Hopeless Romantic Chemist

I have a pH of seven.

Neutral, like H2O.

Sometimes a drifting cloud

waiting for the wind to blow.

Sometimes cold as solid ice

when times and temperatures are low.

But mostly I flow

in a liquid state,

sliding around in disorder, I await

you. You’re Potassium.

Await your methodical extraction,

dreaming of what textbooks describe your touch as an ‘explosive reaction’.

I’ve lost some of my Hydrogen, so desperate to bond.

But you leave me for Chlorine, of whom you’re so fond.

Blind to her greenness, her electro-negative ways,

though she knows what she wants, stability she craves.

And I am a compound, ever-changing-

my surroundings ranging

from the formula of tears that wash away sorrow,

to the predicted happy summer showers of tomorrow.

Let's romanticize hair

7th June 2015
My bathroom: 2AM

I'm stood in front of my dimly illuminated reflection. On the stark-white sink counter sits a pair of the most intimidating scissors I could find at this hour, next to a couple of hair ties and my vibrating phone.

I've separated my hair into two silky, black tails that fall stick-straight to my waist. They're like two ropes I can hold onto; they'll pull me back on deck if I drift too far at sea. Their airy presence has blanketed my back and sides, shielded the nape of my neck from the tingling of perceived stares.

Tonight I've decided I'm done with comforting attachments.

Staring at Strangers

We've all had that special moment with an oblivious stranger, haven't we?

He smiles to himself for a fleeting moment, his chin resting on his fist and eyes wandering. I wonder what he’s just thought about. Then he’s distracted by his phone vibrating on the table top and goes to pick it up. I wait for him to check it and return to his original trance-like state, but instead he moves on and rests his gaze on the notes spread in front of him.

This annoys me. Severely.

Miscommunication

Reluctance

Some teenage angst, I suppose.

Undiscovered Genius

Amateur sonnet writing: