when world’s the wheel and you’re the car its driving
when streetlights shatter in the sticky summer air
when sky’s blue-black with stark impressions
of things unspoken in the glint of lovers eyes
then you will know the power of rejection
then you will know the insecurity in me
until that day amour, just let me be
let me be exactly how I am.
Posted in excerpts
Tagged air, am, amour, be, black, blue, car, day, drive, exactly, eyes, glint, how, i, impressions, insecurity, just, know, let, lovers, me, of, poems, poetry, power, rejection, shatter, sky, stark, sticky, streetlight, summer, things, unspoken, until, wheel, when, will, world, you
certain things hit me with a strange ferocity. different velocity, acceleration, speed, but they are have one thing in common -somehow they wound me gently, taking care not to hurt too much or break more bones than will heal naturally given time and care.
it’s often words. soft, sometimes inaudible, but always taboo.
like the wednesday past, when i met your past love and she told me of the things you and her did, the way your breathing would take on an animalistic quality, as if the lion i know in you was roused, the way your face would contort at the end of it all, the way it made her laugh.
and then there was the way she asked about what we have done. and i told her. why wouldn’t i? let the vulture take its prey and feast on it. we all need nourishment of some kind and i guess my nourishment was hearing it all out in the open. everything has it’s price and well, she’s only me in retrospect.
those little things are enough to drive us insane, but i think we ought to face them head-on. that way we are the hunters and not the hunted.
and then there was this morning and a text from you telling of your time in france and how, by chance, you ended up sleeping only meters away from your parents and their squeaky bed last night and the night before.
and i don’t want to fill in the gaps.
my parents wouldn’t.
but we are all different, non? my morals are not yours. my horror is different to yours. ukrainian normality does not always collide with the french, i know that. you laid there in silence, but me, i’d get up and go to the bathroom, garden, i’d go out.
and suppose that’s us in twenty or thirty years time. does it scare you? it scares the blinking daylights out of me.
but what do i know of fear?
maybe i ought to go to war.
so here’s my rebuttal: we do not see things as they are, we see things as we are.
Posted in chapters of my life
Tagged acceleration, all, always, animalistic, are, away, bathroom, bed, before, blinking, bones, break, breathing, care, certain, chance, common, contort, daylight, different, does, don't, done, drive, end, ended, enough, everything, face, fear, feast, ferocity, fill, france, french, from, gaps, garden, gently, get, given, go, head, heal, hear, her, hit, horror, how, hunted, hunters, hurt, inadible, insane, know, laid, last, laugh, lion, little, love, maybe, me, meters, morals, more, morning, naturally, night, non, nourishment, often, on, one, only, open, ought, out, parents, past, prey, price, prose, quality, rebuttal, retrospect, rouse, scare, see, she, silence, soft, somehow, sometimes, speed, squaky, strange, suppose, taboo, take, telln, text, that, them, then, there, they, thing, things, think, thirty, this, time, told, twenty, ukrainian, up, us, velocity, vulture, war, we, wednesday, what, when, words, would, wouldn't, wound, years, you, yours
How quietly loves pass you by,
Their names – moonless nights
killing postcoital glow.
/
/
How gravely love moulds to hate
or apathy,
mixing into the summer air,
You,
uttering their names,
holding onto that fire
/
Driving fast,
somewhere past
a streetcar named desire,
Burning through memories
Ash scattering ash
/
And
every
spark
hits
the
pavement
like
a
stone
/
You stop to breathe.
You’re not alone.
/
You know I’m here
And this is home.
Posted in excerpts
Tagged air, alone, apathy, ash, breathe, burn, by, desire, drive, every, fast, fire, glow, gravely, hate, here, hit, hold, home, how, is, kill, know, like, love, loves, memories, mix, moon, moulds, name, named, names, night, not, onto, pass, pavement, poems, poetry, postcoital, quietly, scatter, spark, stone, stop, streetcar, summer, their, this, through, to, us, utter, you
putting up with my chronic unhappiness must drive you mad, my love.
and though i want nothing more than for you to be happy always, sadness never near, as if you put a restraining order on it, don’t expect the same for me. truth is, i almost like being miserable. it’s like it’s my motivation to bring up every frustration at dinner time and know that very little of it really hurts me.
so sweet to taste victory after proclaiming defeat. and when you start winning, you want more. you always want more.
noone ever died from wanting too much
and that could be the soundtrack to my life, it really could.
the world is not enough
but it is such a perfect place to start, my love
but you don’t believe that do you?
you’re happy with the way we are, blissfully unaware of the way i hurt inside, thinking that you expect so much of me, the way every time i feel the burning need to give more and more, but seem able only to give less.
still, this is not the end.
i don’t believe there will be one, because i don’t want it to end. ever. but is that just me wanting too much again?
and right now i’m just not sure. yesterday hurt, if not you, then me. the conversation, the way you looked at me, the cold i felt eminating from the familiar warm mound of you on the bed there.
still, i’ll try to set the memories of our hurts alight, because really there aren’t that many. because i love you more than that.
if we can’t have it all
then nobody will
but, my love, i’m afraid i can’t do a thing about my chronic unhapiness.
it’s become a part of me. just like you.
Posted in chapters of my life
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glittering soot on her eyelashes 
