It makes a change from doodling in the margins...

Sometimes, if I cry
It's not from pain
Not from hurt or even anger
But from frustration
Exhaustion
Or joy.

Sometimes, if I laugh
It's not from pleasure
Not from happiness
But from anger
Pain
Or delight.

And if, sometimes,
I say nothing
It's not because I have nothing to say
But because I don't have the words
To tell you of my pain
Frustration
Or happiness.

...

To the boy who made me cry
Told me I was ugly
And no-one would kiss me but him.
Who ignored me when it suited him
And only came to me when he wished to.
To the boy who hurt me deepest
Goodbye, memory.

To the boy who told me stories
Until I fell asleep
And then stole my duvet
Complained of my cold hands
And left me though he loved me
Goodbye, old love,
Remember me, dearest friend.

To the boy who made me laugh
When I was crying
Who made me smile
At the simplest of things
Whose voice made me
Makes me
Weak at the knees
And weak in the head
When all he said was my name
And who drives me mad
When he doesn't pick up the phone.

Even though I have nothing to say.

To the boy who told me stories
Called just to say goodnight
Asked the most ridiculous questions
Makes me cackle like a pantomime witch.
Who makes me nervous
And drives me to distraction.
... unfinished