rhyme game

sucking on a rhyme

spending money like time

flipping the dime

float in the brine

i’m not all mine

and everything is a sign

seven ate nine

but eight acted fine

the stars align

i break when i shine

too early to dine

but not for some wine

panicking in the pine

nearly at the shrine

a dainty design

i’m gentle and kind

and that makes everything

a little benign.


being young is weird and fun

Being young is weird and fun. And the initial discovery of romantic love is a memorable malady.

Taking those first steps into the conscience, the feeling and the aching, feels so natural. Little do we know that each step is breaking through the crisp illusion of the world being a nice, easy, happy, loving place.
Eventually we fall through the once thick facade of childhood. Eventually we learn to stay afloat in the abyss of reality. 
This sounds like a dramatic reference to a first love/heartbreak, but I do think that it is the first time we feel feelings which is responsible for splitting the image in two. 
I was thirteen, hiding in the curtains backstage, watching his shadowy face from afar. He was very eccentric and people liked him, but nobody saw him the way I did. I saw an absolute gem of a fifteen year old boy – unlike anyone I had watched or heard before. It is lucky that we start out so brave and unaware, or maybe we wouldn’t risk it. 
We shared a scene in the play, and I used the opportunity to tell him my name. I remember the absolute sweetness that shone through my little voice as I asked him his name. I must have had some impact, as on opening night, he held my face in his hands in a very unscripted way.
He played guitar and sang at a very ‘hobby’ skill level. But it was amazing because he was just so weird. He sat up on stage at the school talent show and introduced me to Under The Bridge. There is nothing remotely off-putting about the feeling of a crush or even first love. It feels like a flawless feeling which has a very simple path to follow. You really want to feel it, and the unrequited part feels transient. 
I added him on Facebook and spent way too much time learning his life inside out. He cultivated his strangeness so bravely. At least it inspired me to be a more real and strange version of myself. 
Six months after the first meeting, and after many one sided conversations, he talked to me. I had discovered mascara and a primitive form of the art of attraction. We met for a school lunch, which marked a first terrible kiss and a hasty entrance into a partnership, which he heroically ended three days later. I was swept up by absolute confusion about how unpredictable the world could be, when it existed in the form of another person.  I didn’t give up on paying him endless attention, but he made it clear that he would definitely never love me back.
Another six months on, I had become someone he wanted to spend time with. I was a bit broken, not so sweet, and I was imbued with the invaluable touch of reality. We met after school and sat in strange places and the conversation I had with him existed on another plane from that with my fourteen year old associates. Sixteen was the pinnacle of maturity.
Another six months on, we kissed in those places. I didn’t always start the conversations and as we passed each other at school, we were strangers, with familiar gazes. At this point in time, I was a dream. Emotionally broken enough to need someone to heal me, but naive enough to be really eager and throw myself into everything remotely dangerous. 
Another six months on, we were meeting after school. The way I could communicate with this person felt like the most intimate thing I had done. There were so many reasons (in the form of other people and fear), that our very strange friendship was restricted content.
Another six months on, he had grown tired. After two long years of  back and forth, we stopped. Totally broken, totally hopeless, totally bitter.
A year on, we met. Everybody liked him now, he was cool-strange, and had a girlfriend. I couldn’t speak to him, and all I felt was expectation.
He move interstate and over the eighteen months after that, he sent occasional emails about how magical my memory was.
Two years on, I had spent a lot of time alone and was so strong and unbreakable, that I agreed when he asked me to meet him. We did so in one of our old places, and we talked but not with the honesty and vulnerability that youth allows. We didn’t kiss. I didn’t want to.
That day made me realise how rare it is to be a real person and find real connections with other real people. I didn’t want to touch someone or something that didn’t feel real.
Then we never spoke again. I don’t miss our friendship, I don’t miss our communication, I don’t ever feel like talking to him. I don’t wonder about him or what he is doing or how he is, and I think I would only feel slightly strange if he died.
I went from being a child, to a mess, to a real person in the time that I knew him, and he only fits vaguely into one of those periods of time. And it’s definitely not now.

Love: soul or circumstance?

i feel like love is often pretty easy to fall into, but it’s only with time that you realise why it was easy.

was it easy because somehow you managed to find someone who matched your soul, even part of it, at a particular time in life?


was it easy because you found someone who fit neatly into your life’s circumstances?

was love for your soul or your circumstance?

maybe they were there because you felt the same things at the same time, or they understood how you would respond before you responded,  maybe they knew how you felt without having to say it, maybe they loved your art, or it felt almost as easy as being with yourself when you were with them.


maybe they were there when you were lonely, or when someone else had just left you with a big gap to fill, maybe you were both in school, or you lived in the same street, maybe they had a car and an apartment in the city, maybe it just seemed too simple to ignore.

sometimes it’s a bit of both. a bit of being lost in circumstance and found in soul. a bit of being lost in soul and found in circumstance.

does any of it last?

is any of it supposed to?


how to feel better about love lost

the last time i broke up with someone was 4 years ago

since then i have either been heartbroken or in love, and i’ve become pretty good at both

maybe too good at both

too good at being heartbroken because i am drawn to remember fondly

and too good at being in love because i stay in love when i shouldn’t

in these states, i have done a fair bit of thinking and panicking that it would be impossible for me to stay emotionally intact if my ‘heart’ did not contain traces of some significant other

i have come to the conclusion that loving and missing are intensified by the compensatory aspects of a lover – the parts of you that are underdeveloped or missing entirely, seem to be the parts of them that shine brightest

it’s so comfortable to feel complete, without having the difficulty of actually addressing the parts of you that are incomplete

in this way, i find it helpful to identify these aspects and focus on them

how can i be everything in myself that i love/d in another person?

how can i nourish the aspects of myself that i feel i am missing, and search for in another person?

is it as simple as the fact that you love/d how they played guitar?

is it as intrinsic as the fact that they distract/ed you from feeling unsettled within yourself, by giving a strong sense of external reinforcement to compensate for the lack of internal reinforcement?

could be either, could be both

regardless, find it

and grow it.

it’s called heartbreak

so you start to feel happy in a way you’d like to always feel happy

but it makes you simultaneously nostalgic because you know it won’t last

with this, comes a sense of pressure to engage with the happiness while it is there – you want to feel more, be more, have more, write more, create more, be better

yet this high level of motivation and inspiration is paired with a hurry which makes you stressed

you feel a sense of such enormity which ultimately feels trapped inside you and nothing feels significant enough to express it and let it out

i know how it feels to love something but feel nostalgic for it because you feel the end before it comes

in this way, the love is intensified by the allure of nostalgia; you love and mourn the same thing and the same time

there’s nothing to soothe this contradiction, as what would be right for the nostalgia would be wrong for the love, and what would be right for the love would be wrong for the nostalgia

i think they call it heartbreak

and the sad thing about this feeling is that it’s not reserved for parts of life, but it comprises life

i am in love with life and simultaneously nostalgic for everything i have that will end – the end of my self-relevant world and the perishing of this vessel that i have ultimately been completely contained within

this is what makes me emotional for the everyday

it makes everything beautiful and gives everything immense importance and significance.

reactions and distractions

sometimes i feel like nothing more than a cluster of reactions and distractions, to and from my specific set of circumstances. i feel like i have no baseline – no stable, unshakable core person. i am just a culmination of reactions and without their antecedents, i am somewhat undefined.

if i took away the antecedents, would i feel different? what would i notice, see, feel and be if i had nothing to react to for a while? would i be bored, lonely, stressed, confused? who would i be in these states? who would i be if i was not solely comprised of how i react to my life? and who would i become if i was not distracted from my inner person, by my outer environment? do my circumstances simply keep me busy and distracted from my core person, by giving me something to mindlessly put emotional energy into?


does anyone know what i mean?

ha ha

someone else

so nervous to love you

lying in the dark

on the floor

pants off, shirt on

wondering why i am here –

whether i’m in love

or heartbroken

i told you

“it doesn’t fit”

and you were nice

but i saw it as a metaphor

that i wasn’t allowed

to be in love

with someone new,

someone else.