Do You Love Me, Or Just The Idea Of Me?

Do you love me,
Or just the idea of me?

I may be your ‘dream girl’
But I am real,
And that reality is different
From your fantasy.

How often must we fight,
Just to clarify
That you expected
Me to speak differently?

How many tears must fall,
Just to realise
That you expected
Me to be something I’m not?

If you love me,
Please drop your expectations
And open your eyes
To the real me.

My body has blemishes.
I will lose my temper.
I judge unfairly.
I get things wrong. 

I am not perfect,
No one is.
Unless of course,
They’re just a dream.

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

Abyss

Slowly
Gently
I realise
I am falling
Into the abyss
That I created

Why can’t you hear my silent screaming?

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

A System Of Inequality

We live
In a system
Of inequality

So utterly brainwashed
Into believing our failures
Stem from inability
To operate within the system
Not the system itself

But what choice do we have?

Who are we
To question
The very system
That raised us?
That fed us?
That educated us?

How can we possibly
Step outside
The paradigm
Of our reality?

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

A Moment That Will Never Come

It feels like
I’ve been preparing
My entire life
For a moment that will never come 

My body is tense
My mind is sharp
Yet I have nothing to do
With such focus

There is no enemy to fight
No emergency to survive
No monumental struggle to overcome
Nothing other than this day
And the next and the one after that

What glory is there to be found
In the daily grind?

How can I be proud of defeating
The mere anxiety of surviving the moment?

. . .

I crave catastrophe
And ache for the apocalypse

Not as a nihilist
But as a person without purpose

There’s little joy to be found in a job
Creating just to consume
Producing just to procreate
Done daily until death

I am a man without meaning
Readying myself for revelation

When survival isn’t assured life is serious
The useless artefacts will fall away
What actually matters will materialise
Focus will be forced towards functionality
Distracting decadences will be discarded
Leaving nothing but the struggle of life

Perhaps then I’ll find real purpose
Maybe existence will feel equanimous

. . .

How privileged
Am I
To lament
The ease of my life

I am blessed
To have never seen war
Or suffering

I am blessed
Yet that blessing
Feels like a curse of meaning

Without an enemy to fight
Without an obstacle to overcome
All this feels dulled
Life feels like a shadow
A mockery of everything I was promised

Thus I create my own demons
Faceless oppressors
That cannot be seen
Or overcome

Then I cry about my problems
Like they actually exist
Writing angsty poems
From a place of privilege

. . .

As a child
I learnt
Vigilance

To survive
I slept light
A knife under my pillow
Waiting for an attack

That attack never came
But I still sleep light
And have made my body into a weapon

I am still vigilant
Waiting for the attack
That will never come

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

Anger

My shame
At having you
As my father
Has become
Anger
Directed towards myself
For failing my children
In the same ways
You failed me

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

Sacrifices

I wonder if
On the day I finally
‘Make it’
I will regret
The sacrifices
It took
To get there

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

A Day Without Fear

I fear death
But
I fear dying
Having never lived
A day
Without fear
More

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

A Simulacrum of Thought

Every morning
I rise with the sun
Watching with awe
The soft vibrancy
Of cloud and colour

Each sunrise uniquely its own
Yet so similar
That its subtlety
Is often lost

A simulacrum of thought
Overlayed upon reality
Obscuring the beauty
Of the moment

How much of life
Have I lost
In this way?

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

Notice Me

I want you
To notice me.

Not for what I have done.
Not for the money I’ve made.
Not even for my art.

No.
I want you to notice me.

Me.

The man behind the artifice.
The man behind the smile.
The man behind the mask.

The man writing these words,
Knowing full well that you will never see them.

The man waiting for change,
Knowing full well that you are stuck in your ways.

The man who’s desperately seeking acknowledgement from a dry well. 

I want you
To notice me.

But I know you won’t.

How could you?

You, who was never there.
You, who looked the other way.
You, who set impossible standards.

You, who never wanted anything to do with me.

Isn’t it funny that despite all of this,
I still want you
To notice me?

Notice me.

Me.

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

Rate Me

Rate me,
Review me,
Like me,
Sub me,
Share me,
View me,
And make sure to come back to me.

Or else,
The algorithms will see through me.
They won’t show me
They won’t grow me
And thus,
No one will know me.

So,
If you like me,
And want to encourage me,
And see more of me,
Do this one small thing for me.

Rate me,
Review me,
Like me,
Sub me,
Share me,
View me,
And make sure to come back to me.

---

This poem is from the book, ‘A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken’.

Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.

Neurosis

I’m so neurotic
That I attempt
To dissect
Said neurosis
In real time

If you
Find me
Staring into the abyss
Chances are
I’m stuck in a loop
Debating
Against myself
Attempting to ascertain
The best way to relax

Knowing that
Undertaking that very attempt
Is itself not helpful
Yet I’m nonetheless
Unable to stop
Not until
I know
I have exhausted all possibilities
Of contemplation

And in the process
Exhausted myself
Enough
So that I can sleep
Long enough
To do it all again
Tomorrow

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

Life

I am just an ant
On a rock
Spinning in the abyss

Trudging through
Yet another day

Doing work
I can’t comprehend

At the whim
Of a queen
I’ll never meet

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

Let Me In

Let us begin.

Our goal is to
Discover the linchpin
The block, that once removed,
Will enable you to win.

We must delve deep within
And not shy away from sin.
We must coax out your grin
Then pull-in an alternate spin.
We must find a stand-in
For the thoughts that cause tailspin.

New thinking patterns
To underpin.
New psychological armour installed;
A thick skin.

Our sessions will won’t be easy,
Memories will cause chagrin.
But they will pass and you’ll be set free,
No longer needing to live as a shut-in.

With my help your mind will be sharp,
A vault secured from break in.

With my help your moods will change,
Your mind a heavenly akin.

With my help your resilience will rise,
Enabling you to take it on the chin.

No longer needing copious amounts of gin.
No longer lamenting a body not thin.
No longer hostage to the trauma din.

Just a new acceptance of your reality,
One with safeguards built-in.

All you need to do
To begin,
Is say yes and
Let me in.

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

Leave

something innocuous
i’m triggered again
i know
it’s not your fault
despite how it feels
there’s nothing to be done
but leave

alone again
triggered by memory
unwarranted actions
taken against you
in a moment of passion
there was nothing for you to do
but leave

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

Just A Fiction

My entire sense of self
Is supplanted
By that one undefinable feeling
Of a nothingness with substance

A heavy emptiness
Filled
With a choking void

The screaming silence
Of a statue
Suffocating under glass

Even in the moment
When his hand
Struck my face
It didn’t feel real

Even in the moment
When she exposed herself
And approached me
It didn’t feel real

Nothing has ever felt real
Except the feeling of unreality

My entire life
Feels like a play
Just words in a book
Only real
When it’s read
And then quickly forgotten
The trauma downplayed
Because we both know
it’s just a fiction
Created for your entertainment

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

i step off my mind

i take
a breath

a queer emptiness
descends

the desire
to speak
dissipates

the unseen unknown
returns
to focus

i step off
my mind

adrift
in the play
of consciousness

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

I Fear Your Apology

What would you like from me?
What would you like to see?

Perhaps the perfect child for me to be?
Or perfection for me to embody?
Or for me to be on my knees and plea?
Or perhaps a sign of glee for every statement you decree?

If I were older,
I would flee.

I long to be carefree. Instead I’m stuck, as a perpetual draftee, with the esprit, of one who can foresee with accuracy how the future will play out under your marquee.

I fear your anger spree.
I fear your birch tree.
I fear your apology.

I fear your beastly personality, screaming ‘let me’, while spittle oozes down your goatee.

So,
with everything you warrantee,
this little pee wee is forced to agree.
Forced to embody the inner nobody,
mute the enquiry,
deny the depths of reality,
and become your humble devotee.

Here,
I made you some tea. Just as you like it, with the perfect amount of honey.

Would you like anything else from me?

---

This poem is from the book, ‘A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken’.

Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.

i drift

i drift

away from you
and
from the parts of me
that know i am drifting

only later
do i see
my wake

i hear your words
i see your pain
i know you’re suffering

logically
i realise
that you
need me

it doesn’t help
me to connect

i drift

painful realities
dissipate upon arrival

i drift

directionless
and
devoid of meaning

a raft
without a sail
oblivious to nature’s whims

i am corrupted
by
the act
of forgetting
the act
of forgetting

the pain
is saved
for later

i drift

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

Here Lies My Head

There’s something wrong with my head,
Chaos overwhelms when I pull the thread.
Nothing’s real and my rationality’s fled.
When I turn inwards and face the dread.
Mental landmines impact my tread,
Realisations growing like bacteria bred.
Answers to questions best left unsaid.
Like how come what happened in that bed,
Is less confronting than what was said?
Or why you were all silent whenever I plead,
Whenever I withdrew, and whenever I bled?
Or who would I be were I not shred?
Dead or alive, it all feels the same,
My vision clouded red.
Fed lies and shamed, misled and blamed.
Instead of love I was led into fear.
Crossbred reality with fiction, with you the godhead.
My anger disparaged, an outburst unread, just a hothead,
Stoking the fire of my heart, molten lead.
Left me burning, a stomach warhead.
Left me confused, with no cred
‘Ability to explain my pain, or why I spread
Myself around for anyone’s gain, or why I wish for anything else instead.

It’s time for a re-tread. To face the dread of the bed and what was said. To destroy the godhead, to pull the thread, to get out of my head, to retract the mislead, to remove the lead, to heal where I bled, to put onto the page all that’s unread, and to forgive the boy who couldn’t have fled.

Here lies my head.

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

He Accepts

He accepts the world as it is
Never asking for much
beyond a smile and a hug.

Unruffled by change,
Volume, voice, or visage.
He embraces you for who you are.

Happiness is never far from him.
Small accomplishments
yield disproportionate joy.

Just a look will change his entire world,
And in doing so cause
His unfiltered response to change yours.

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken