Chaos

Butterscotch and lemongrass.

[peachy-oranges]

Follow my study instagram and follow my law journey!!

Insta: peachylaw

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our clothes lay wet on your bathroom floor,

a chaotic shamble of broken teens in your bath trying to figure out ways to warm ourselves up.

such patience and perseverance found within yourself is rare and warming.

and although you do not see it,

each drop of water spilled that night is worth

a million butterfly kisses from us all.

so when you next find your floor saturated and you want to scream,

bathe yourself in the limited love the

broken teens in your bath were able to give.

and love.

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I want to run away. I want to scream at the top of the green hills and engulf myself in peonies and just not exist. To slip into something more comfortable, like the emptiness of an abandoned town or what will remain of your embrace after I’ve abandoned whoever this shell of a being is.

livesinabottle

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I wanted to be your idea of perfection. I wanted to mould the arch in my back to the grasp of your hands, make my vowels match your consonants, form my voice around your silence, conform my quiet to match your loud.

I wanted to be what I was not. But now I will scream when you do not speak and I will forget about squeezing my triangle into your circle boxes. I loved you, but I love me more now.

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I spit words out in order to save myself But I never realised how sharp they will Be to others

Until now.

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Fools/Ophelia

For every kiss you gave me,

Ophelia shouted for me to run in return.

Opening my unknowing ears to the truth,

Love is deceitful

She repeated. Her madness was not so mad, I should’ve listened.

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Silent silhouettes slowly dance across my mind, holding each other so tenderly that they’re afraid if their grip is too tight, the other will evaporate. Perhaps they will.

Their black shadows are dark enough to cover everything until nothing exists but them, they are their whole world and nothing else matters. Except their love.

Their heart beats synchronise as if they were the percussision of an expensive orchestra, their red hearts the only thing piercing their black entente.

Time moves slow; they were racing.

One simple spin and she is gone, perhaps he let go too early and that left her swirling uncontrollably until he rescues her from the dark. She waits but he does not come:

Was it me dancing by myself all along?

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Rabbit hole.

Wonderland, Cheshire Cats, Caterpillars.

It is in the bizarre land our love sleeps

guarded by the Bandersnatch,

only the pure can hold it.

The Jabberwocky, Red Queen, Croquet.

The darkest days lead by the bandits of

hell, burning everything touched and

leaving the white roses red.

Door mice, Mad Hatters, White Rabbits.

The saviours of my soul tell me

that the good days defeat the hurt,

it was pure but I am whole without it.

They will miss me and I them.

Alice, Holes, Shrinking.

I’ve chased the singing flowers

long enough to know that I am not

wanted, I retreat to life amongst the rest

of the world and live melancholy in

the place our love doesn’t exist.

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Addiction

I am addicted to the sent of

desperation, salty and earthy like the smell

of expected rain in the countryside.

I am addicted to the sound of

rejection, absence makes the heart grow fonder

but when I don’t get what I want, It calls me.

I am addicted to the sensation of being

touched, I do not care if it’s wrong or if it

hurts, just as long as I have it.

I am addicted to the sight of

you, more defined that a finely cut diamond,

your present ocean eyes make my earth move.

I am addicted to the taste of

utter fear and heartbreak in the form of your lips,

tasting like cigarettes and something so great I cannot comprehend.

I am an addict.

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It was so clear, it was so clear to everyone that I loved you with every fibre of my being. I beamed at the news I would see you after 5 days missing you, I glowed and jumped at the idea of meeting up with you away from everyone even though I saw you 10 minutes ago. I loved you.

But was it clear to you the amount of love I have? Because it sure as hell wasn’t clear that you didn’t love me. Maybe it was clear to everyone else and I curse everyone that did not tell me, but to me I honestly believed that you wanted to cherish my heart not throw it away when the moon finished 4 cycles.

Was I just a fucking filler? Was I just there and you decided to use me to take your mind off of the best friend of mine that you fucking adore? What the fuck was I to you?

Until I can teach myself how to unlove everything that I wholeheartedly adored about you I cannot stand to be around you, I cannot stand knowing the things that I do not know and the things I do. You want me to stay one of your close friends? Go fuck yourself.

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A table in a French restaurant

Our love is like a table that you find at an overpriced French restaurant. Displaying all its finest pieces of crockery, painted with delicate pale pink and purple flowers around the edges, the wine glasses polished so intensely you can not only see yourself in it, but every wish you have ever made. The white table cloth that originally lived in Marie Antoinette’s dinning room without a single red wine stain on it covering the legs of the brown wooden table. Our love is the table, hidden to everyone and everything besides those that know its there and seen it in in purest form, without anything at all. You are the table cloth, wiser and older than your actual age, collecting all the whispers to store in your drawers like crumbs that have slipped off the plate. I am the crockery, the delicate glass and crystal that is always in some way used by those that see me, consuming the battle scars like red lipstick stains. Everything else around us is a novice magician that believes they can pull the table cloth off the table without moving anything else, but  as the magician does the trick for the first time, the glass gets caught and the wine makes the once white cloth red before it is ripped from its embrace and shatters against the brown table. The china is smashed, the cloth is considered ruined and the table is left bare and vulnerable with nothing left to protect it anymore.

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I have this boyfriend.

I have this boyfriend who never opens up, All of his secrets are kept in his ribcage, holding them like they’re a bird that can’t escape, Not even for me. When he sleeps, he curls up on the side that is always facing me, his unruly messy hair falling more gently on his pillow than mine ever has, his eyes shut more delicately than a tulip at night. It is in these moments, my breath gets stuck in my throat as I look at him, observing how this is the only time he is relaxed, the only time secrets silently seep out of him. I have this boyfriend who when he does kiss me, kisses me like its the last he will ever kiss me, A constant frenzy of him inhaling my exhale and hands wrapped in my now short hair. It is when he kisses me slowly, taking his time to hold me in his arms and tracing the lines of my jaw-bone I know its coming, The sadness he feels when everything gets too much for him, The sadness that makes him retract to his room and wrap himself in the quilt with orange foxes on it,  The sadness that makes me weep and miss him.  I have this boyfriend who I love with the entirety of my heart, How he feels persuades my emotions to feel the same, How he kisses me encourages me to breathe, to fill his lungs with more air. How he hides makes me only want to seek him out. And oh how he loves me behind his closed doors, makes me believe in fairytales. 

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Sunflowers, butterflies and daisies.

Sunflowers, butterflies and daisies, Sometimes I am my own enemy. Sunflowers, butterflies and daises,  You remind me why life is lovely. 

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Why is everything so simple, yet chaotic and complicated at the same time? Why is the 10 year old brother bringing a knife to school and trying to harm himself with sharpened pencils and schoolyard bark? Why is the mother sitting in the garage with her music up so loud she cant hear herself think, surrounded by blown out candles and smashed bottles? Why is the daughter sitting in her room scared of losing another person, crying on the phone to her boyfriend and distracting herself with drawing circles on paper? 

Why are simplistic beings like ourselves, making everything much more complicated than they would normally be?

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A letter to the only lover that has mattered:

Tell me my love, if you ever read this letter would you reply or leave me hanging by a thread of oblivion to what you feel? 

I’m not going to lie and say that this love I possess for you isn't new, because I have indeed felt it for you for longer than you have thought of me as you do now. I still remember the moment I knew I loved you after all this time. We were watching the sun come up and you leaned over the grape vines and looked down into the courtyard that we were above, you were so deep in thought. I knew, in that moment that I was in trouble because I never thought that the boy in the black t-shirt leaning over the green vines would ever love me back. Do you remember when you fell in love with me?  Now you claim you indeed love me back, but I’m still the one that has to say it first, which I don’t mind but sometimes I wish that you would say it first. Tell me, do you think me to be someone you can tell anything to? Because I wish you would as it pains me to know that you don’t open up to me and there has only ever been two times you have opened up. But do you think that you could try and let me be a third time? I promise that I will put everything you tell me into a locket, keep it in my jewellery box on my nightstand and never let a secret slip from between my two lips. Do you not open up because you are scared that what you will tell me push me away from you or for a completely different reason? Because whatever it is I promise you it could never make me look at you differently. 

I promise. 

From the girl who undoubtedly, unequivocally loves you with all her heart. 

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I woke up next to you, tangled in your arms. Somewhere, somehow, through stolen sleepy kisses and secret whispers something changed.

For once, when you kissed me goodbye, I knew there wasn't a chance that it would be the last kiss we shared. There was no more murky waters, no more confusion, no more hesitation.

We were finally us, we are finally what we've wanted to be.

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Tell me, do the gaps between your fingers yearn to be filled with my touch when you’re next to me and are your drunken embraces and words your sober intentions and thoughts?