Thursday, 1 December 2011


I strive to be original
but sometimes this life
feels like my fathers sequel
and that's far from an insult.
I'm just not one for doing
what others have done
I've rejected every baton
others have tried to pass on.
But I can't escape inspiration
therefore i constantly face contradiction
Jay said on to the next one
but what if your loved ones wont move on.
What Jokes can I make
when I'm a joke myself
Rhymes allow my mind to delve
but the deeper I get
the more shallow I become
Gillian Welch said times the relevator
It's only later they see they've
fallen for a pretender
I'm not the same when on the stage
maybe my hunger for fame was a phase
suffering from striving for
underground king syndrome
who's name echoes in deep talks
and not small ones,
Big Daddy Kane, Pharaoh Monch,
Paul Foot, Gillian Welch, Madvillian
If I can't live for forever then at least
let my name be Legend, remembered.
And I'm not anywhere near famous
yet am already worried about a reputation
Maybe I'm not cut out for bright lights and red carpets
And then I whine again about not being "chosen"
I'm sick of myself for so many reasons
I'm sick of playing the vitctim,
complaining about not being able to find someone
when my phone has missed calls from good women
While I'm chasing missed moments that if where offered,
I'd probably not even want.
I'm not talking about television
when I say I have a borderline
crippling addiction to loose women.
Those who are the same as me
who's faults aren't concealed
but worn with honour and
screamed when free from sobriety
And I'm nowhere near as pretty as I used to be
Maybe because my face has change with this view i see
And that I don't look after me
I eat KFC when hungry
Drink whiskey when thirsty
Call her when lonely
She doesn't answer
because she knows me
I want to be with her only because
then I can be the old me
Before polar and comedy
before strategy.
When the future was a whole lot clearer
Just wanting to better the person I see in the mirror
Sometimes I forget what I try to live for.
To be better. A better son. A better friend.
A better brother. A better lover.
To stop striving to be old Sean or a new one.
But to be good now. I already feel better.

Monday, 21 November 2011

Five kisses.

Okay Alexandra, here is my poem to you

I'm surprised we haven't met yet
I'm surprised we're meeting at all
I'm surprised by how comfortable I feel
I like a lot of things about you
and have been struggling with this poem
because that'd mean I'd have to say them
I thought I had confirmed your affections
when you told me you LOVED one of my poems
but was less confident when you said you also loved
Louboutin red bottoms, iMessaging for iPhones
the Twilight films, and selfridges christmas shop windows
Love is only a word, but words are my world
and your world interests me so understandably
i listen to your words very carefully,
I find it easier to embrace your hate for children
and joke about them on our text support rush hour mornings
as hate can lead to cut off arms
but only love can break your heart.

and right now this poem is just becoming a piece on love.

and not about us.
But what is "us"?
we're two people who have reached out
and found out we're worth checking out.
it's relaxed and its' nice
my poetry is awkward and melodramatic
hence you waiting what seems like ages,
like when i waited for the phone to ring
the first time you called me
it was, again, relaxed and nice
surprising as how comfortable it is
and how I'm weirdly writing a poem about it
but why not, what i find most surprising
is that this feels like a beginning
and knowing what weight the word brings
I love that you love things
and I love iMessaging you in the mornings and
I'd love to see you in louie buton red bottoms
and I'd love to go to the cinema with you,
preferably wouldn't love a twilight film though.
i find it healthy that you took an interest in me
the same time i started liking me.
so there's a poem for you Alexandra Gideon.
my future second penguin.

Sunday, 30 October 2011


who's the strongest in a room full of poets?
whoever doesn't give a fuck about feelings.

Thursday, 27 October 2011

a page from my notebook three years ago.

It's like surfing
Being on the firing line.
where the light helps.
Looking for something
only to find something else.
It's power.
It's slapping someone you hate
It's like winning Jenga.
It's rolling a double six
It's like faith in strangers
It's like a kinder surprise.
To grab the mic,
moving it to the side,
Feeling like a professional.
Its like being strip searched,
and enjoying it.
It's like you've earned it.
It's like going on holiday
without paying for it.
It's like being finished
in mortal Kombat
It's like coming back after
a night out and finding
a five pound note.
It's like "eeeeeyup".

Tuesday, 25 October 2011


The roots
that we knew were uneven
have deepened
warped a view
that grew tilted
No coincidence you'd see him
And see him you did.
It was a given he was gifted,
not one for relationships,
love was a challenge
and nothing was promised
so when he betrayed you
he could at least say he was honest.

He sowed his seeds
but you've watered them
you're looking after the love
that he abandoned
instead of nursing
your cut-off branches
that have limited your feelings
feeling cut-off and cut-short.
these feelings always
have you reach for the wrong man.
They build kingdoms for you to live in
but these castles are made out of sand
as soon as your feet are settled
the kingdom crumbles just like you planned.
we shouldn't be surprised they ran.
They don't get it.
they don't see the beauty.
It's not for the untrained eye to see.

I do. It's in little looks, jokes and big laughs.
Personally, I mean you know me.
I like my women like I like my tea.
Strong, hot and bitter.
She fits the criteria perfectly
and before you go "oh Sean,
Sean you handsome, debonaire,
suave, well-endowed, Spider-man-esque
Better than harry baker at scrabble,
friendly neighbourhood awesome guy-
why don't you ditch the tree analogy/
metaphor/whatever. Try it on with her!
your poetry is depressing enough as it is"
Well, thank you first of all.
I did. I tried. Honest. I asked awkwardly,
and told friends my feelings like secrets
and was annoyingly persistent
what i didn't realise is that she needed friendship
what i was doing was calling myself the greatest snake in a snake pit.
The last thing she wanted to do is get bit.
Or just kill the snake.
Or whatever.
Either way. I learnt my lesson.
As for her. She's getting there.
she's my favourite woman in london
and is dire need of a relocation
I look forward to seeing her on vacation.

Sunday, 23 October 2011

Saturday, 15 October 2011

Time flies.

The hours slip quick
they feel like minutes
my time is spent as if
it's going out of fashion
and spent on friends
who refuse to reimburse
I reach for the best
but my arms are too short
something deep down
has gone wrong
I know I could do this before
raggedy, my material is old
I've got words for my friends
don't rest then expect saved progress
i had an assumption the game
would of came with a pause button
but it's not a game it's an art form
so for true progression
movements must be made
with honest motives
what I'm trying to say is
don't get complacent
my breath was wheezing
took a break to make it easier
but here i am too scared to jump
in my throat there is a lump
and it strangles new ideas
The schemes for getting paid
don't satisfy me, if i don't receive
what i need to make me happy
I need to move on on my journey.
Like I've done so many times before
But I don't want to run away anymore
I want to run towards and come across
real friends and new movements, already,
I've surpassed the past I used to love
yet the sinking heart doesn't stop
perhaps I'm afraid of what I'll become
Of finally settling in
because when it comes to rhyming
I really don't need a reason
or a cause to believe in
I'm not here for achievements
It just fits it just makes sense
and if i can focus and progress
maybe my thoughts wont be a mess
I wont be scared of success.

you heard what i said, fuck it!

I live London and dream American
We can't beat our own government
when we have no army to stop them
cliche it seems but it's unity we need
became obvious in the riots
instead of attacking the police
we were at our own throats
burning our own cars and
inflicting our own scars.
Every advert is focused on dividing us
I'm tired of trying to be better than everyone else
we'd rather take than ask for help
it's said hip hop is bigger than it ever was
but it's obvious to see it's not what it was
artists these days are just quicker to sell out
rap something about making it and hope
the real songwriter will write a catchy enough hook
for it to become a hit.
and don't forget the strings.
The search for fame, now a staple in the game
fuck it.

Tuesday, 20 September 2011

I write piece (for rubix)

I write
as if she's still here
and is about to leave
and, I'm picking up
the first words I can see
As my fingers type away at a breakneck pace,
You hear what I'm saying but I'm not saying it right,
These pieces I revise,
rehearse and recite
every night.
Still talking to her,
like she's still here,
like she can hear-
And every line has her closer to
changing her mind
And at the end of every poem and gig
I see it's in vein.
one half's stuck the other
still reaching for the past

I write
with a cut in half heart
on top of whatever my fingers get hold of;
papers, electrical devices and bathroom doors
every moment alone I sacrifice myself into us
I perfect the craft so she'll see what I've become
And how I've grown, yet am still the same
the pen took
as a gift
Our moments
refined in
my mind is
turning coals in-
-to diamonds
I've erased the
the silences
what was is filtered to it's purest
And staged as a play named
the love we should of kept sacred
Through these pages I preserve
the love she left.
She left me naked
No barriers, I'm all core
I didn't have this talent before
I'd rather be terrible with the pen
and have someone to come home for
and I don't know I don't know If i love her anymore,
it was as soon as i thought I was getting over her
I started performing about her.
It's so hard to live without her
to finally admit it's game over

I write
so I can still make her to feel good
because despite the bullshit i've been
I remember in the life before this,
love was gossip and
a touch with purpose
was unheard of.
That's why these words constantly
I wont write for anything else
because her touch is the only thing I've felt
I want her to read these, not out of anger,
like I'm the victor,
I't s not about turning a profit from
It's to see that even when it got ugly
this love was still beautiful to me
I write to wipe away the tears from
her leaving me
and to thank her for the time she
spent with me.

Been writing a lot lately

Monday, 19 September 2011

And.... Scene

My name is Sean Mahoney and
I'll be playing the part of a stand-up
stepped-on guy who loses his mind
every time he follows his heart.
Yet to understand he'll never figure
out how love works and every
analysis results in him feeling worse.

And.... Action

Recently I haven't been happy with
whatever I've tried to write.
It's like my head is bobbing above life.
And I'm too scared to dive
as if I can't do it twice.
But it's not twice. It's still once.
I can't pretend I'm removed when
I still fall in love with women like you.

It's a subject I don't like to touch
because if I really delve it'll only prove
that I'm only really in love with
hurting myself.
So you're not a woman I'd like to write about
but live with,
but I find it so hard to tell women I like them
Picking up art forms, while real men walk in
Free write brimstone ballet blogpost bullshit
As i see you walk off with him
I'm so scared of falling in love again
It's only good for my pen
I dived in before learning how to swim
Now instead of acting like i've learnt something
I'm watching myself do the exact same things
and its not even entertaining and it pains me
to hide myself when around the one woman i trust
I wish i could tell you, to your face, you're all i want.
But. I can't.
Maybe you're no the right one or
I've just been far too gone for far too long
but every time i'm close to atonement I
freeze in the moment.
Try to freeze the moment.
I can't hold it I try to control it as if it
should be altered but we'll never move forward
if i keep being so fucking awkward.
and now you really have walked off
and now I'm too far down to swim
back up
Slumped in
the bottom of the ocean
blinded from the regret of ruining the moment.
crushed from the pressure that comes from
a pride too big to admit humiliation.
The loss of a woman
the failure to convince a
commitment to the connection you
had with a loved one.

I'm picking up the pieces again.
too far gone for a friend
at loss for an end
grab the first promise at hand
I promise to never do this again
Don't risk don't give still live just resist
the feeling you get that makes you think
in two months you'll be writing something
like this.
I don't know if I can do it.
end of the day, I'm a gamblers kid
lower i get the more i think i'll win big
just one more kiss and I'll be wanted
only, less damaged can take the pain
but not the nothing, not here for penance
just give me something. something to
hold on to. I try so hard
to not let my insecurities get in the way
of loving you.
Truth is you're not as into me as
I am into you.

Saturday, 10 September 2011

Twist it.

I Fight for the one I live with
because life without her doesn't make sense
And no text can express the mess we're in.
I did it I let you be my friend as if that was what I wanted
Now I live with consequence of the enthusiasm
I really thought I could handle the situation
But now I have to hear you talk about him
and ask me when the right man will come
when you're the only girl i could ever want
meaning I can't stop in fear the wrong word will have you gone.
I just look for things to lean on. Bannisters
Tears on staircases I come back in and act like I've been places
unexplained absences when really i just fought my resistance
you're the best and worse person to live with
I'm ripped apart, unable to pick a new start
because the belief that you're the completion of me
means you'll be the end of all my paths.

Thursday, 8 September 2011

new life rant.

A better poet, more organised, more focused, on time, a good partner, I wish I was capable of enjoying what I had. Better with you. I wish I could do more for you. You're the only appointment I'm on time for. I wish I could meet someone who didn't talk down to me or could go a day without making jokes at my expense, meet someone who wouldn't immediately ask for a joke or a Poem after telling them I do that. To have more in my life besides comedy poetry and one night stands, someone who I'll see wearing my hoodie and tracksuit bottoms after working at the odeon. Going with a good thing that doesn't get ruined by bullshit complications, not going through life wanting to recreate moments but to be someone that makes new ones. A better liar with a stronger guard who was able to play games instead of blindly run to or from women he genuinely likes, falling over either way, humiliated either way. Pride grazed. Not waiting here for half an hour writing this depressing bullshit. On a date with Lauren. enough with dates. So many dates. Fuck. So many ways to get over rejection I choose the most pleasurable and most harmful. I'm more of a whore than I ever was. No one can tell. No one thinks to ask. I like it like that, allows me to not feel bad and act like I'm not like that, but it hurts. Of course it does and and and you've got to keep moving, away from me please. I treat women like my gigs; do the best you can in fifteen to twenty minutes, hope you get booked back and you're recommended to friends- and that there's always something better out there. Doesn't mean you can appreciate the moment when it comes, just sucks when the best venues no longer book you, go a new route and when you pop in it's so unusual. The world goes on like it never needed you.
More than a comedian, the best comedian. less a figure, more a person 

Friday, 2 September 2011

Held close.

Hold me like I can't breathe
And kiss me so I can't speak

Block the door so I can't leave
Tell me you're all I'll ever need

In your heart let me find peace
Be all that refuses to rest within me.

Because confessions of love
Don't come from my mouth

I'll leave the door unlocked for you to run out
Arms won't even reach round

My eyes are as dulled as my smile
But will always remember, the exceptions don't count.

And lost more brilliant women than I care to count,
But in my long list of regrets they don't count

Because love is what love was and will always be
The only element that can't be controlled by me

Feel free
Leave me

My eyes are only weary
They're still trying to see.

Too cautious to hold
And too unwilling to control
Stuck lost cold

Aged weathered old
Let the door revolve
As I hope to evolve

and get to the point
where I know I've grown.

Thursday, 1 September 2011


we never hear the world move
my joints will creak when i groove
weeks turn to months and months turn to years
and years turn to a life we forgot to live
I don't want to be living a life that doesn't feel right to me

i'll get myself together, lie to everyone planning my future
can i keep my wide eyes, trade my lifestyle for a nice girl?
I want to be top of the world but hate to be in a small circle.

Well, that sucks.

you're here you're in. oh good.
yay! You're out you're gone.
That's fine. I'll fuck someone then.
You called and I'm out boo!
that sucks, now i can't fuck
because I'll want to call you back
you shouldn't do that.
I don't know if you know that
that you shouldn't do that.
or ask about where i've been
after you haven't seen me
Not if you want to see me- get it?
I'm a comedian. you back yet?
can i leave them yet?
I like being single
but not if I'm waiting for you
and you told me not to
but when you look at me
which happens rarely
i mean actually, actual
eye contact and smile-
to wait for long-whatever it takes.
Doable. Just a while
I make mistakes all the time
i tell them all to you
every name of every girl i screw
as if I'm over you
fucking them to prove to you
we can even joke about them
to the point where I'm a joke to you
I'm here I'm back it was terrible
you smell good. Your hairs up.
That's cool. Whatever. I like it.
I'm going home if you want to stay the night.
If you want I mean we can just talk
I can make you tea and you can make fun of me
and then we can get deep and you can need me
not that i give a fuck- I'm with other women
if you hadn't noticed I'm, I'm with other women
should I continue to tell you?
How I'm fucking them to forget you
fucking them to fuck with you
not that it should hurt you to be without me
right? i hope not. Honest.
Just kidding, I miss you.
but you're going to be single
and you told me not to wait for you
but still i play the fool
in an attempt to respect your wishes
and act like a dickhead
wo the girls I've neglected
the girls I've slept with.
Why be mean to those who want to be with me
that's silly. I'm a comedian.
Get it?

Wednesday, 24 August 2011

Never let me down.

tell me you love me in the morning
to bookend when you said it before i slept.
Let me kiss each eyelid
and ask if you'd like some tea.
Nod while you stretch
we can both drink it in bed
as we're not ready to get up yet
then kiss me like I can't leave
have me come up with a lie
for why I'm late while i ride the train
but can't because the truth can't
escape my brain
give me a reason to walk fast in the rain
tell women why I'm not interested in them
and leave parties i don't want to be in
let me look at you and not know where to begin
tell me you want to stay in on weekends
be one from mornings to evenings to mornings
and trade secrets as frequent as kisses
that are delivered with precious precision
as if each one was destined for that moment-
be the one i can be alone with
be proud to say that's who my boyfriend is.
and never let me know i told you that.

Monday, 15 August 2011

Dean Barton's nan's car.

6.30 every morning
uphill. No bike.
how many papers? fourty-five
how many pounds? fifteen.
Nineteen weeks.
How many left? three.
every day after school
while waiting for his bus
he stares at it, raised,
behind the counter, out of reach.
he's been late home lately
due to the daydreams of videogames
he'll miss his bus
just looking at the box
a 320GB 

Jordan Bennet's paper boy hustle is his auto pilot.
he's a sixteen year old unwilling to grow up
and feels guilty because 
the x-box was his first love
but in the two hours
of playing uncharted two at his mates house
with graphics that had his tongue fall out
the black behemoth with the glossy front
had become all he's been able to think about
for months.
when cleaning the kitchen table
he imagines the cloth is on his new home console
and he's carefully removing fingerprints off the top
when watching deal or no deal
he doesn't see contestants go for 
two hundred fifty thousand pounds
but 833 playstation threes
he'll skip the morleys lunch
because that'd cut into saving up
The money couldn't come quick enough
pissed off his EMA was cut off and
with mum out of work
he knew asking for a present
was unfair to his parents
so he got a job from a newsagent
to deliver papers but,
make no mistake it was a job he hated-
it was too far from home to go back after
but he finished around seven thirty
so got to school so early
he'd watch the groundskeeper opening the gates,
it led to him constantly sleeping in class
which he says led to him getting ignored by girls
(though his friends say his job didn't change that much)
and when going back home he conjured up thoughts,
thoughts of how he could speed up getting what he wants
as the thoughts became schemes
that he'd dream of acting upon-

his tesco metro
contained a cash dispenser
and every week he'd watch it
be refilled by the worlds
fattest, laziest, helmet-less
security guard laughing out of his armoured car
 swinging a black box with no handcuffs
that he knew contained more notes 
than he could ever want.
and he hated seeing him
because he would always see him
always getting out, always laughing
like no one would dare touch him
as if the opportunity to take wasn't an option
to just hit him in the back of the head
with his book bag and run with the sums.
it's week nineteen, the nineteenth time
and it got harder every time.
He'd never do it though.
but walking past him was always in slow-mo.

Later that night he waited for the knock on his window
heard his neighbour Max coakley whisper-shout
"Jord, get your hoodie, scarf, gloves,
scarf, hood, gloves, hood, scarf and…. hat and lets go!"
He laughs. He does. Sneaks out. Knows what's up
but has no idea how its going to go down.
Earlier organised at lunch break
His schoolmates gather in his estate
he smiles as, without faces
they do all make convincing thugs
he hears music play from afar
and he thinks in the distance 
he can see some people dance
and they're all ready for a laugh
until Foday Marlon smashes  the window
of Dean Barton's nans' car.
(Foday Marlon was always a moron
he didn't know he was fucking with Dean Barton
and everyone knew not to fuck with Dean Barton)
Foday got lumps, they joined up with the year above
adrenaline was pumped as they consumed cheap cider-
they ran and became brixton high-street roamers
fitting in with elders and feeling safe with older brothers
danced around burned cars tipped over
he would hear screams coated with laughter
the shouts took over as police came closer
and he watched the law enforcers cower
the way they never did with peaceful protesters
bricks got thrown over them
Max got hit in the face for no reason
and it diverted the crew into different directions
violence descended as he heard someone shout
something about a revolution
but there was no revolution coming from this one,
just new air force ones
and as he watched the footlocker get raided
it came to him
He ran as fast as his legs could take him
and he was in time to see the windows of gamestation cave-in,
everyone ran in like housewives at a sale in debenhams
time was of the essence he didn't want anyone else to take it
it was his no one else could deserve it
he'd had enough of everyone having more than him
for so long he'd taken so much shit and before he knew it
he heard helicopters bellowing and police sirens whaling
as Bennet was halfway home clutching onto his playstation.

a deafening silence.
still in riot-gear dress,
he hadn't moved for hours
the beast was in his bedroom.
In a staring contest with
His stolen accomplishment.
He ran through the reasons;
how the police didn't do anything
how he was caught up in the moment
how someone else would have stolen it
how many times he'd been denied opportunity
how it was okay because before taking this he'd taken so much
how he never hit the tesco metro security guard once
how he'd have to go be a paper boy again in just two hours,
what he had now hadn't changed the fact he had worked hard
But he still couldn't open that box.
it still wasn't right.

Oh wah, wah, wah.

Why do i lie to the ones i love?
Why Lay with the girls i don't?
why when my friends call
i don't answer the phone,
and when opportunity knocks
the door wont open?
why do i put my voice in the pen, 
my promises on the page,
why is my honesty saved for the stage?
why do i always fight in others wars
and how come those i fight for
never come to my corner?
why after every time i try hard
i feel a need to try harder?
why do i always wait till the last minute?
why do i take the weight from those
that will resent it?
why do the women i see never seem to be
what was initially presented?
is there a reason my present can't
hold a candle to my past?
why does the promise of a prosperous future
feel too far?
why is the prettiest woman always on the other side of the bar?
is it my habitat that has me drawn to habits that are bad?
if my parents never broke-up would i still be the same man?
can i be given a route to which i can adhere?
and can the roadblock to my newly lit path not be my biggest fear
why do i always promise to be the man i was last year, next year?
how did the mediocre become smart enough to get together?
and how did the egos of the great let them takeover?
why do i see all my friends blow when i don't?
and always get the girls that blow when i don't?
why when happy, i look for a place to complain
why, after all these years, and all these changes
i still feel the same? why does it take a tragedy
for me to count my blessings?
why do i keep fuckin' with fate?
why do they hit me when it's a fact i don't break
why when i want to be so great,
and have full confidence in the words on this page
my hands still shake?
why keep on when you know so much is wrong?
because it's not my imperfections that make me great
but instead my struggle to correct them.

Friday, 5 August 2011

Tomorrow this will be gone.

I'm out the country
does she miss me yet?
I've been on a run
for three years
I've been running
and only now have i stopped
trying to catch up
with a girl yet to start.
she's smarter than I am
and in three months
put my back up
i only stopped
because I thought i saw the end
now all i have is another friend.
I just want
to stroke
and hold
and to let love in
but it's not strong enough
to knock the doors down
I guess I'm still outside town
hailing a cab down
pissed off because
she's inside lonely now
and doesn't want to be.
she wants me
but wont let herself tell herself.
She holds onto the last thing he gave her
the pain with leaving
and now it's all she sees when she sees him
and she loves him, so she loves pain.
And she becomes the reason for his absence
fear of being happy.
i believe that firmly.
as firm as the phone that rattles in my fist
drunkenly searching for help in a text
no good no good I'm no good for no one.

but loved by some, in five minutes I've got it
in books i see myself.
success stories of celebrities.
fantasy novels and comic books with norse gods.
I'm all anyone could ever need
and am replaced with ease.

Fingers to Diva (reply)

hold. the fuck. up.
no. no. no.
no you don't get to do that.
you don't get to fuck the friendship
because you didn't get to fuck me.

I"m not stupid Diva. I mean. I am.
I know I am and have been hiding under
a cloak made of bad poetry and interpretative dance
for some time now but,
I always thought you saw through that
and i thought you crawled under
and took out a torch for us to tell stories.

I thought for that, you made me feel like a kid.
I don't think to much, but of course, i do think a lot of you.
I think, I, thought, you were, there for me.
like, I could talk to you about anything
and it'd be okay and i could rest my head on you
and you'd think nothing of it because
you're smarter than i am and would always do better than me
i didn't think you'd be dumb enough to fall in love with me.

but you did. and now you've come to this realisation that,
guess what, I'm a prick, well go and fuck woods again
and join the club and become the number one fan
when I have never touched, kissed you or led you on.
I'm a dick that never got hard for you,
and if you told me. If I knew. it'd already be too late.

Last night
in a tent,
in the outside,
at night,
I slept with a girl.
it was my first time
with someone. ever.
She didn't know I was a virgin.
and she didn't have to,
but i wanted you to,
I wanted to get if off my chest
for so long to tell you because i tell you
everything about me but it seems
everything about me is unhealthy so
fuck it now you know and great
tell me I'm a cunt again diva please
get on that high ground and tell me again
how I'm fake, how I'm nothing
and I will smile and nod because I know.
but what really hurts me beyond the rejection
is that I thought you always knew and,
I thought you didn't mind.
I honestly thought you talked to me
because I was just, nice.

Diva to Fingers.

There's no point with you.
if you don't love me now, then
there's no point in trying anymore
and i don't know whether
you didn't get it
or you didn't care
that, for half a year
you've been a drawer full of mixed tapes
a desk-top filled to the brim with final drafts-
angry at my lack of appropriate metaphors
just to tell you how awesome you are.
love poems, loving you from afar,
loving you from the dark
freezing my heart before seeing it break
the only audience member I'd want
the only performer I'd perform to
the man i wish i could let my guard down to
for so long i've been dying to tell you,
killing myself over the words- I like you.

yesterday, In my drunken haze fingers,
I made a breakthrough.
see, I was so drunk,
I tried to text you what i was going through
I meant to say 'alone forever to wallow"
but my predictive text gave me "almond donous to wallow"
and I dropped my phone and fell. on my phone
and my phone broke and I cried in a field
and some guy took a picture
and I'm pretty sure it's going to turn into an internet meme.

I'm losing myself.
and realised I hadn't been me in a while
Since i became blind from staring
into the source of my life-
the eyes that have never looked twice
i was no longer myself. I wasn't Diva. I was lost.
and at a point that is arguably my lowest,
unable to move from a ground pulling down
and too weak to push up the falling sky
I shivered as fast as i my heart pumped
thoroughly and utterly fucked
completely due to falling in love
for a whole day i was unable to move
so I didn't move. I stayed in my place
and decided to wait
until Lost went and diva came.

truth is,
you're unhealthy fingers.
you can only be loved in fantasy
you're a john hughes movie,
still rocking cowboy boots
double denim and a curtain fringe
and in another place, in another time
you would have been the shit.

now, you're a phase i'd rather forget.

Wednesday, 3 August 2011

Jade Bruce.

hey sean hows it going man!
i have missed you man!
liking the new beard!...... kind of ha ha!
nah only kidding.
hows america going!
hows the food tasting!
hows your fatal atraction girlfriend!
{tell me shes not boiling rabbits, i own four of them)
how are the buildings
the parks
the games stores.
how are the black people over there oh yeah you cant speak to them!
ha ha!
we will keep this on a dLo.
but most importantly, how are you!
man it has been weird that i only fill like half myself right now!
that your not here!
i should only be eating half as much.
i should only be speaking half as much.
i should only play video games half of- wait!
i am not going to go that far! ha ha!
the interveiw went quite good
but not remarkable
hence the reason that i didt get the job!
things in england are going quite good
i mean the air is kind of fresh!
the moon is coming out quite a lot at night time.
the birds are singing sooo l... ok!
its crap over here, you happy!
man you always put pressure on me!
ha ha!
while your accomplishing girls
great food
great buildings
great weather
great places faces
{i just rhymed pat on the back!}
the only thing i have accomplished
is infilltrating
the building on spliner cell.
but hey splinter cell ROCKS!
man i love you i miss you
i am happy for you sooo much
just remember your my only freind
and my fouth brother!
just remember
you have got a b ball game here waiting so hurry up and come boi!

things are easier for girls

a girl isn't a woman
till she grows some breasts
a boy isn't a man
until he is put to the test.

Monday, 18 July 2011

****** you, isn't the right thing to do.

(Try not to stare)
but it's the same feeling I get
as when the rain hit my neck
I became blind
lost in the source of my life-
your eyes-
wouldn't have looked twice
if not for say it right,
but I don't want to have to say it twice.
I guess with every gift comes a curse
my view is that from love, it gets worse
you have to question whether she's worth
the pain it takes to move past your first.
You are and I'd tell you
but people are fickle
one second from the confession
and you utter a sentence
that splits me down the middle.
how you're still broken
and no man is a proper replacement
like I've ever tried to be him,
I respect the past is sacred
we could make a new relationship
with a reluctance to step up
happiness dependant on only
kisses, jokes and foot rubs
and you 
to settle
so until you tell me not to
i will continue to love you 
in the most passive way possible.
in every email
and text
and joke
being there
trying not to stare.

Sunday, 17 July 2011

Hot Sexy Scenes.

You could tell her you loved her every day, forget once and she hates you forever.

Women, am I right?

Tuesday, 21 June 2011


I've run from the reaper and become more than my sum
left shadows on the sun connected infinite seats to bums
put gallows in my lungs where every guilty breath gets hung
Run from the reaper I'm only twenty one. 
He can catch me when I'm done
not when there are so many songs unsung
so many wars yet- won and throw to the throne
I run from the reaper but i run too fast
onto my second lap he waves when i pass

Old, true, but, yeah. Still.

how does others art help us? how do anthers words hep us know who we are? i write and, and, it doesn't help. maybe its because don't like my thoughts or do not trust myself, im yet to really be myself but, are others words more me than i am?
things are weird. things are in every thing. but every thing is just a thing. a diamond ring. a wooden one. a plastic lunchbox with the power rangers on it to look at your tv and see a speeding 2D sonic puts my pulse up a notch.
I love everything i am but then wish i could be everything im not keep reminding myself it's just a thing. the sound of a class bell ring. the sound of a glass clink. to hear a person sing who technically can't but still makes a connection because you hear each word in it's purest most thought out beautiful form, take note, you don't need notes to sing. not for me. not when i saw him live for the first time, all my money spent to see an old man's frail fingers create a tune that's timeless.
let my letters lie. lay on broken beats that spoke volumes through a heart so strange bumped me two times then sat in a cage fighting for more, some wine to put two and two time together i swim under the harmonica that plays me out. sometimes all i want to do is shout. for. for .for . myself. to come out. I'm so mellow I couldn't punch a pillow throw my bones out the window scrunched up im a man with insides but i still put my hand through my chest and feel nothing. no heart. no soul. if there was anything to say i would have said it already. hollow. i've eaten aplenty. i stuck my head out the door and saw a storm coming my way. I'm not. heavy. I'm just. I'm. trying. as hard as i can.swim fast through the storm head under water come out a man. believe im for the cause six fire tiger im heavy at the doors

Monday, 6 June 2011

The past four months.

The past four months
I've done more than dreamt,
and talked more than slept,
acknowledged my regrets,
and now it's over i reflect
how my love isn't mine yet
and wonder if I've got anything wrong
while i stare at this laptop screen
at the very hight of my popularity, alone.

It started like all my nights now seem to, at a show.
I told an audience my best-written love poem,
and everyone looked me like my heart had broken
and women flocked to me with a shoulder to cry on
yet I ended up talking to the most together woman-
she wore a flannel shirt and had a stylish haircut
(you know the one)
I asked for her name
She said it was lost.
a part of herself
she failed to pick up
when collecting fragments
of her broken heart.
So fittingly enough,
Her name is now lost.
I joked, like, who's on first.
On cue, she laughed
but I knew it was forced
and it's what made me wonder
if she didn't fine me funny
why would she be talking to me?
It prompted a look round
and saw that all my friends were now poets,
all attempting to find out what love is
and all of them begrudgingly on fifth drafts
or even worse, like I was, on their firsts.

So we both took each other with acceptance
yet both tried too hard, laughed, joked too much
it was only when we were silent the cards weren't up.
and no words were spoken on our laptops
just written secrets that'd have me reveal potentially too much
if she didn't tell me as much, it never was love
but it brought a part of myself i thought wouldn't come out.
that I'd meet someone i'd again actually care about.

Like a fool I forgot, her name was lost.
and her old name was with her old flame
and she wouldn't change in the hope that if he came
she'd still be the same. Couldn't help but relate
as it seemed when it came to love we shared the same fate-
losing a love too soon and all love since had been too late
yet in my naive state I thought if she could be saved,
If she could be happy, maybe there'd be hope for me.

with every poem, every love letter, every sexy tea drinking video,
a message about how alone she felt would swiftly follow.
with every kick from this heartbroken bull I'd try harder to not let go.
And to an extent it worked, I managed to make myself stronger
because I think in a lot of ways I had been strong for her,
yet it's ironic how getting close ended with my feelings hurt.
I'm scared of what I'll become, a stand up guy that gets stepped on
or one who never got the chance to step up.
A man who loses his mind when following his heart,
but what's really the loss when you're
documenting the most fun productive four months of his life
and next month saying it was the five.
As for the first time in a long time I finally feel alive.