LEAVE IT

if

‘bros before hoes, is a rule read the guidelines’

One day, it will happen
One day, one day
It will all come true.

One day, when you’re ready
One day, one day
When you’re up to it.

The atmosphere
Will get lighter
And two suns ready
To shine just for you
I can feel it, I can feel it.

One day, it will happen
One day, one day
It will all make sense.

One day, one day
You will blossom
One day, one day
When you’re ready.

An aeroplane
Will curve gracefully
Around the volcano
With the eruption that never lets you down.

I can feel it, I can feel it

And the beautifullest
Fireworks are burning
In the sky just for you

I can feel it, I can feel it

One day, one day, one day, one day

‘Some people make the transition from child to adult, with “battle scars”, lost relationships, addictions- evidence of other life altering events.’

I don’t wanna say I didn’t think out the shirt when i was documenting on it, the concept, the words…but it was such a natural step that it just happened. it was an unedited diary.

But the more days that go by separate from the shirt, the older, more distant the shirt gets, the scars get, i think about it sometimes and its so incredibly special. The time that’s documented is exact and so honest, i didn’t realise the extent of that change. it’s physical evidence of something that’s only spoken of, thought or written about. It’s the same reason i, and thousands of other people, listen to a particular song over and over and over again cos for the time its playing i don’t feel lonely or stupid cos the lyrics explain and relate to exactly whats going on in your head.

when i’m a wise old lady and my grandchildren look distant, and they’re in their early twenties, i’ll know why and i’ll make them a cuppa tea and give them a hug without asking cos they won’t have a shirt to give them one.

I sat in the car last night whilst we we’re driving down the east lancs to drop me off at home, talking about my week, completely dismayed, shaking my head, looking out the window at the houses thinking what the fuck is all this about, remembering memories of a past life i have to convince myself i lived and i’m like… this is terrible, my life is a bit of a mess.

This is all so hard. The emotions are terrific and horrific, you really really feel them, but in a way i’ve just realised this is the best time of our lives and we’ll miss it.

when i can see right through you

what’s the use?

all the hearts that touch your cheek

how they jump,

they move,

they embarrass

they make no sense.

in the past few weeks i feel like i’m not looking properly or hearing properly, not like i normally would. my head has to catch up all the time. i’m completely lost in my thoughts. layers and layers of thinking. or the opposite i’m not thinking at all and i’m lost in the moment. They aren’t joined up. I’m in control of my actions and decisions but something that i’d usually do isn’t there

i can’t say i’m enjoying thinking, i feel like i have to shake myself out of it like that feeling when you’ve had your socks on for too long.

and i’d rather listen to music than be in a conversation. quite loud so i can hear just the song. i feel completely at ease by it all.

All day i’ve been waiting to sit in my arm chair with my head on the top bit so i know if i was to look i could see all the coloured glass on my window sill and outside at the sky, and feel a bit of cold air, and the smell of the ends of joss sticks in the little brass holder, not moving or speaking not caring or knowing if my bedroom doors open or not cos i’m just there sat in my chair.

i don’t want people to talk to me, i want them there but i don’t want to speak. you know when you sleep in the same bed as someone else and you wake up. you can feel them, see them and it’s warm but it’s quiet. i need that.

it’s 1.42am.