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Stalking Stevie

Stalk my ponderings, poetry and general pencil pushing.

Month

November 2015

Invisible

Your fists clenched and trembling,

You come at me, hard, fast,

Your toes whisper on the wood,

You’re flying, you’re soaring,

You hate me, you hate who I am, Continue reading “Invisible”

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Recipe of Memory

You slice my charred heart open with a knife,

My sweet and spicy love is not enough,

I was never enough,

Just something for you to Smash into,

Continue reading “Recipe of Memory”

Guilt P.5.

Christmas is a day of food, family and fun. It is just a day though. Any other day could be celebrated in the same way.

It’s Christmas Day and I’m crying. I can’t remember the last time I cried on Christmas, actually no, that’s a lie. I can remember being told off when I was ten years old after inquiring whether the beach towel Grandad had gotten me had been purchased at The Warehouse. Looking back I realise how this could have been construed, like I was calling him cheap or something.

Continue reading “Guilt P.5.”

Guilt P.4.

When you live far away from your friends’ stagnation takes place. They only ever see you for who you were, not who you have become.

 

“You look so good,” Lizzy says.

“So do you!” I lie. Was she lying when she said it to me?

“How is everything going?”

“Oh you know,” there’s no way to answer the question appropriately that isn’t “good, you?”

“Yeah great, how’s Jordan?”

Continue reading “Guilt P.4.”

Guilt P.3.

They say home is where the heart is. What if my heart belongs to someone who could hide from me? What if I never find home again?

 Mooring

 

“Rangi.” Continue reading “Guilt P.3.”

Guilt P.2.

When I was a child I used to wish I were Pippi Long-stockings, now I realise she would probably wish she were I.

I tighten my grip on the rail, the wind whips my hair about my face and the sea spray flutters onto my cheeks. I feel alive. The salt in the air settles on my lips and I can taste it. I take in deep breaths and smile out at the horizon, I wish I could do this more often. We slow down as Dad’s GPS tells us we’re close to where he left them. We putter about the green, orange and black bobbles that disappear under the swell.

“Alright, when we get close throw out the grappling hook and pull the buoy into the boat.” Dad’s voice roars over the motor.

Continue reading “Guilt P.2.”

Guilt P.1.

Some people say life is all about the journey, not the destination.

 

“I-I-I-I-I-I, I’m hooked on a feeling. I’m high on believing. That you’re in love with me!”

I jump awake and fish around my pockets for my phone that’s blaring Hooked on a Feeling for the whole bus to hear.

“Hello?”

“Hey, why haven’t you text me back?”

“I just woke up.”

“Shit. She just woke up. You going to try get the bus tomorrow then?”

“No, no. I’m on the bus. I just fell asleep, I’m a bit hung over.”

Continue reading “Guilt P.1.”

Again

I’ve been here before

Standing on the ledge

I look up not down

Even in my madness, I am afraid

High, in my mind and reality

I open my arms

I open them up to destruction

Continue reading “Again”

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