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Leaving and Leaving You By Sophie Hannah (1917-present)
When I leave you postcode and your commuting station,
When I left undone all the things we planned to do
You may feel you have been left by association
But there is leaving and leaving you.
When I leave your town and the club that you belong to,
When I leave without much warning or much regret,
Remember, there's doing wrong and there's doing wrong to
You, which I'll never do and I haven't yet,
And when I have gone, remember that in weighing
Everything up, from love to a cheaper rent,
You were all the reasons I thought of staying,
And none of the reasons why I went
And although I leave your sight and I leave your setting,
And our separation is soon to be a fact,
Though you stand beside what I'm leaving and forgetting,
I'm not leaving you, not if motive makes the act.
All The Things You Are Not Yet By Helen Dunmore(1952-present)
Tonight there's a crowd in my head:
all the things you are not yet.
You are words without paper, pages
sighing in summer forests, gardens
where builders stub out their rubble
and plastic oozes its sweat.
All the things you are, you are not yet.
Not yet the lonely window in midwinter
with the whine of tea on an empty stomach,
not yet the heating you can't afford and must wait for,
tamping a coin in on each hour.
Not the gorgeous shush of restaurant doors
and their interiors, always so much smaller.
Not the smell of the newsprint, the blur
on your fingertips — your fame. Not yet
the love you will have for Winter Pearmains
and Chanel No 5 — and then your being unable
to buy both washing-machine and computer
when your baby's due to be born,
and my voice saying, "I'll get you one"
and you frowning, frowning
at walls and surfaces which are not mine —
all this, not yet. Give me your hand,
that small one without a mark of work on it,
the one that's strange to the washing-up bowl
and doesn't know Fairy Liquid for whiskey.
Not yet the moment of your arrival in taxis
at daring destinations, or your being alone at stations
with the skirts of your fashionable clothes flapping
and no money for the telephone.
Not yet the moment when I can give you nothing
so well-folded it fits in an envelope —
a dull letter you won't reread.
Not yet the moment of your assimilation
in that river flowing westward: rivers of clothes,
of dreams, an accent unlike my own
saying to someone I don't know: darling...
I'm sorry I can't be any orther way
So I'm fucked up every day
Mom told me go straight to hell
But hell is a bell
Knock knock can't you hear the ring from the fucked up bill
What's that for real,who gives a shit go real my tail
No friends no dreams no rules no time lies no shit
Waitng for the night so we quit
This not about dick and pussy
This is not about what they say
Behind the bar you're the real stars
It's not a story from runaways
How many cigarettes burning between your fingers
how many times you call it off the streets
What kinda toy been playing so long
Who gives a shit about right and wrong
It's not a song for you to play along
It will never bring you down
Fuck that shit and you be it
i'm living in a room
everybody is chatting but i'm just watching
i wish i can say something from the very beginning
but i'm living in a room
those chatters come and go
what's the words left spoken i really wanna know
hell yeah i'm living in a room
i feel like drinking and i'm buzzed in life
ok stop it that's close enough
what the fuck i'm living in a room
it's funny to ask what are you looking for
i wish i know my long lost pal
how you doing there i'm living in a room
everybody just ignored me
i told them you are good at it and you be free
what is a big deal i'm living in a room
really i got a question for you
have you ever found the door out for real
something shinning in the backyard
burning so hard
like you tried
like a hand on your head
what you said
is it me still by your side
my father never feel sad
my mother never told
something is shinning in the backyard
burning so hard
underground
you can not see it
like the snow melt underground
all that words gonna fade
where can i find you back
who is the whisper like a snow fall tonight
like the flower blow in the wind
what you said
is it still right
like the snow always so white
stick togther so tight
when you call my name i turn around
i wondered
how many faces buried
in the backyard
but shinning so hard
we can not see it
something on the road
driving so hard
else where to go
and we do not know
we can not understand
where you stand
i know why you leave so fast
you are shinning inside
like so hard
