Friday, 22 April 2016


I've almost given up poetry altogether several times, most particularly when my tutor said I wasn't any good at it and ought to stick to prose.

The fact remains, I write what I want and when I need to. This is regardless to popularity or ambition.
I am no poet.

I only write poetry when I'm unhappy.
The contents of the poems are irrelevant, they do not always reflect my thoughts at the given time but I write rhymes as some form of expression I guess.

Currently, I just miss Jones. Late shifts have meant I've spent the week alone, and no one else can fill this void. It's absurd really, that I've allowed my heart to become so infinitely entangled with another person that I cannot be without them. Even for a short time I feel lost, uprooted.

I've reached a point in my life, where I know and I know for sure there is only one person I can truly be myself with. I've thought at times that there were friends, family members who I could share myself with. I was wrong. There is always limitations. Always a veil no matter how thin that hides parts of myself others would not approve of, or would fail to keep to themselves.

All except Jones. I can be exactly who I have always been, but also the person I have grown into. I can voice every opinion, no matter how controversial, uneducated or wrong. I can show everything, share my whole being; mind, body and soul. It's a freedom I imagine many people live their lives without experiencing.

I have a wonderful relationship. Full of real joy, and affection. Although the presents, surprises, trips, all endear this person to me, it's really this freedom that I love most. No one else knows all my thoughts, all my secrets. No one else has seen or touched every single area of my body and made me comfortable in all physical things. The openness of my soul to this person is dangerous, I'm completely exposed.

So when I have to endure days away from him, and I'm forced to hold the veil indefinitely over myself, giving out the persona that's acceptable I start to lose my mind! I need my friend to talk to, to be real with. So that I can feel alive. I'm numb at the moment. A waxwork dummy going through the motions. I only live when I'm real, and I can only be real with Jones.

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