30-something Has-been 30 something has-been Whatever happened to spontaneity; It seems it's been traded in for good old fashioned punctuality- Predictability, stability, functionality. Its like my 30 something self is mocking The 17 year old me; I'm not sure I'd even like myself if I were 23. The thing about change is change -a shift in priority; No time for time-wasting, Impatience has long since become a virtue. It feels like my youth has been a 'has-been', Been and gone and lost amidst the tailspin of my Former glory; Grandeur is my legacy; Grandmother of my otherwise 30-something normality:reality cuts deeply.

Lie-ing In The Dark Eyes wide open Lying in the dark Waiting for my wicked friend To make its little mark Upon my psyche-Marry me? Humour me?a blot upon my mindscape Trying to escape? Except the bottom of a bottle Is a twisted tourniquet So I... Pick the scab Let it heal Wait until it's real and then I Build it up Knock it down Bury it Repeat Maybe we need time apart? Maybe it's a game; If #life is based on chance and circumstance Surely I'm a winner? Why then all the empty silences? Why the need for space? Craving for the answers cos Absence makes the heart grow bitter

Ring Finger Ring finger The wait continues And all the while, The weight of emptiness Bears heavily on my soul. The yearning for desire Is an ironic reminder of why My ring finger is still bare After all these years. "Bare as the day I was born" As they say-and they say lots of things; Such as, 'any chance of a grandchild soon?', 'who'd want to marry that?' And 'always the bridesmaid, never the bride...' Never the bridesmaid, I say. But always the onlooker; longing, sighing, imagining...... I wince at the thought of children But, yet, simultaneously I indulge myself With colour schemes for the nursery, names, even schools they might go to If ever I should be so blessed- Or cursed-still not sure. Then again, who is? How?Why?When? And at what cost, is the overriding reason that I sit, at 6am, contemplating my navel.

Shadow Of Doubt Shadow of doubt Punctuality: slack. Yet always forthcoming with Sexuality; Never short of a drink or three. Little gestures of 'you love me'; Wouldn't hurt once in a blue moon, Together with the openness of mind for it occasionally to be 'just you and me' or 'let's be three'; or simply even, 'let's be'- The thing is, I think I love you; But the shadow of doubt hangs over me like a storm cloud, waiting to explode at any given slight which resonates with past mistakes and failures. It's not fair! Why should I regale you for others' mistakes? Should I just accept them with grace and move on? Should I?Would I?Can I?...

Gentle Sorrow Blue is the colour Love is the game Heartbreak and tragedy: always the same Overturned lorry lump in my throat everything's black as the Irishest stout How can I trust you? How can you know? Doubtless I'll doubt you regardless although, it wasn't your argument wasn't your fight You didn't stop it; protect me from sight of green-ravaged monsters devillish, cruel- fuel for my sorrow; gentle and muled.