Laura tries poetry

So its a little known fact that I have written poetry on and off for the last 16 years. If you know me and are wondering why I haven't shared it then trust me there's a very good reason for that. The first stuff I used to write all rhymed and was pretty woeful even if it was heartfelt and personal. Sadly that was all destroyed by a very smart and self-conscious Laura many years ago. I did eventually move on from that to stuff that was structurally a lot better but still pretty bleak stuff. You would have felt all of the sad upon reading it, trust me I know these things. Then I just sort of stopped. I might have just gotten a little happier or perhaps I just had nothing to write about. Much like many people, I do my best work when I am supposed to be doing anything else which is why in college my room was always cleanest when I had an essay to work on. 

A week ago I started an online creative writing course. The overall aim is that I will have written a short story by the end of it. I might be only two weeks in but I am starting to believe that's not going to happen. I'm supposed to writing character notes from people I have observed as I go along and I have so far neglected to do that so I don't have a notion, never mind the bones of a story I could write. On the other hand, I have found in the last week or so that I have started writing poems again and while they might not be all sunshine and rainbows, they certainly lack the bleakness of my older work. So here goes. Perhaps I can cheat and submit a poem instead at the end of my online course.

Here is what I have written so far. 

Falling forwards
   Hollowed out,
   from the outside in,
  like a gloomier reflection
 of the girl I could be.
 Chatter scattered about this
near empty room as I sit waiting
for the music to start,
for some sign that adult life begins now

it seems each day tumbles
into the next and I
am left with calendar pages,
perplexed.

Can't focus with constant interruption,
doesn't quite explain how so many
years have amassed nothing.
my mouth tastes 
not quite bitter
but certainly not the satisfaction,
I had strived for.
Surely no one dreams of becoming a shop girl.

I did not yearn for the life that is now mine.
I have moments, days, nights
where I run around my mind 
like a hamster on a wheel,
panicked by my own directionless
and then I smother these feelings
deep down inside me with
book after book,
and another mindless tv show
until my mind is soft
and ready for sleep

and I have only the not quite bitter taste 
in my mouth to remind me
that all is not as it should be.

Cellulite
my boyfriend claims to have never seen mine.
dare I call him a liar ,
should I grasp his hands 
and dig his fingers into my dimpled flesh
until it is a reality
he is forced to confront.
Will I watch that glint leave his eye
as he gazes over me.

Or do I smile sweetly
as though it is a problem
other women have
and keep him happily in the dark


Money, money
Financial worries are the stone that sinks me.
They sit in the pit of my belly,
rumbling a warning,
lest I get carried away
and have too much fun 

It is the flutter in my chest,
keeping me awake at night.
I indulge myself in flights of fancy,
dreaming up ways in which
I might get more

A life in which I am not penny pinching,
not borrowing against myself,
not feeling that lingering guilt
as I accept another handout from
my mother and wonder when 
will I be able to pay her back.

Not dreaming of designer clothes and diamond shoes.
Just peace of mind with a little extra to spend.
It seems like a pinprick of light
in the future,
one day I Might be better than this,
one day but not now. 

Caffeinated Laura 
Caffeinated Laura is faster,
more streamlined.
she is a fireball of energy,
overflowing with chatter
she cannot keep to herself

She is a twitching mess,
like a child after too many skittles,
wanting to run and lie down
at the same time 

Caffeinated Laura is nobodys' friend,
high octane, buzzing around the room
like a fly.
Glad that class a drugs have held no appeal
when she can party all day on just a latte.

Staring at silence 
Tired and my eyes droop.
I steel myself for the long drive,
making promises of caffeine and 
naps at journeys end.

Spending my weekend away
in a sleep deprived haze.
I will carry only snatches of the day
with me in my pockets,
weighing me down like stones

Wishing I had spent more time in 
a state of slumber.
And less twisting, turning in my bed sheets,
waking to find my head foggy
and my legs entangled


One Year

One year since I became we,
it has flown by much like my twenties
and I remain dizzied by its passing 

One year of gigs and plays 
and every conceivable movie festival thought possible,
my cultural horizons broaden beyond any scope
I've ever known.
I fight less for nights in to indulge my inner hermit.

One year of day trips and over night trips.
Of arguing over directions and 
negotiating to find a place 
we are both willing to eat at.

One year of nights in with hugs 
and false accusations that I 
hog all of the blankets in my sleep.
Over time I have been learning to share
my bed and my life with him.

One year of me blogging our adventures
as he reads over my shoulder,
Of half comprises, with me the over planner
pitted against Mr 'let's see how things go'.

One year has passed and I sit 
wondering what new adventures will come
in the year ahead ,
with him by my side,
giving unhelpful directions from the passenger seat.