And for a while my only friend was the glass in my hand,
The liquor slipping down my throat, the only warm touch I needed.
The ice the only thing I dare let linger on my lips,
For fear of being burned.
The voice in my head chanting ‘its okay’
Until the words just blur into one.
‘s’k, s’k, s’k’.
The strength of lifting my hand to my mouth
Rewarded by the rush than ran through me,
The shiver that shook my body,
When it was too strong,
When there was far too much alcohol, in comparison to pop.
Just like there’s far too many emotions for me to deal with in this small body of mine.
A sip for sadness, a sip for regret, a sip for loneliness,
A gulp for rage, a gulp for courage,
A glass for clarity.
This friend in my hand, was more delicate than I,
Drop me, I will hurt but I will not break.
Break my friend and they’ll shatter into a million tiny pieces,
My secrets whispered into the rim along with them.
My confessions spoken into the glass,
Released for a moment,
Weight off my shoulders,
Only to weigh twice as much when I drink them back down,
For having the time to clarify them.
You used to look at me like I was the only thing in your world,
Like I was the one who was holding you safely on the ground,
It wasn’t easy but I held on tight each and every day,
Determined not to let you just float away.
You’d touch me like I was the most delicate thing
You’d ever had the pleasure of touching,
Like I was a sacred text and the only way to read me
Was your fingertips on my skin.
And then you’d hold me so close we could almost be a whole,
So close, I could feel each breath fan across my neck,
Knowing there was no way you’d let me fall
Into anything but the place I supposedly belonged.
Your hands constantly finding my hair,
Idly twirling it around and around and watching it unravel,
The simplest pleasure in the world for you,
And I let you indulge because you at least deserved that.
At the end of the day, you would pull my back to your chest,
Your head resting against mine,
I’d hear the deep breath you take
Almost like you were trying to breath me in.
After days apart you would run to me,
As though time apart had wearied you
And I am the medication you desperately need,
As though I am the only one who could put you back together.
And you’d talk to me in riddles and poems
Because it was too hard for you to tell me straight,
But you knew I didn’t mind, that I’d take the time to figure it out
And I would wake up each morning, eagerly awaiting the next one.
And then you would stare at me,
As if you were only just seeing me for the first time,
As if you had finally begun figuring out the missing piece of the puzzle,
And maybe you were.
Homesickness is like a disease.
Look it up and you’ll see a face like mine,
Broken and unsure,
Alone and at this moment unhappy.
It creeps up on you,
Follows you around.
Only showing its face when you realize,
You have to make tea for yourself,
When you realize you’ve cooked too much pasta for one person,
When you realize that if you want a chat,
You have to hunt for an ear.
Things that were there before,
Aren’t any more.
Things you took for granted,
Are suddenly gone,
And you’re not entirely sure when they’ll come back.
I’d wanted to start this new chapter in my life.
Ever since I could remember,
“What do you wanna be when you grow up?”
I’d never have an answer,
But I knew this is where I wanted to be.
I guess at the time,
I just didn’t quite grasp the concept that,
You can’t take your mum with you,
Or that dad wouldn’t be around to get rid of the spiders anymore.
I was a big girl now,
I had to get rid of that spider myself.
But regardless of that fact that I did,
In that moment there was nothing I wanted to do more,
Than call my dad and have him make fun of me for being so scared.
I miss that,
And I miss them.
More that I thought I would.
I’ve never been one to miss home,
Moving from mum to dads and back,
Had made it easy for me to adapt.
But being somewhere further than just around the corner,
Was starting to kill me.
There were no more ‘I’ll see you tomorrow’,
Or ‘I’ll pick you up at five’,
We’d moved on from that.
Progressed to ‘I’ll see you next month’,
Or ‘Phone me when you wanna come home’,
And although I know they’re still there,
Just a little bit further away than usual,
I still have this gapping hole in my chest.
This black hole that is trying to make me collapse in on myself.
This wound that wont heal,
Until my mum makes me a cup of tea,
Until my brother tells me to shut up,
Until I see my little nephew running towards me with arms open wide,
Until I hear my step mum laugh at something ridiculous I’d done when I was drunk,
Until my dad calls me ‘Lou’.
That’s when I’ll be okay,
When I’ll know that everything’s going to be alright,
That when I’ll know that I’m home.