I Hate You

seven-last-words-church-of-god-in-christ-jesus-vNBnzj-clipart[1]I opened up my heart to you
I opened up my mind to you
I revealed all my weaknesses to you

Then you went and fell in love with me
But I your best friend? It wasn’t to be
Through my rejections you came to hurt me

And then I turned my back on you
So now I “present” my back to you
But what are you going to do?

Do what damage you will as I know
This is to be the final blow
And I am prepared to take it

Once more I reveal my memories to you
One final time I show my heart to you
Again I open my windows of weakness to you

So hit me.
And then I can finally be free of you.

Alex Herlihy – 2010

A Dance

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Walking, talking,
Rushing off in excitement and me not pursuing.
A cross between a train station, my year nine camp accommodation sleeping quarters, and the bubblers outside at my primary school.
I let you go,
Head inside to the hall, meet people,
Talk to a troll for some reason that escapes me.
The troll provides some bogan philosophy,
I head back out,
try to find you,
looking through walls windows and mirrors,
they’re all the same anyway,
find you,
your face is just as happy as before,
but it has a falseness about it which I don’t know if it was there the whole time and I just didn’t notice or it is a new development.
I ask what is wrong, you say “nothing” and are so sincere.
You aren’t even acting; you ARE sincere,
and yet I know you are false.
“Alright… but just in case, I want to hug you to make sure”.
She does and falls asleep;

You slept with your head on my shoulder and your arms and legs wrapped around me.
As tall as me, and only a little younger, yet you were lighter than a feather,
and I held you as I would hold my one year old sister.

I walked and the world moved around us in a way that didn’t match up with how my legs were telling it to move.
Down the middle of a busy street,
across crossings that were lacking lights and painted stripes,
one second, or five, or a minute no cars, the next one hundred.
I moved out of their way, understanding the danger, but not feeling it.
Too calm, and you slept as if nothing at all were happening.

The scene changed to become more grassy,
and you flickered in and out of existence on my shoulder.
I carried you across the suburban Noork’s elbow.
Street, turned to bridge,
bridge over train tracks,
and before I had even stepped onto the bend, you had disappeared,
I forgot all about you, and the dream flowed on into the morning.

Only when my eyes open did I remember that,
and realise what a strange,
amazing dance we had just performed.

But you’ll never remember it.

The last message I received from you was sent before our dance, but only received after;
Dream about cruise ships and ball pit rooms.
Usually you are there, always there in case I need you. But not today.
I don’t remember my dance involving any juggling.
It wasn’t a dance of love, sadness, joy, happiness. It wasn’t a dance of the night, it wasn’t a dance of the morning, it wasn’t a dance of light, or of the moon falling. No guns were firing no swords were drawn, it wasn’t a dance of bullets or skin torn.
No words were said, but it was no dance of silence.
In simplicity lies beauty and perfection.
It was a pure dance, no more.
I dreamt of the cruise ship, but not the ball pit.
I dreamt a dance, we danced a dance,
And you’ll never remember it.
In simplicity lies beauty and perfection.
To walk while the world runs?
It was a pure dance, no more.
And you’ll never remember it.

Alex Herlihy – 2010 (Mildly edited)

Unfinished Poetry Fragment

At first, it was love.
My more logical side was always shouting “Slow down! Slow down!”
But the barely audible, back of my head still managed to win my devotion.
Someone who stays silent slays both ignorance and intelligence in a single stroke
The quiet ones know best, don’t they.
Don’t they…?

It was love.
I, A Lex.
I, Above the law.
I, A clockwork orange.
My creative and destructive impulses
Forcibly repressed
To make me quite presentable as an all-around acceptable member most respectable in our school society.
I used to engage in violence, revel in the fight,
It was Blood, guts, gore and glee! Until the doctor set me right.
So with classical and chilli-sauce, A repression of my drives
I share the name and I share the pain;
I am a clockwork orange.
And yet… it all comes down
To the milk I drink in the morning.

It was love!
My milk was neglected.
My drugs left untouched.
All my long repressed emotions and desires
Bubbling, exploding, escaping!
I was swimming in freedom!
Freedom out of control.
My heart was torn out and dangled before me
To show me what I had done
Reveal my love for what it really was
only an addiction.
As my life fell back upon the milk
Punishment was madness, insanity.
Withdrawal symptoms ironically.
The longing to return to the place where I belong
grew weaker and faint through time
To the point where indifference replaced the love
A faint annoyance at the blindness in my old friends minds.

Alex Herlihy – 2010

Darkness

little-church-001[1].jpgThis is the shirt I wore that night.
It was exactly a year ago, in a park I had visited only once before, to which I pursued a redhead.
In my frenzy I lost myself in the darkness, and clung to the only island of light, trusting the Christians to lead me home safely.

(Ironic how by turning from the light and following another redhead, that Westleigh park was not so dark.)

This is the first time I’ve worn this shirt since that night.
Because once again, I’m running into the heart of darkness.
But this time I don’t aim to find a redhead.
This time I hope to lose a shadow… beneath pure black.

So into the heart of darkness again,
To search for a long lost friend.
Let light fall, on the shadows
of the shadow that should be mine.

Alex Herlihy – 2009

Random Poetry Fragment

Try all you want to provide consolation.
It won’t do any good, for the only comfort I need
Is that this is what it means to be human.
To experience the full emotional spectrum,
This is what it is to be alive

Try to provide consolation and kill me.
The words of wisdom I ignore; they specify suicide.
The only comfort I need, is that I am human.
This is what it means to be alive
Kill me?
Brush away the grief? Repress my creativity? Suppress my humanity?
Replace the power, strength, life of an emotion
With the weak, silent, death of acceptance?
Kill my emotions and kill me!
Kill me when I am most alive!
Embrace the anger! Give in to the grief!
And right as they smile to evil victory,
I turn around, and take control;
Anger embraces me, grief gives in to me,
and I make them work. Work words.

Alex Herlihy – 2010

Train Ride

800px-GO_Train_sunset[1].jpgIn the one hour past dawn, freezing cold
I wore nothing. You wore Black.
Was it your practicality? There was no light for absorbing sunheat
Could it have been your mind? Grief at yet another holiday
The station was warm enough to me. All the smiling faces,
Children wrapped up in the warmth of their innocence
The loving arms of warm ignorance; A smiling mother
Using her whole body to shield the future
from the cold world.
What was behind that smile?
Fear, uncertainty, love
But most of all, protection.
Your mother smiled in the same way
And you felt for the arms of your father.
A blind master of the many colours she commands
Her eyes reflected the black back not to what she saw
Only to herself.

My mask kept me warm.
All through the shivers and goosebumps
All I ever needed was my head.
And warmth enough to insist
“I’m not cold”

The train came and went within a minute
Enough time to exchange a merry goodbye
Time to see a body of smiles
To see a face of resignation
And the sadness in her eyes.
For the whole minute, you waved to your father.

On the train you slept.
Restless, you curled yourself up, unrolled,
Got into a tangle, not once did you look comfortable
But I stayed silent, watching, thinking.
A spider once told me “A simple arm over the shoulder
can go a long way” to spin the web further.

Silent and blind.

What a way to set up for tragedy
I might have been wearing blue, but
“I’m not cold”
Yet, where my arm lay said otherwise
You were warm to touch, comfort in the air.
So why were you shivering?
I felt you warm when you felt cold
“I’m not cold”

I sat next to you for seven hours
Awake or not, Asleep or not
I had eyes for the scenery
I couldn’t help it
The people around us were too interesting
I chuckled as they guffawed
Smiled at their slang
Made the world rhyme with every action they made
But the most unchanging, beautiful view
would not have been the same without you.
The world rushed past the window
I gave it a glance or two
But my mind was focused on you.
Your mother has been aiming you at God
Choose your father and touch the trigger.
Oh how I wanted to hug you, hold you, help you
but never love. A lie became the truth.
“Lean on me” the three word poem in my mind
Three simple words, held back inside
Snuggle, cuddle, hold, hug

Sleep.

You tossed and turned, dreaming of God knows what.
My tiredness only wanted your rest,
My inaction was silence, observation, thought.
Philosophers may understand the world
But they aren’t the people who change it
Warm ignorance escaped my gaze and fell to you again
I waited and waited,
expecting to see a memory of the spider
playing with his prey
play out again.
But No face-to-face revelation occurred.

I wanted to give you warmth, comfort, and help
But I never gave myself the opportunity because
“I’m not cold”

Alex Herlihy – 2010

Maths

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/* Bad poetry alert */

I hate maths it turns mind into brain
Intelligent thought lost like tears in the rain
Equations functions, graphs I’ve had enough,
If this is all there is to life then I give up.
I was not born for a life that means
I need to crunch numbers like machines
I spy a paradox! How about you?
How can a machine be alive too?
And that is exactly how I feel
With every equation I become less real.

Every X, every Y, I feel my heart flutter,
Oh god, who would have guessed? Death by Algebra!
Every point plotted produces pain I must hide
Every new question kills me from inside
Every new topic I die a little more
The amount of horror makes up for the gore

Maths is stupid maths is lame
Maths is death by another name
In maths death is a game, Just a statistic to take the blame.

Alex Herlihy – 2009

Dark Days

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Why is my bed not happy?
Why is my chair not sad?
Why isn’t a watch full of envy?
Why is my pen not mad?

Because they are inanimate objects?
At least that’s what science says so…
But I always hated that subject,
Trust it? or stick to what I know?

How is a brain any different,
to a bed or a pen or a chair?
They all came from atomic elements
As physical as the paper we tear.

So how on earth can it be
that I possess personality?
As I fall back on my bed
A scary thought swirls in my head;

I’m sad to say not a tear was shed.
I’m sad to say… This world is dead.

Alex Herlihy – 2009

Swimming Carnival Bogans

0ff06e0a0bc5340c98d7fa63004f0dcf[1]I sat down at the swimming carnival today
Searching for rangas with the ranga that is Ray
And had fun watching the buff, the bluff and the gay

Laugh at Diow trying to dress up as a doll
Hear “If you can’t swim you’ll be paying me a toll”
Seems that English have the announcements under control

So it’s time to buff up for the tug of war.
Everyone jumps in as the rest of the school snore
“This is so rigged, they can’t even touch the floor!”

We’ve won! It’s the end! Make that two
We have the rope in the shape of a horseshoe
Yet even with both ends we fail to drag it through

Oh great I can’t see, it must be the splashing
The carnival equivilant of a good chest bashing
We want to rub in the fact that we gave them a thrashing

I usually watch and laugh, spy and hide.
But not today, no sitting out; I enjoyed the ride
It’s so strange to be in it rather than off to the side

The Asians have whipped out their magic cards
The canteen still hasn’t started serving lard
And of course, “Dennis! Why are you such a retard?”

Dennis just takes it all with a grin
Oh crap, the tiredness is kicking in
As I throw my first bogan in the bin

I wake up to find chaos and fun
Looks like Randall found himself a gun
I hear someone behind me scream “Run bitch run!”

I turn to find all the black guys laughing
Some small year seven has just been sent flying
A certain teacher wants lunch upon punishment of dying

I sit up to watch the peruvian wave
A random year eleven who’s having a shave
The year seven who fails, but was extremely brave

Davies getting shot in the wrong direction
As Derek displays his pokemon card collection
And Ridley finds cricket at the point of inflexion

The second bogan is getting run down.
As Warrigal recieves the carnival crown
Luckily this year no year sevens drowned.

Alex Herlihy – 2010

Hugs

Ahh but you see,
hugs are not something
I give out for free

And quite smilarly
I do not accept them
Merely as charity

I’ve always been told that I’m rather cold, prefering my own company.
Only ever see a hug, as something of a bug, I’m not touch and feely

Whatever a hug means to you, I’ll respect
A hug that is free is not wasted on me.
I love a good hug, I love to keep snug,
Yet you’ll get no hugs from thee.
For I don’t agree with the philosophy
That a hug should be a mere charity.
I see a hug as something special,
I do not treat them as trivial.
So you can hug me but if I hug you,
See the situation differently;
Don’t feel my arms, don’t feel “me”.
No… Feel safe, Feel happy.
Feel loved.

Alex Herlihy – 2009