This a poem i love to perform whenever i can, a kind of rant but the first poem i wrote to be read aloud. hope you enjoy Px To All The Men I Have Loved Before Can’t get on the internet so have to write, Otherwise this laptop is just like - meaningless shite, Like so many other things Going down, going under. Can you hear the thunder? Of the storms that lie in the seas ahead. I lay on my bed And I wondered Where is this train gonna take me? What in the hell Can the right way be? Is this you or is this me? I don’t know who I am any more... Whispered into too many ears, That were just not willing to hear. The ultimate, existential, phenomenological fear, Of the abyss and all that lays below, Of all the things we cannot know. For instance, This house, this home Forever I will roam. The streets of my youth, Loud mouth uncouth, Punk skinhead that was me, Always trying just to be, Just trying Just to be Just free Something, Someone, Something else. Anything else, But the feeling of nothing inside, The shadow from which I could not hide, I am you, you are me, For all the things we cannot see. I am you, you are me, To all the times we cannot see. You are my mirror, Without you I am lost. Beat the cost of living, Just give up giving, Anything more to anyone, With this I am done. But what the fuck! This train just keeps rolling on, Down the thin grey line, Of a new day a’dawning. I am here, this is me, I am all the things you cannot see, When you are alone. Nostalgia on trains for some kind of past, To keep us stuck fast, To the mast, Of the now. The when and the how. Of all that can be, And the pure possibility, Of the slate grey sea, I am we, we are she. Of all we can be, I am here, this is me, Stuck inside the mystery. Still trying to sit in the silence, Face the gaps you all left behind, Fill in the blanks. Lost in clouds of smoke, From the day I was born. I breathe it all in, All my hearts love, And all my hearts sin. I am you, you are me, For all the things that are yet to be. I am you, you are me For all the times that are yet to be, For all the trains that pass in the night For all the times we glimpse the light Divine figure eight of unity I see you, you see me. And each of us reflects the beauty Of our own reflection. Petra Creffield 2006