Sunday, January 28, 2007

It makes a change from doodling in the margins...

Sometimes, if I cry
It's not from pain
Not from hurt or even anger
But from frustration
Or joy.

Sometimes, if I laugh
It's not from pleasure
Not from happiness
But from anger
Or delight.

And if, sometimes,
I say nothing
It's not because I have nothing to say
But because I don't have the words
To tell you of my pain
Or happiness.


To the boy who made me cry
Told me I was ugly
And no-one would kiss me but him.
Who ignored me when it suited him
And only came to me when he wished to.
To the boy who hurt me deepest
Goodbye, memory.

To the boy who told me stories
Until I fell asleep
And then stole my duvet
Complained of my cold hands
And left me though he loved me
Goodbye, old love,
Remember me, dearest friend.

To the boy who made me laugh
When I was crying
Who made me smile
At the simplest of things
Whose voice made me
Makes me
Weak at the knees
And weak in the head
When all he said was my name
And who drives me mad
When he doesn't pick up the phone.

Even though I have nothing to say.

To the boy who told me stories
Called just to say goodnight
Asked the most ridiculous questions
Makes me cackle like a pantomime witch.
Who makes me nervous
And drives me to distraction.
... unfinished

Saturday, January 06, 2007

Why I Shouldn't Watch Romantic Movies

I end up wishing, hoping, for that mysterious guy on a horse to pitch up, throw me up behind him and ride off with me into the sunset. Possibly having trained the buns and hound to run along behind us (I can see it now: "wanted: one prince charming. Must have gsoh, be housetrained, literate, well-read and love animals"). Heh. Maybe I've spent too long watching the bunny honeymoon - although, to be fair, I don't long for someone to jump on my head and dry-hump it, which is what Pete keeps doing to Doris. No, I want snuggles.


I'm scared of what will happen. Nervous of what he'll think, whether I'll say something stupid, have an outbreak of spots. Getting my heart broken, battered or just plain bruised. Actually, scratch that. The risk is half the fun, no?