I regret chasing you for as long as I did
I regret dreaming moulds that I hoped you might fit
I really wish my naive confidence wasn’t hit
but it was you who first me showed me that song.
For all of the pain loving you made me feel
For the hope and the hype before that shit reveal
It was almost all lies but something was still real
how I felt when you played me that song
I didn’t like listening to it right next to you
I preferred it through headphones alone on the tube
But you know what I’m fair so I’ll give you your due
f**k you but thank you for that song.
I gave a homeless man I saw sitting on the pavement a pound this evening and as I was about to leave, he offered me a poem.
We should all try to stop, smile and say hello more 🙂 It might actually help someone get through a tough time and feel just a little bit loved.
If I tell you everything
Explain each piece and where it fits
Must I put it all together
or could you just help me with it?
Because I swear I’m not being lazy
and I’ll give you all the clues
It’s just I’m not the greatest speaker
but they might listen to you
and I say “they” but I mean you
I mean the voices in your head;
The little one that they call doubt,
the bloody huge one they call dread
That’s the thing dear I can ramble
Tell me where to fit the commas?
I know nouns but it’s a gamble
if and when verbs fall upon us
I say “us” but mean myself
and each scenario i’ve concocted
Once experience joins the chat
you see my mind becomes distorted
It can’t handle these small pieces
the way I know that your mind can
So how ’bout one big ol’ confession
instead of this sad sweaty hand?
I know you know that it’s quite tempting
You can have all the control
and be the master of my fate
my dear, the captain of my soul!
Wouldn’t that just be amazing?
All you have to do is listen!
Do not judge or think me mad
or wonder if I am worth kissing
Just say “stop” and I’ll stop talking
and I’ll let you take the lead
Oh lovely, I believe in you!
Just let me know what else you need.
Something caught my eye last night
I saw something that I might write
If born into a different home
Then cast out poor, cold, and alone
The writer of it, long since gone
It seemed his words had still lived on
On cardboard did his thoughts remain
Despite Manchester’s heavy rain
He’d asked if he could earn some alms
Through poetry not outstretched palms
I walked back, to a man I’d passed
It’d been a while, since I gave last
I gave him, I believe, a pound.
And made sure to observe the ground
In case, I passed one more l’d missed
Old man, lost soul or poor artist.