I write about my own life too much
and I don't think complaining is art
sure you may relate to the ******* I spout
but don't you think I wrote it with you in mind
you are never in my mind
My thought process goes like this:
1) how can I score something to get me high
2) what is the best way I can shirk my responsibilities
3) how can I write something to prove how smart and deep I am
4) how can I convince her to **** me
I need validation
I need to be left alone
I need to be kicked in the ***
I need to grow up
but I won't
call me Peter ******* Pan
only it's not Never Never land we fly to
no I convince you you can follow me out of your bedroom window
take flight with me
then I watch as your body explodes ****** and mangled on the concrete of your parents' driveway
then I write a poem about how hard it was for me to watch
My poems are selfish
because *******

I don't know what happened
somewhere along the way our feet must have slipped
because this place is cold and unfamiliar.
Look at the jester as he dances with all the ugly girls
A poet is a poet is a liar is a liar is a pretentious *******
But I never let you read them
no because if you did
you'd realize that a large chunk of my blathering
is about you
then you'd probably say something like
what the ****. this is odd. no creepy. stop calling me. I don't want to wind up in saran wrapped pieces in your freezer
but I do write them
and that's what counts

The steam on out breath
Mixes with the smoke from our lungs.
Our cigarettes burn,
Whispering through the crispness.
Frozen air
Bites our fingers tips.

You look so pretty with your hair pulled back

We are present,
Desperate to forget.
Why are stars so intriguing?
Maybe because we can sympathize,
They burn through the blackness.

Maybe you're right
                    You look very pretty today
I've been thinking...
                    What are you talking about, I don't like her.
You're funny.
                    I think you're cute.
Want to come over later?
                    Will you help me with the math?
If I kiss you will you shut up?
                    It's been a long night, just go to sleep.
Can we just lay for a bit?
                    We're on episode three not four idiot.
Yu-Gi-Oh or Lord of the Rings?
(Then again, this would never happen.
You and your pretentious attitude
would never sit through three hours
of exploration of Middle Earth)
                    Did you do something different to your hair?
I may be drunk tonight,
but you'll still be beautiful tomorrow.
                    Please stay.
Your illusive superiority can be attractive sometimes.
                    I secretly like you.
You've been on my mind a lot.
                    My phone's broken, but can I message you or something?
Last year, when you completely embarrassed yourself
and I turned you down? I was really dying to say yes.

remember last winter when you folded my wool socks
& whispered that my tiny feet were whimsical
i looked at you & thought the same
& i spent so many nights trying to find my mind
in the cold winter & you’d whisper
& bless me with stories from your childhood
you were a lamp post at the end of my street
& i was a doorway you always liked to hold hands with
we were delicate like that
i was smoking a cigarette
& sitting on our door post
half in love & half out of my mind
half in our home & half out of time

& you were a hot cup of coffee
on my cold paper tongue
a desolate flower crying out to be young again
i was dying on the inside
you were just dying
all the love we had laid vanquished on the pavement
soaked in my lover's blood
cars aren't supposed to collide like that

but i see you now
painting my kitchen that bright red
******* my longing bed linens
******* me
writing poems on my knee caps
counting fireflies
closing your eyes

just tell me it isn't over

I want to be the Ginger Rogers
to your Fred Astaire
the rocks of ice
in your Jameson glass,
I want to be the girl
you sing about
or the lit cigarette
your lipstick marks
Chanel rouge noir,
I want each embrace
you encounter
to touch me too
through the spaces,
I'd even be the words
in the book
you lift to read at night,
I just simply want to be
every single
missing piece
you've ever felt
or ever needed,
I want to be Cupid
stealing your heart
selfishly for
my own pleasure,
oh what toil and trouble
a girl unhinged
her unbalanced mind
bursting bubbles of blood
through her boiling passion
deep within the skin.

© Sia Jane