Friend Of Mine

It’s funny how we change
Funny, and rather strange
Although staring right at you
I don’t recall your face

You speak like you know me
And fool others with your lies
Remember all those years back when
I called you ‘friend of mine’ ?

Awkward fills the gap now
Where laughter once roamed free
But I can’t stand the sight of you
And you no longer me.

Fine China

You helped me up from the ground where I thought I would lay forever, made me realise that not all was lost. I saw how much you wanted me, but appreciated that you didn’t need me. I was broken when you found me, like a china doll in a charity shop – but you saw past my mangled hair and cracked eyes, you didn’t mind that I was tired and had nothing exciting left to offer the world. You made it your mission to show me how I deserved to be treated, you took me out and taught me all the things about the world I had forgotten; love, fun, laughter and inner peace.

You have to remember that even the strongest of super glue sometimes does not fix deepest of cracks in fine china. When something delicate has been broken it takes more than someone’s love to mend, and the glue doesn’t always hold.

You gave everything and more to me when I was down, but you can’t fix me. I need to fix myself, now I remember what life can be I need to remember who I can be. For that I need nobody else, and sometimes the pressure we put ourselves under in the name of loving another is too heavy for such fine material, and it begins to crack again.

I’m beyond grateful for you, I will forever be in debt to you for taking the time to try and mend me. You never asked for anything in return, I just wish I had something to give you other than my broken pieces, for broken pieces can cause more harm in the long run. No matter how pretty they seem.

Now I’ve been shown the path I have to walk it, but in order to mend I have to walk it with my own feet and can’t have you carry me. I hope that you understand, and I’m sorry if my jagged edges ever cut you whilst you tried your best to piece them back together again. If you look hard enough one day you will bump into me but this time walking along my road, a real girl – made of flesh and blood. Not the fragile doll you found that day.

LDN

Little darlin’ come sit next to me
There’s someone dear Id like you to meet,

Little honey’ let me show you her streets,
A restless jungle paved with concrete

Little baby lets take that winding stroll,
Passed south of the river through her colourful soul

Little poppet lets ride top deck back,
Of her red and steady beast
Looking through her big bold eye,
Your imagination is in for a feast

Little lover she’s calling,
Through wise words of The Clash

London be her name my love,
And beauty be her wrath

Click

That moment when it clicks. They say that it’s like a lightbulb, when you realise that they were no good from the start. But what happens when it doesn’t click? It’s like being sat in a dark room waiting for somebody to flick that switch, to shine the light on all the reasons why you’re better off without them. They say that when it clicks you feel a new lease of life, a ‘screw you’ attitude, determined to show the world you were always better off without them.

The truth is no matter how much someone else shines their light on the imperfections, you don’t listen. They don’t know them like you do, they weren’t there when you saw them cry. They don’t understand because they didn’t know the half. You want to shine your own light on the imperfections but it’s overshadowed by your love for that one person, so you sit alone blind and in the dark. Just wishing you could flick that switch.

That moment when you hear them laugh, see them smile and realise that they are happy now without you. That laugh isn’t the same anymore, it means nothing now. It used to mean so much, like their smile and their eyes. But now it’s like you’re staring at a stranger, and all you think is ‘what have you done with the person that I once knew’. I don’t know you anymore.

You want to hate them for leaving you when you needed them the most, you want to hurt them like they hurt you. To make them understand how it feels to be thrown away. But you can’t, because you don’t wish what you feel upon anybody. If you could only hate them it wouldn’t hurt so much. You could be angry and move on. If only you could explain to them that you still care. But they don’t want to listen, they don’t want you. He doesn’t want you.

So I sit. Waiting for that click. I hope it clicks soon. I’m tired, so tired.

Oops…

Having just completed the first year of my English degree I realised that I have not blogged in an age! So I log onto wordpress to get rambling and it would appear that in the midst of University stress and the daily struggle of remembering passwords (life insists we have a password for everything, annoyingly) I have indeed forgotten the log in details from my previous blog sboonlondon.wordpress.com – oops. 

After hours of attempting to crack the codes I have decided to lay the old blog to rest, and have created a brand spanking new one. I shall be attempting to publish something daily, even just silly poems. Ive also come to the realisation that I am about as cultured as a ken doll, so shall be attempting to write something on current affairs as often as possible. 

So fellow bloggers I apologise in advance for my debatably humorous rants and soppy poetry!