the shutting of lids

I wore ribbons in my hair
for you today. But I needed to say something more like snow storms
and something louder than the six AM alarm clocks
that pull you back when you've only had a few hours sleep,
but you peel hair from those frown lines
like a sticky toffee cake from its tin. My eyes are just not blue enough
and my dirty pores are tiny peep holes, I drop out
when you look in.

I wore dark jeans and a white vest top today,
but I really wanted to slip under double sheets in pink pajamas
and pull heavy-like-love covers over me
while thousands of people celebrated the birth of somebody
they don't believe in or the start of something
brand new

and they drink skin dry
so their veins look more like train tracks
diving deep inside, but yours did not lead to your heart,
they forced me down your knee cap
and I jumped.

I wore a grey hat today
because the ice on the pavement reminds me of slipping
and slipping reminds me of you
and you remind me
of being cold --

so I wore a grey hat instead of heavy grip shoes
to stop bones breaking, a white top to hide a dull ribcage,
ribbons to remind you that you were the reason
I was beautiful, without you I am simply a girl with ugly skin,
plain eyes and frozen fingertips.