wanting to write
is not the same
as actually writing

and the longing
to fill the empty page
does not fill it

my mind remains
obstinately blank

all I have is…

how about a nice cup of tea
or maybe a few
and when can we watch
doctor who
and how I’d like
to snuggle with you

and though it rhymes
and represents myself
it’s hardly poetry

just the ramblings
of my mind
far too content
to wail and moan
or grandly talk

just the lovely
of you and me
and quiet days
that pass so soft
and yet so swift


when is acceptable unacceptable?
(is this some kind of joke) …

   when it is what I consider
    to be acceptable
  not what you consider
   to be acceptable

but where is the invisible line
in the sands of time
that states exactly when is the correct time
to commit yourself to someone?

where is the rulebook
that says you must meet and approve
the person I choose
even though I am grown older and wiser?

I am not your normal
I am not your traditional
I am not your holdyourfeelingsin
I am not your do the “right” thing even when it feels wrong

I used to pretend to be

I’ve already escaped from one cage
I’m not going to make myself a new one

I come from lines of stiff upper lip
where feelings are shaken off
just get on with it
pull yourself together
stop making a fuss

but this is not my way
I break out of these constraints
I splatter my heart over these pages
I will not hide my soul behind my painted on smile
and I will not hold back my love for the sake of decency or tradition
or some other kind of man-made construct of what is right and proper and acceptable

I will NOT

and suddenly the olderandwiser slips
and I poke out my tongue