(Un)Fair Weather Friends

Crumbling, I break off pieces of myself and

hand those caring pieces to others without

thinking about myself. People demand

more and

yet

Do not ever think to once ask me how

I am feeling, despite my cries for help being

typed out in a standard front that  everyone

can read

Because my handwriting is

scruffy

And I do not want my feelings

and my heart misinterpreted. I’ve

not actually asked for help, but I am

telling everyone how I am

 

struggling

 

in this standard front that everyone

suddenly cannot read nor see

And I think I am expecting

 

Too much

 

to expect those who burrowed into my

heart to actually see if I am okay just

because I do the same for them.

 

HAHA

 

How ridiculous that I believed that

anyone really cared. Most

people chase the summer sun, and

those lost withing the winter

cold are battling their own storm.

 

Fair weather friends, (un)fair weather friends.

 

K. Thwaites

 

Lost at Sea

I’ve finally come to the surface

Fuck me, I am lost at sea,

And I am too far away to be rescued

Sunlight sparkles on these mocking waves

I chase this dream

of feeling the sun on my face once again.

 

“You will out ride this storm”

 

What happens if I am the storm,

And I cannot remember how to contain it again

Lightning strikes scars across me,

I could be hit at any time

I could lose control

 

People only truly love destructive beauty

When it is out at sea, and

Cannot hear it scream

and remind them of their own fragile lives.

 

 

 

K. Thwaites

The Drowning

My Father told me

That drowning was the nicest  of the ill fates a man could face

I spent my young years

Pondering how knowing you are going under

Is a kind and gentle death.

 

But now I am in my twenties

And my mouth is vaguely above the surface

Of my own misery

I’ve come to learn that one isn’t always at sea when

They are overwhelmed by the waves.

 

 

We are sometimes unaware

We are under the surface

Until we try to breathe,

Until we break free

And feel the air on our face again.

 

I’ve become a master

Of holding my breath

When I am

Lost at sea.

 

 

K. Thwaites

Flowers in the Spring time

Delicate flowers,

Fragile daisy chains

You pluck the petals of my soul,

Love me, love me not.

 

Give me your latest excuse

I’m cold and I’m listening

Your words are dying embers on this fire

And I’ve been trying to keep warm

This winter has been a long season my dear.

 

Promises and flowers perish

In the cold chambers of you

But flowers have this charming

Way, of sprouting when the

Cold is never ending.

 

I’ll learn to love again,

as sure as flowers

in the springtime.

 

 

K. Thwaites

 

 

Little Lighthouse

Heartbeats skipping hopscotch rhymes

Sands of time, turn over

And over until we are not counting the days but

Counting multiples of sixty seconds

Until we are land ho and home

I was in danger of crashing into

The jagged edges of my own misery

Then you returned and brought with you

The light I needed and now

I can see with more

Than just my eyes, little Lighthouse.

 

K. Thwaites

Home

I’ve wandered in search of home

A place I could call my own,

Gazed at the moon,

In foreign lands,

Searched for it in the faces of others,

Looked at the stars

Trying to work out where I needed to be.

 

Alphabet mish-mashes,

A compass leading me to

Where I should of gone

When I discovered adventure.

I looked up, discovering

The home I had been looking for

Has always been you.

 

 

K. Thwaites

Unforgotten Ghost

Loneliness isn’t not always your companion at 3am

Sometimes it hits you when it’s 9.39pm

The ghosts of goodnight kisses

Haunted by a lack of a heartbeat

Washing waves in time with yours.

 

Or it’s a memory of a painting

Of how you believed things to be.

Hands spinning in an endless circle,

Grains of sand monitoring

Your lacking passion.

 

The weight of the numbness

Holding down your air born heart.

An anchor keeping you in

The same place at sea.

 

With no lighthouse to guide you home.

The clock has chimed midnight,

and the spell hasn’t worn off.

Master of magic, a charming curse.

 

Unforgotten ghost, haunting halls

elsewhere

How I wish you would come home.

 

K Thwaites