hayleybee

have a little upper have a little downer have a little fast have a little slow round and round the chemicals swirl and the colours and the gushes of water, infused confused the slicing of a lobe or two in two happiness is not emptiness or nor is it the growing empathetic and eversomundane expression on my face sure, i can still catch snow flakes on my tongue , sure i can still pray to god (God?) and wonder why i'm trying to forge belief whilst trying to convince myself I can't be who i am I cannot be this..walking talking, lives in the suburbs is the average kind of sketch me out and cut me out teenage girl with woes a

the rags of rain-eaten jeans and scrapes of mud-trodden boots on tired bus seats, in the cold clarity of early morning [i blink until my eyes glaze over i blink until my eyes well up i blink until i am believing I blink at the ceiling] dreaming not of it nor you whoever you may be whatever it nothing can lift my eyelashes droopy as the rain-clouds i can see through the facades through the lies and through the mask i paint the future scale in beige and blue and black and 2.4 and 81 and a house in the 'burbs 9-5 maybe all for this journey sans destination the cliches spider-webbing over my head over my face to

[I can’t make the 24th of November, I have English class] I smash windows I litter streets I leave the worlds lined up on my table top and every orbit is mapped out in my mind I made everything but I am no creator my dearest I am writing verbs over and over conjugations and you are greeting the world with ink on your fingertips I sprawl my name on pages and pages and your arms my arms pink and blue and red i am lost in the illiteracy of poetry and les romans so for the meantime let me be your voice every melody every harmony every cynical laugh and every fake smile echoed, twice repeated because i want t

the beams of the moon are nothing to rays of sunshine, cold sunshine the stars shine natural fairy-lights illuminate christmas month stamping feet littered streets, receipts and carrier bags and twinkling on the lamposts in the trees the cynics with their smoky-street coffee and bitter laughter the children on a knee and the dazzling glitter bows the believer and the alter and the crosses and the prayers and the belief politically correct, the winter festival dawns a month [or two or three] early in shop windows, adverts television screens ...and to a new year of brokenorkept resolutions job changes, exam headac