a drink too many + a kiss

I liked it when you cradled me

And when we took that 5th, 6th, 7th shot.

I felt unassailable in your arms;

My lips fit onto yours like a long missed puzzle piece

Just for that curtailed period of time.

Your stubbly chin lacerated mine and

Your hands: sweeping across my back,

Down my legs, holding my face-

So surprisingly gentle.

My face, tinged pink with elation; desire.

It all felt so easy.

But so wrong.

And the toxic drink deafened me from the warning cry.

 

I didn’t like the pounding in my head the next morning

Or telling you it didn’t mean anything,

Hoping you didn’t feel anything either.

God, I hope you don’t.

Facing our friends and pretending everything is normal

But it’s not.

It isn’t.

Now my face is burning red; embarrassment, shame.

And I’ll never live it down,

Especially not in the eyes of my best friend, your ex.

Soon to be my ex.

What have I done?

The ‘S’ Word

If stress were a colour

What would it be?

One should think black, or red,

Or the colour of me.

Me. Myself.

I am consumed by this ‘stress’

As that fatal time is looming

Of academic contest.

It swallows me whole

Then forgets to spit me out;

Apparently it makes me rhyme,

It makes me scream. It makes me shout.

Every grown-up has said

“These are the best years of your life”.

They seem to think

I’ll take these exams in my strife.

But I’m drowning in viscous

Black, red, and blue.

Purple. Yellow. Green.

Orange, too.

The thing is, you see,

It can’t just be one.

Stress is in everything

And now there’s nothing to be done.

The Paradox

 

 

I love education;

The feeling that my skull is overflowing

With an abundance of comprehension

And it’s not all black and white,

It’s grey and yellow and blue and red

And the bewilderment of 2 + 2

Never ceases to exist

 

But

 

I hate school;

The feeling that I am trapped

Amongst those who stare and whisper

And teach me that it’s principal to stay silent.

The teachers and money-makers expect so much

And I feel the pressure slowly constricting like a noose.

It is all colourless.

 

What a nonsensical paradox this is.

NYE

2015 and I were both run ragged,

Each surfeited with its mundane cycle

But we were nonetheless prepared to see it out in style,

The flighty temptress that it was.

 

The night turned swiftly

(Or so I’ve been told);

Within a few short hours I was racing time for an impermissible kiss,

One that I am still paying for.

 

I was determined to remain vertical,

Didn’t waver in abdicating those adversary shoes.

I don’t recall falling yet here I am

Becoming quite acquainted with the floor.

 

Arsehole, I called him, because that is simply the truth

And this sweet nectar won’t permit anything else.

I did it again and again, again, again

As the haziness splashed messily from my head to my toes.

 

Someone finally returned me to my feet – a misguided saviour

Who coerced me back downstairs like The Pied Piper

To rejoin my herd with singing and swaying

As we ceremoniously attended the funeral of 2015

 

And christened 2016 with another drink.