able to count every face in a room

before I've even sat down - not to mention memorising

the directions to every exit, every potential threat,

every bead of sweat dripping,

or the clammy feelings in my palms, as I plan

to wash my hands for the twentieth time.

 

I didn't ask to need to explain how I don't like

potatoes, and the blank stare that comes

from this - the texture gives me the ick.

Or how the cold makes my limbs cramp

harder than they ever normally do, or how

I will search for a cup of tea and end up

writing a book because my mind ventured

elsewhere, and I still don't have that cup of tea,

and if I did, I'd have to start again as it will

inevitably be too cold after 5 seconds of

sitting away from me.

 

I didn't ask to have a kitchen full

of overflowing cups, and a library

full of my own books.

 

I didn't ask to overanalyse every conversation,

trying to recreate every intonation to see if I

misread the whole situation, or the signals being

sent. Did I misread them? Were they written in

invisible ink? Did I look into your eyes for too long,

or not long enough, did I come across as moody

or too upbeat? I didn't ask for any of this stuff.

 

I didn't ask to sit alone because

I can't pick up the phone to say

"Hi, I need someone to talk to."

Or how I can't hang up that talk

when my energy has walked away

and decided to curl up and nap in the

corner, only moving to clean its paws.

 

And I never asked to feel so tired

when all I've done is say hello.

But is it any surprise when my whole

body has so much to do?

 

But it is who we are,

deer on awkward limbs, memory sieves,

in brains full of conundrums. We just are.

And that's the beautiful impact

of every comet of thought that falls.

We are enough, we are more than enough.

We are star children born of another universe,

the stardust of the heart,

somewhere far from fear. Far from here.

But close enough to hear its beat.