lips consume every corner of my mind

he is the boy who always
listens when nobody else will

i am the girl who waits until
everybody else has left the
house just so i can let every
syllable that escapes his
lips consume every
corner of my mind

he is the boy who empties
words that he cannot say
to anybody else unto me

i am the girl who feels
the same, nods and
echoes the pain

he is the boy who tells me
that he cannot bring himself
to love his father because his
father refuses to love him

i am the girl who wants the
boy to be loved, because
he loves everything else
in this world so fiercely

he is the boy who dances
under the sun and kisses
under the moon

i am the girl who watches
and smiles and knows
that i will never have
anything quite like
that again

he is the boy who tells me
that not even the people
he could spend hours and
days and weeks with will
ever understand him

i am the girl who will
always understand

he is the boy who is
judged for something he
is not

i am the girl who is judged
for something that i am

he is the boy who will
never refuse to stop loving
even if miles of grey tar mac
stand in the way

i am the girl who will never
be able to behave herself
the way in which he can

he is the boy who loves the
right way

i am the girl who can never
fight drunken desire

he is the boy who tells
me that everything will
be just fine

i am the girl who could
never have asked for words
like these from anybody
else's mouth

he is the boy who listens
to the story that i have
only ever told a few people
and says that i can fight it

i am the girl who will
fight it

he is the boy who will
fight it
too

A sudden realisation narrated by spoken word.

I hate nothing more than people who repeat things on their blogs, I mean its so arrogant just thinking that just cause you have an internet connection it doesn't mean that you are in some way some an art critic and that people should listen to what you have to say.
BUT.
As I have said countless times before I love Jenny Browne and her poetry and I want to say that I have had a particular sentence of this stuck in my head then I could justify putting it here. But I haven't, I love it all, I want to pick one line, but I have no favourite parts and I can never stop reading once I begin. Thankyou for putting my unsaid feelings into words.


It’s got nothing to do with love. A sweeping feeling dragging you down to the bottom of the ocean; your back rubs the corals, aquamarine skims by and you float motionlessly through this tunnel of blue. Like the butt of a cigarette into burning ashes - a ring of amber surrounds the tip and drags it down. Impossible situations, lost communications, broken faces and mistakes of the past. You can’t get over, you can’t get under. Hold yourself close and think of home. The safest place to stay alive, your private rooms in which to hide. I can think of nothing I want more than to disappear. Fade away into the solemn darkness, grabbing at air as you are pushed through the wind tunnel. A given name, meaning sorrowful is thrown at you and you reach out but only oxygen skims through your grasp. Nothing to hold; nothing to have. Naked in the darkness, oily skin and dry palms, perspiration rolling down your forehead and dripping moisture onto my face.. I am smiling in the obscurity but you can’t see. I giggle noisily and you collapse on top of me, burying your head into my pillow. As you raise your head I catch a glimpse of the corners of your mouth, rising to meet your ears. Warmth is at one, just as I am with you. I am thinking ridiculous thoughts. A blackbird in solitude on a fence post in spring. Waiting for the morning to rise up and sing. Reduced visibility during the lighting of the sky. It will let me out, release me and fly. When I was little I didn’t know love, now I’ve been through and out and I am still unable to breathe. A torturous rollercoaster. It melts your mind, freezes up your brain and holds you back from anyone else you had ever imagined being with. Thinking about you or me or you and me is like an epiphany. A sudden realisation narrated by spoken word. The essence of a meaning, but without a meaning, no common logic or symmetry. There are too many miles between us for this to be real. We cannot hold it together because you are never here. I can still smell you, the dirt between your fingers, your hair wet from the rain. That time we kissed was so beautiful, God opened up the heavens and the rain came down in sheets. You grabbed my hand and ran, me lagging behind. We went away to hide and you pulled me up close, wrapped up in each other to stay warm. The affection I felt for you cannot compare to anyone I meet now, and might possibly share. We are going nowhere other than down a steep slope and I wish for the day when I am finally completed, when we are older and more intelligent and sick to the bones of not seeing each other for so long. It’s so hard. I am tumbling head over heels for this image. This vision, these dreams that I cannot contain, I see you smile in the half-light, smothered in rain. If I close my eyes they will want to be open. If I try to stay awake this apparition will grab me. Alone in my bed at a quarter to two, I lift up my eyelids and turn over and see you. But it is not you, simply a space in my bed and I stroke the same space where maybe one day you will be.

Its got nothing to do with love.

A friend asked me the other day, why is your blog called its got nothing to do with love?

So I explained the story of how Jenny Browne was reading me poems in my bedroom at home and how this slipped out of her little book of poems. This was before she had her blog so as I pinched it off her I was very happy with myself. For the next two years I read this poem almost daily and it travelled with me from festival to festival and had many a strip of tape holding it together where it had been folded so many times, until one day it just dissapeared.

So a week ago I emailed Jenny and she sent me this copy. And all the memories came flooding back.

It’s got nothing to do with love. A sweeping feeling dragging you down to the bottom of the ocean; your back rubs the corals, aquamarine skims by and you float motionlessly through this tunnel of blue. Like the butt of a cigarette into burning ashes - a ring of amber surrounds the tip and drags it down. Impossible situations, lost communications, broken faces and mistakes of the past. You can’t get over, you can’t get under. Hold yourself close and think of home. The safest place to stay alive, your private rooms in which to hide. I can think of nothing I want more than to disappear. Fade away into the solemn darkness, grabbing at air as you are pushed through the wind tunnel. A given name, meaning sorrowful is thrown at you and you reach out but only oxygen skims through your grasp. Nothing to hold; nothing to have. Naked in the darkness, oily skin and dry palms, perspiration rolling down your forehead and dripping moisture onto my face.. I am smiling in the obscurity but you can’t see. I giggle noisily and you collapse on top of me, burying your head into my pillow. As you raise your head I catch a glimpse of the corners of your mouth, rising to meet your ears. Warmth is at one, just as I am with you. I am thinking ridiculous thoughts. A blackbird in solitude on a fence post in spring. Waiting for the morning to rise up and sing. Reduced visibility during the lighting of the sky. It will let me out, release me and fly. When I was little I didn’t know love, now I’ve been through and out and I am still unable to breathe. A torturous rollercoaster. It melts your mind, freezes up your brain and holds you back from anyone else you had ever imagined being with. Thinking about you or me or you and me is like an epiphany. A sudden realisation narrated by spoken word. The essence of a meaning, but without a meaning, no common logic or symmetry. There are too many miles between us for this to be real. We cannot hold it together because you are never here. I can still smell you, the dirt between your fingers, your hair wet from the rain. That time we kissed was so beautiful, God opened up the heavens and the rain came down in sheets. You grabbed my hand and ran, me lagging behind. We went away to hide and you pulled me up close, wrapped up in each other to stay warm. The affection I felt for you cannot compare to anyone I meet now, and might possibly share. We are going nowhere other than down a steep slope and I wish for the day when I am finally completed, when we are older and more intelligent and sick to the bones of not seeing each other for so long. It’s so hard. I am tumbling head over heels for this image. This vision, these dreams that I cannot contain, I see you smile in the half-light, smothered in rain. If I close my eyes they will want to be open. If I try to stay awake this apparition will grab me. Alone in my bed at a quarter to two, I lift up my eyelids and turn over and see you. But it is not you, simply a space in my bed and I stroke the same space where maybe one day you will be.

copyright to Jenny Browne

clouds from the west

http://cheekythrills.blogspot.com/2011/01/464200.html
464,200

i watched as clouds from the west
collided with an aeroplane from the
east in the window reflection across
the street. dulling rows of red brick
marring my view each morning. i
did not ask for a perfect panorama.
i did not recieve one. in this dirty
city i live and breathe. but there is
no oxygen. only bulletproof shop-
fronts, industrial palaces and Floyd
who sits in a filthy puddle of his own
lost memories outside the university.
i roll him cigarettes and he tells me
that i remind him of the wife he once
had. it is entirely subjective, this city.
i wake up for the day but it is already
dark. i still lose my way, but finding
things by accident is better. i found
myself by accident. i don't get scared
anymore walking home at 5am.
daddy said i'm a big girl now

Jenny Browne I love your brain, your words are amazing.

Jenny Browne

http://cheekythrills.blogspot.com/

jenny browne is amazing.