psh, women!

It's frustrating when women find only the aesthetics pleasing
only the shallow women like the pretty men
and shallow women are only skin deep
meaning they keep their skin pristine so i get drawn to them
though I'm not like them, they like other men, an indie scene
devoid of individuals tattooing the same symbols and partake
in repetitive rituals. This leaves the originals to be overlooked
which is natural i suppose, we live in a culture that's acceptable
of the sensitive men that in a sense has become sensitive-less
when they pick and choose what emotions they let in.
It's harder than ever to be yourself now when whatever state
you look from already has a million set-templates for you to
choose from. But this all begs a much simpler question:

If the pursuit of these women leads to frustration, why bother chasing them?
....
honestly.
I get fooled. Easily.
No. Honestly. It's vanity
Shallow women only like men who are pretty
and if a pretty woman walked down the street
holding my arm proudly maybe
i wouldn't feel so ugly.
In constant need of a confidence fix.
thinking some more flings will fill me.
Trying as hard as i can to not take my situation not too seriously
after all, it's only ----------------- something silly.

dream to wake.

i dream of doing what i can't do in real life
i have a recurring dream of turning you down every night
i then wake up angry, because i try so hard to not think of you
and as soon as my head hits the pillow my walls fall and here we

are

in a cafe, pub, bar, park, greggs, home. And you're sitting down
smiling at me- unafraid(/vulnerable), then my gargoyle-cold face turns away to what someone else is saying- but the camera of my sleep still focuses on you and you're pain, it's interesting, it reveals a more, honest side
watching the eyebrows raise in suprise, not wanting to believe in what I'm doing  a cautiously slow, unsure hand reaches out for mine,

and

no.

it's not happening, you clock, looking left and right in the hope no one saw that rejection while trying to comprehend this situation, how, a man, who you where so sure was in the palm of you hand has turned you down. Damn, i bet that hurts. and, now the regrets start running through your head, wondering at what point the string had me on snapped.
when i sleep you cry for me to hold you again, tell me you regret the games and the other men and if i just come back things will be just like they where again,

and

no.

you can't, you made your bed and now sleep, with him, with them, those men aren't me and now you see how happy you where and how much happier you still could have been and i hate to you, be mean, i have, to be strong here because this dream is the only place i can do this

and

I can't do that in the real world, when i wake up i'll day-dream about you being my girl, answer all your calls, let you stroke my arm, hug and hook my arm and pretend we didn't actually do it for real and i'll play along because a part of me will try to convince my self it still is and i will hate myself for it, so for now let me profit from this make-believe pain of yours.

and hope that in time I'll close these doors.

(letting in a fucking draft)

hay hay haaay

It's not hard being me.
But it's been a challenge becoming myself
I've said yes to a lot of things i shouldn't
denied a lot of opportunities i wish i didn't
I don't think I'll ever truly know everything about me-
I hope to always grow.Be turned on, inspired, (turned on)
offended and entertained (and turned on) in new ways.
Get shook up over the next marked pop sensation
and snub my nose at the one after that.
I want to let waves of childlike emotions in,
participate with the living.
For a long time i thought i was weird.
watching what i did and questioning why i did it
and not enjoying the life i lived it became hard to
keep that feeling hid, i broke down, it got awkward
So for everyone else's sake i decided to step out the race
took some time to analyze my mistakes- played loads of videogames
wrote, read, stepped-up got-lost in my thoughts then got straight
and became someone i wasn't ashamed to embrace

and

it turns out the real problem was i just couldn't relate to fakes
because now my best friends and ladies
are the prettiest and most safe around-
Hey young world, I'm back now and move at a quicker pace
with a pretty face I'm not afraid to lose.
Because i've been ugly, been removed from society
and in darkness found myself and in that, serenity
there is nothing your judgment can do to me.

Someone has to be donatello

Is not, never was, never will be, a Werewolf.
But that's okay, I still kick arse, in my own way.

My entrance. Venus.

No one gets it immediately as the jet pack is dropped but as i float my way to the bar i leave behind silences, in awe.

Unable to remove their jaws from the floor.

My clothes.

They're black and shiny. You could reach inside that darkness, place your keys there, lose them, and while pulling arm out get stars stuck on your hand. A slight heel (to improve posture), and my laces don't look all- mickey mousey-big eared. In fact there are no laces (unless you're looking)
simple, yet effective. Plus, practical.

My suit- designed by Max Fiumara. Think nineteen fourties- constantly 2D (the only way you could see me) Dark blue shades to whatever shoulder is raised ridiculously higher. Every detail is out of place and changes with every blink. It lets me stride through floor boards and people with ease.
Going up with a jet pack (because there's a jet pack on my back. Big and bulky- shiny with mork and mindy late-nineteen seventies possibilities)

My hands are tightly wrapped in kevlar bandages marinated in regret, shame and rage. Hermes wings on my ankles, just to brush the dust off my shoes. My watch, like the laces, is hidden-until you notice it. When you notice it you wonder how you didn't before.

got bad to do

Phone calls and hang-ups and step toe and son re-runs.
rustling sheets lovely sandwiches and jackets as presents.

ripped-tights, made-teas, passive-aggressive arguments.

jokes. everywhere, museums new-books, cuddle, television

show-her-off parties shrugs roll-off the tongue insults

lots of drink being sick pale people warm-up breakfasts

eggs, bacon, mushrooms loving looks between menus
promises from eye contact that have one rush to the flat
stroked arms, resting heads denim daisy dukes removed
stretched stomachs in flips, smiles no longer reserved

old streets walked on spent in awe- but one's too fast

press-ups towards late-night runs to more aspirations

cold-shoulders no eye contact new looks no respect given

moonlit bodies slide with anger, train seats stare into space

inspiring work inspired from smiles laughing at them

all men that try to be something they're not, what we'll never be

no answers too scared to ask questions too proud for pain

far away looking back at yesterday try to find out what it meant

replay every event wanting another body that's heaven sent

golden green olive kisses mismatched lovers circumstances 

deal the blows take the pain, we eventually stand all the same

and if i had the choice yes i'd do it all again.

pointless but sounds nice.

I'm too young for the schedules shoved between trains and busses fitting in structures my scriptures are never finished and the way perfection moves me is relentless, we all go through it, my messy haired-self has bruises from guilt, I'm never where i want to be always going back to where i was too soon. busy but naturally lazy, it's like I'm reluctantly happy. And now my free time is spent on what many look at as a hobby- but it's a way of life, like power, like responsibility, like spider-man, in a way.
If you think about it.

tv lights.

My fingers type away at a breakneck pace, the sound fills the room followed by a little laughter. a giggle. if you will.

i didn't anticipate this. you. here. but i did dream of it. what was most magical is that the moments we shared where never the ones i wrote. or what i thought what romance was. not pizza express but greggs, though there was a smile on your face the whole time. consequently that put a smile on mine. We're watching the wild bunch. your head is on a pillow that is on my lap. we haven't kissed yet. or confessed our need to connect. and your head is on a pillow. which is on my lap. You're beginning to fall asleep and I'm almost freaked out by how effortless this all is.

I walk you to your room and tuck you in, i could have made a move, maybe you would have welcomed it, but i didn't and weirdly enough I'm thankful for it because, I've never known courtship and evidently, despite my years watching disney,

I didn't know romance.

Another walk home now. I've lived on these streets for so long, yet, never felt admitted to the club of street-dwellers. trapped in bypass, constantly walking through and past, but truly my journey is living, but my journey is spent living the same thing. Tonight these streets see me walk slow, look up and take in the view with a new perspective, My mood is reflective, almost glad for my lonesome nights, in such a crowded space not enough hold out- just cash in but it's not worth it, if another could appreciate what her hand in mine meant, they'd understand why i walk with this slow-motion-skip in my step.

The body moves too fast for the mind to comprehend the situation, under covers our energy combined pumps an adrenaline so strong the bitten necks and pulled hair is painless and- enthusiastic legs wrapped round squeeze out hidden tears that fall on the skin you've longed for-for years. I close my eyes and when they open i lose my best friend forever, and i make a silent promise to make sure i don't fuck this up. Because i don't know much. but this is a lifestyle i could get used to, and it turns out i like to be touched.