Thoughts in verse

Purely to give my poetry and poetry related posts some lurrvvvee. Main blog: elgatitoquecaucauk.tumblr.com

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Loving me

I think about it a lot. The things that made you fall in love will make you fall out of love.

How my intensive clinginess is kind of cute; at first, but in the end, it drives them round the bend.

How my need to constantly hear: “I love you.” Every hour of the day becomes a debt to much to pay.

The opening up, when I start telling you everything all at once, doesn’t stop till I drop.

The reasons, you think, you might love me for; are the reasons you’ll leave me for.

-C.A.K 07/11/15

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Don't use the 'actuallyborderline' tag if you don't have bpd ASSHOLE

I actually do have bpd, namecaller, just because I don’t have it branded across my blog doesn’t make me any less worthy of the tag! I sometimes write poetry directly about my mental health problems and when I do, I tag them with relevant tags so I can share them with other sufferers of the same illness. But I don’t have to be branded with it 24/7 and it isn’t always relevant to my poems.

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Sorry

I’m sorry I’m just a broken record stuck on repeat unable to find the end and unable to remember where I began Just a point in the middle of existence without a before or an after I’ll say I’m sorry till everyone I’ve ever known is well and truly sick of that phrase “You say it so much it means nothing.” “You never change.” But to me it says everything I’m sorry I exist I’m sorry I didn’t succeed at killing myself again I’m sorry you’re patching up my latest self-harm I’m sorry for being alive, so alive, when I just want to die.

-C.A.K 06/11/2015

[maxmundan]

I hadn’t realized we were at war until I went back over our story and read between the lines It was a surprise to me that you wanted to parade me through the streets in chains to revel in my destruction to hoist me high above your head a broken, bloody trophy I guess I must have misheard you When you were telling me to defend myself I could have sworn you said, “I love you.”

Max Mundan, Love-War

© David Rutter 2015

Purchase my new book, “Everyone is Broken”, by clicking HERE!

(via maxmundan)

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Epicentre

Trigger warning: Sexual assault references

I see their smiles when I close my eyes and hear their laughter in the silence In the broken silence I lay still, staring at the ceiling.

The trousers I wore on the day in a plastic bag on my floor where they will remain until the police come along and seal them in a clear plastic evidence bag with a crime number and my name.

The tornado of feelings leave me glued to an area at the epicentre of them where it’s calm unless I move only an inch and get tugged back into the WHYS. Why me? Why that night? Why wasn’t I elsewhere?

-C.A.K 19/10/2015

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I don’t know.

He’s dead and I don’t know why or how or even if it matters. At first, I could not believe it. Was there a grave or was he cremated? I do not know.

At the funeral, did my mother weep so loud they had to remove her? Did she throw herself at the coffin screaming: “Take me instead!” ?

I don’t know exactly when it happened, sometime last October; was all I was told. And then, in the same breath-

My aunt said: “We won’t tell you IF anyone else in the family dies.” Because I’m not part of ‘the family’ so does it really matter? I don’t know.

-C.A.K July 2015

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Upon learning an instrument

I stopped listening to my ipod and I stopped listening to music but I haven’t stopped hearing it. I finally started to feel it.

There’s music in my head there are notes upon my breath there are melodies in the vibrations ringing in my ears there are beats in my footsteps and rhythm in the air

Tunes flow through my fingers and tongue since I learned to play the flute.

-C.A.K July 2015

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Unpacking

The boxes stacked up dominating the room These black handled pans weren’t mine Were never ours Ours had hot handles of silver steel needed an oven glove to take them off the hob.

This handful of cutlery never belonged to me mine was grooved and all matching and complete There’s not a full set of these flat mismatched knives, forks and spoons.

And items I expected to find, I never found. Where were my dragonfly ornaments, paintings and windchime? Not here. Not in any of these boxes or bags. I’ve checked them all now.

-C.A.K  4th September 2015

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Crazed lesbian man eater beats young man to death with children’s toy gun

Authorities are on the hunt for a young female with bright blue hair of large build, 5’6” in height and estimated to be in her late teens to early twenties after she beat a man to death on a bus yesterday evening.

Onlookers were stunned when, seemingly unprovoked, the young lesbian opened fire on a young gentleman inside an evening bus. When the foam bullets did not harm the young gentleman, the lesbian started bashing him over head whilst shrieking loudly before disembarking in the bus and making off into the night. Paramedics pronounced the victim dead at the scene due to mortal head trauma.

It is alleged that the young man attempted to make a move on this young lady and she was not impressed with his advances.

The bus company are shocked and sorrowed by this tragedy. They assure the public that they will be doing their upmost to insure the safety and security of all passengers. The bus driver, who wished to remain anonymous, said “I have never genuinely feared for my life during my entire 30 years as a bus driver like I did that night. She was an absolute crazed lunatic and I felt intervening would have cost me my life.”

The young man’s family are too devastated to provide a comment and their identities are protected for legal reasons.

-C.A.K September 2015

I guess this is a bit different from my usual writing. I was on a bus when this strange man started to flirt with me, he was early thirties at a guess. I felt really uncomfortable and imagined I had a weapon but the only thing that resembling a weapon I could think of was a giant plastic nerf gun I keep beside my bed. Then I got to thinking how a tabloid news paper would report this kind of incident.. As in, if I beat him with the plastic gun. Hence this was born.

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Remember this one good part of me.

I painted the colourful picture you’ve hung in your hallway, played my flute inside your music shop, shakey with nerves but innocent and pure. I offered an extra layer to you when you were shivering even though I didn’t know you. I took you home when you were so drunk, you could barely remember where you lived. I helped you carry your friend to the taxi rank, after a strange man had spiked her drink. I brought you a warm meal on my 21st birthday and got the biggest grin as a thanks. I held your withered hand on Christmas eve as the clock stroke twelve making sure you didn’t begin Christmas day alone. Remember that I was loving, kind and helpful or at least, I tried to be. And although, you’ll probably never meet me again, please remember this one good part of me.

-C.A.K 09/09/15

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I don’t mind spiders

When I was little, they terrified me.

They seemed so scary when I was three

with their eight little furry legs

and their giant webs.

Their beady little eyes

and fondness of flies.

  It definitely didn’t help when I saw

THAT FILM,

Eight legged freaks, it made me feel woozey

but eventually I learned

that wasps were a reason to be more concerned

about and what should eat wasps?

Yes, spiders!

  Ever since then,

I have found a friend

in spiders. Whom do me no harm

and no longer cause alarm.

When I see them, I leave them to it;

with a wasp killing permit.

- C.A.K  24/07/2015

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Toby the music tutor’s dog

In a musical little house

lives a musical little dog.

Toby sits at our feet, calmly

and he listens with his ears pricked ip

to the melodies of our flutes

as the notes dance together.

And when the notes clash with wrongness,

he whines to let us know

as if he’s been inspecting our performance

all along.

And when the beat is lively

and we come together as one

the flutes following from quavers to crochets and miniums,

he jumps up excitedly in celebration

to praise us.

He exclaims ‘Well done!’

But when we hit that high octave

making the instruments squeal,

his ears flatten against his head.

He barks: “Stop that,

you’re hurting my ears!”

-C.A.K  24/07/2015

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My mind

My mind likes to remind me Of how I screwed it up with Every single: "We almost dated" As if that were my fault- When we were never meant to be. And then when I'm being brave Saying "We were never meant to be!" My brain whispers: "Do you even remember how to connect With people, anymore?" I don't know which hurts more.

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Anxiety

This anxiety has me hard wired. I’m just so tired. If I had a job, I’d get fired because I can’t get up when required; no matter the time of day.

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On how far I haven’t come.

*slight trigger warning: feelings around self harm, no details graphic or otherwise*

I can’t believe I’m here hanging my head in disgrace, to find myself again in this place, trying to hide my face so no one recognizes me. I know you mean well; I really do. But can’t you see, you’re giving me attention for the wrong reason?

“Look how far you’ve come!” You all exclaim but your conclusions are lame. You’re giving me attention for self-harm, all the same. What about my flute playing? Or my art covering the walls? Even all these amazing books I’m reading? Why not praise them instead?

Yet this toxic flame of hurt inside is the only thing that makes me feel alive, it’s the only way I survive, When I have no real internal drive for anything anymore. None of these things give quite the same release and that I’m very ashamed for.

- CAK 7th June 2015

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None of these poems were really about you, about any of you, my ex girlfriend and my ex best friends. They were all about me. Every. Single. One. You all saw me broken beyond repair. That’s the reason you’re all gone. Except mum Because she was the real reason I’m broken. She’s the real reason I’m here. Without her I could not of physically existed. But everyone else… None of you broke me and all of you left because of me.

-CAK 30th May 2015

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First love III

Kiss me, spin me round put me down upon the ground. Pick me up, hug me tight let us never fight Keep me close, don’t ever let me go set this blaze aglow... But... How could I show you- how could I describe exactly how very much you mean to me? I love you with every piece of this heart and that’s all I’ll truely ever know

- CAK age 16.