We want to be remembered;
is that not why we fold
pieces of gum into
the neat
underbellies of tables,
stomp up silent stairs, slam
arrogant doors,
push back
nonchalant chairs?
And is that not why we bury half finished
cigarettes,
stained from lips and ashed
from the careless shakes of wrists?
Or throw empty bottles
as far as our arms allow
- so the satisfying clinks can reassure us
of those other things
as broken as our lives (and sometimes
hearts)
We're afraid to be forgotten;
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 9:57 AM UTC
for what i am
what
i was,
for everything that
i could
have been
and everything
i will now
just
have to be
without you.
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 7:01 PM UTC
i watched the breakfast club for the first time
today. it struck me as so real so honest so
raw except that allison said ‘when you
grow up your heart dies’ and i thought, no
you just get better at hiding it.
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 3:37 PM UTC
(but
in case you want to know:
we were at your house,
by the green trees,
I made you wash your hands
in the river,
and you waved them
and I laughed
and you said: 'Say it,
say it,
say I'm dork.' -
and I wanted instead
to say:
I
love
you.)
Jul 23, 2015
Jul 23, 2015 at 1:37 PM UTC
I see photos
of you
with a beard
(but no necklace)
and realise
that you won’t have to
shave it off
this year
and I
won’t be there.
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 5:40 PM UTC
your hair
after you cut it
your crooked teeth
your
cockiness
dislike
of scratching
and
reluctance to bite,
that you're a coward
and
emotionally
closed; that
yousmoked
all
my cigarettes,
your inability to text
or
introduce me to yourfriends,
that you always wore the sameclothes
and looked odd
in suits
didn't believe inGodorlove
believe
that I was smart,
that
you broke
my *******
heart.
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 6:20 PM UTC
Fig.1. It was 5 days - 4 days? - but I can't forget it.
(By a road, brown buildings in the back, the filter is green - you
said you didn't know why. Half-smiles.)
Fig.2. Do you remember that you sent me this? Twice.
(Same place, I kiss your cheek, you pull a sad face, a man walks by
in the background.)
Fig.3. God, that stupid headband.
(Repeat again. Faces pressed, I smile big, you smile up, my hand is
on your shoulder.)
Fig.4. You said "The dots make it look arty." but that wasn't why I kept it.
(Art gallery, two shots.)
(At the bottom it says - I know that I will miss you.)
(Nowhere it says - I will keep this because you will forgot to.)
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 2:39 PM UTC
1. Sometimes I have conversations with you in my head – “you said there was nothing here” (blue biro)
2. Do you think of me at all? (black pen)
3. You better apologize (black pen, “you didn’t” is added later in blue biro, underlined)
4. I think I’m in a better place (faded blue biro)
5. I hate this (big letters, blue pen, scratched in)
6. I miss you, you idiots (pink pen)
7. I miss you, you idiots (the ‘s’ of idiots crossed out with blue pen)
8. I miss you, you idiot (crossed out entirely, two lines)
9. Why didn’t you notice (pink pen)
10. Do you think you matter to me? (blue biro)
11. I am done with you (black pen, capitals, scratched in)
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 12:53 PM UTC
Sit down they will tell the floral curtains the year they buy you a puppy
who is small and blonde and likes to sleep under the table
where you traced your response. You are eleven and wondering
how hearts un-
-sync and you do not tell them that you knew
that the spare room sheets gossip that your father snores.
Six thousand miles away the ground will shake but your hands will not.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 1:02 PM UTC
Spring is an awkward age –
she is transition, change,
the taste of heat but the smell of rain.
She is braces, bunches, tiny daisies
freckling a face.
She is the puzzle-pieced laugh
through a gap-toothed smile,
the hands that touch
through a broken space.
Winter has taught her
not to fear the dark,
but she still remembers
what it is
to be lost;
hence, she is little flowers
peeking shyly
at the frost.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 11:14 AM UTC