Stone nightmares hang like bats off the edge of the
rain pocked buildings that line the street.
They were part of a hospital once, students in crisp,
white coats learnt the mysteries of life within their walls.
Echoes reverberate through the now empty skeletons,
of the scratching of pens,
coughs,
wails,
silence,
countless lives beginning and ending.
They're due to be torn down; bulldozers edge closer by the day,
cranes swing overhead,
drills shatter concrete.
Still, the gargoyles do their best.
I find comfort in their gnashing jaws and bottomless sockets -
amongst the structures popping out the ground like
worms during a storm,
they remain as a reminder of the past: an imprint, double exposure.
The old, shoulder to shoulder with the new,
a present memory.
Each day, as I draw the blind, I look to see what else has gone;
time marches on,
unrelenting,
mercilessly,
but the past, too, sinks in its claws -
a gargoyle on my shoulder.
What a glorious horror to call a friend.
Jan 12, 2022
Jan 12, 2022 at 11:15 AM UTC
I turn on the news
Scroll all day on my phone
The first words on my tongue
Are how can this be so
I walk down the street
And see those without homes
I ask once again
How can this be so
I hear people talk
Of our great country so bold
But still the words on my tongue
Are how can be this so
The people with power
Spit on those down below
I cry out the words
How can this be so
Those around me are bleeding
While their pockets grow
I beg them to tell me
How can this be so
The whole world is on fire
And still we work to the bone
I get tired of asking
How can this be so
They would fall from their perch
If we all threw a stone
The system is broken
That I do know
Sep 27, 2020
Sep 27, 2020 at 7:07 AM UTC
Have you ever torn at your own flesh
in an attempt to be lighter?
Clawing at chunks of skin and life
to force a shape that isn't consecrated with shame
like the body that you're used to.
Have you ever looked at yourself in a mirror
and stared so long
with eyes squint
that you almost look like the girls in the magazines
on TV
described in novels
strutting down the runway
only to open up and see the same old you
soft
full
whole
and wish you could disappear
into the floor
forever?
Have you ever had a loved one say the very worst thing
you've always suspected?
The magic words that snap your heart in two
and confirm every doubt you've ever had
every bad thought about yourself
you've spent your whole life trying to swallow
into the stomach that has always been treated so cruelly.
Have you ever used every birthday wish
every dandelion blown in the wind
every 11:11
to pray
beg
plead
for a different person to live inside of?
I weep for my poor body
so bullied and bruised
and I swear to never wish
for another
ever
again.
Aug 23, 2020
Aug 23, 2020 at 11:38 AM UTC
I got tired today
Tired of looking
so hard in the mirror
that shapes swell and burst
and fill the room
I said no more today
No more wishing
No more waiting for a day
that will only come if I let it
Not because I've bent myself
in an impossible direction
I said "look at me" today
I'm beautiful, I'm soft,
I bulge and I tremble,
I hit and I kick
and I do it
hard
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 10:46 AM UTC
You are the funniest person I have ever met.
Perhaps that's why when you're gone
everything around me feels colder
and more unbearable
than it has before.
You have made me happier than I have ever known.
So I'm not sure why recently
I've been waking up with a lump in my throat
and a heaviness in my limbs that causes me to crawl,
bent over,
broken.
I am so unbelievably scared.
Scared that you're going to turn round and tell me this was a mistake.
Scared that you're going to realise
that I'm not who you thought you wanted.
I don't know what else you could do
to make me feel any safer.
But I feel so vulnerable,
so incredibly close
to the edge of the cliff side
that I can hardly catch my breath
and I can feel the hands on my back
ready to push.
Is it too much to want for you to message me first?
Is it too much to want to feel your hand on my back?
Is it too much to hope you'll reach for me on a morning?
Am I stupid for being terrified that you lie awake at night
wishing I was her?
I wait for the day that you *** and say her name
instead of mine.
I thought we were sat on the same step,
even.
But now I feel myself looking up to you,
reaching out
and you don't even look down.
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 7:41 PM UTC
Why won't you leave my ******* brain?
I know that you're a piece of ****
that you're not worth a minute of my time,
although really I know that that's not true
but that's what I keep telling myself,
in order to get out of bed in the morning.
I thought I was finally angry,
that I'd reached the long awaited
'Stage 2'
of the break up,
but here I am again,
sobbing in the street,
six beers in.
Do you still think of me?
Or if somebody mentioned me now
would you simply answer
"Molly who?"
Molly,
the girl that loved you.
Still loves you.
Molly,
the girl you ******
last thing at night and first thing in the morning.
Molly,
the girl that didn't turn out to be
the girl you prayed she was.
Molly,
the girl that's been alone so long
that she stays that way,
even when somebody else is rammed deep inside her.
You're with me more now
than when we were together.
How is it fair
that you get to snap your fingers,
say "that's that"
and be okay;
what happened to
"I'll never finish this"?
You lied.
Do you understand that?
You're a ******* liar.
You took me by the hand,
called me all the things I'd always dreamt of hearing
and pulled me down,
deep down,
to a place I didn't know I was capable of inhabiting.
I resisted at first,
the place you put me in strange and all too familiar,
and I wanted to keep one arm out of the water.
But you wouldn't stop asking,
wouldn't let go of my hand,
a merperson,
floating hypnotic in the water,
bewitching the love sick sailor with her head over the side of the boat,
cursing the moon.
And so I fell right in,
felt the foam crash right over my face,
the waves swell in my lungs,
the salt in my mouth
and the sting in my eyes like nettles,
and I laughed until I choked
and begged for more.
But that's when you swam away
and I was lost and lifeless inside the rib cage of a shipwreck,
right at the bottom of the sea bed,
amongst the whale bones,
and I suddenly remembered that I couldn't breathe.
I was stupid;
you were stupid.
I was clueless;
you were cruel.
There's shells in my hands
whenever I cough
and sand in my bed.
You used your tongue to open me up,
a clam,
and I swallowed down the ocean.
Fish flap on the shore
and search for sea,
puddles of air,
the kiss of life.
I wait for the rain
to turn into a river.
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 11:26 AM UTC
Eyes staring,
eyes everywhere;
watching,
looking,
laughing,
judging.
Can't breathe,
can't walk,
can't speak.
I just wanna get on the bus,
I just wanna eat my lunch,
I just wanna buy a cup of coffee.
Can't find the words,
can't find the breath,
hands shake,
coffee spills,
I blush -
violently,
unmistakably.
Walking across a room feels like running across a desert,
talking to a stranger
is incredibly impossible,
looking at anybody in the eye
is not gonna happen.
Just leave me be,
just let me live,
without this constant commentary
racing around my brain.
Does everybody feel like this?
Does everybody hear this voice?
Is this just how it is?
I'm not special,
I'm nothing to look at,
not attracting attention;
so why do I feel the burning stab of a thousand eyes
pressing against my back?
Am I just totally mental?
Is this just pure self-obsession?
Just simply BEING shouldn't be so excruciatingly difficult.
Should it?
I wanna go to the bathroom
but I can't get across the room
without anybody seeing.
An easy-breezy laugh comes out like an uncertain whimper,
a friendly smile makes me look angry and confused.
I swear I'm nice, really,
I promise.
Just don't look at me.
Please don't look at me.
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 8:46 AM UTC
I told you I'd stopped drinking coffee
because it made me too anxious.
You told me,
wide eyed and serious,
that I was a different person
after a couple of cups,
my mood changed to black and unstable,
harsh.
How could I tell you
that it wasn't the coffee,
but you?
No amount of caffeine could make me shake like you could,
send the invisible hand wrapping round my neck,
constricting,
refusing to let go.
That sick twist in the pit of my stomach,
you,
the vice like tightening of my muscles leaving me bed bound,
you,
the topsy turvy, murky milkshake of words in my head,
you,
the quickening of breath,
short rasps racing up my throat knocked back and left to struggle somewhere around my lungs,
you.
It was all
you,
you,
you.
Coffee made me more alert, aware, awake;
unable to switch off and escape into sleep.
All I wanted to do was stop feeling tired.
You were one great big exhaustion.
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 9:52 AM UTC
What did her mouth taste like?
Did she taste like me?
Was her breath sugary and hot,
her sighs cotton candy and sweet tea,
or did the guilt turn them sour
her spit bitter and spoilt?
Or had her tongue dragged you in
and swallowed you whole
allowing any of trace of me to be forgotten,
the guilt but an irritating side effect
of one ******* magical poison?
What did her lips feel like?
Did they feel like mine?
Were they firm,
but soft,
sedated,
but awake,
exciting and strange,
but completely home,
moving in shapes you didn't know how to fit inside,
talking in tongues you couldn't quite understand?
I bet you tried.
I bet you thought she was calling you all the things nobody had ever called you before -
but can't you remember all the times I called you perfect?
Usually when you were half asleep or I was half drunk,
me watching your face soften from mountain to sea with each passing breath,
you telling me to shush because it was only the drink talking.
But you were wrong;
I meant it.
Every dumb sappy thing I ever said,
I meant it.
Where did your hands go?
Did they slide inside her tshirt
and wrap around her waist,
holding on so tightly that your skin seemed to melt into hers,
like they used to do to me?
I still have the burn marks to prove it,
thick,
hot welts on my hips,
ugly and the most beautiful purple flowers I've ever seen.
Or were your hands wary and unsure of themselves,
shaken by such sudden starlight,
hanging awkwardly around your sides,
reaching out
and falling back
again
and again
and again?
Maybe if I'd have pressed my mouth against yours that bit harder,
slid my tongue along yours that little bit quicker,
eaten sugar lumps before we kissed,
you'd still be here.
Kiss me again
and I'm not letting go.
Kiss me again
and I'll choke you with honey.
Kiss me again,
kiss me again,
kiss me again.
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 7:50 AM UTC
It's hard to tell
if it's really you,
speaking to me so venomously,
words coming from some pitch black place
buried deep inside.
Your eyes stare
as if they're desperate to close;
the lids sagging,
the pupils unseeing.
You flinch at my touch
and I'm scared to get too close.
I can't remember the last time you smiled.
Sighs sit heavy in the air
and land every now and again,
falling with such force that they
bruise skin
and break bones.
I very much want to shove you down under the duvet,
wrap you in the sheets,
away from the falling sky,
but I'm frightened to touch
and my arms don't seem able to hold enough of you;
and if you're under the bed clothes
then the sighs have nowhere to go,
so the space between the matress and the sheet hardens and turns to stone,
trapping you inside.
Maybe that's what you want -
but I'm selfish and I'd take any amount of cuts and bruises
over that.
So we sit,
side by side,
on top of the blanket,
and you can't seem to find the motivation to speak,
so I say enough words for the both of us
and I hate myself for every little thing that I say,
because it all means absolutely nothing
and you stopped listening a long time ago.
One night whilst we slept
you walked too far
and went away
and I'm not sure when you're coming back.
I'm sorry if I'm the reason you had to leave -
I should have seen your back starting to turn,
heard the footsteps within the silences.
I'd have grabbed your hand and never let go.
But I need you to know,
I'll be here waiting when you come back.
I'll listen with pure joy as your jaw swings open
and the weeks worth of unsaid words come pouring out,
lie in total bliss as your fingers remember how to sit between mine,
soak up the hard pump in my chest as your tongue finds the words "love", "I" and "you" and let's them spill into the breeze to linger a while
before they float straight through my smile
and into my throat.
I miss you
but I'll never get tired
and leave you lost.
I'm here,
and I know you will be soon, too.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 11:35 AM UTC