jodie-whitchurch - Hello Poetry

(I wrote you most days from the rainforest floor) This is where the moss was and they were too I am out of touch and missing all at once unable to get back to the surface swimming next to a blue flame glowing ectoplasm glitters the tour guide is a woman’s voice under the stars and everything concave is inside out far away from what it once was, uninverted happy is the uncertain I looked for you in the chrysalis and you were still wearing your socks when you disappeared I found them in my drawer three days later tucked themselves in still covered in glitter from the caves I had so many questions when I reached out my hands stuck to the walls and swallowed my palm silicone and retreating light it wanted me to stay in a time I could only help but leave the artists gold leafed my throat like it was delicate and ready to go on stage wearing shoe covers walking and talking gently avoiding swimming their arms the foxgloves developed negatives backwards in gelatine over water pasted down every darkness bright green lime green stinging immediately nauseous turning to stone under the gaze of the walls.

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Apr 30, 2024

Apr 30, 2024 at 7:08 AM UTC

THE MOSS POEM

(I wrote you most days from the rainforest floor) This is where the moss was and they were too I am out of touch and missing all at once unable to get back to the surface swimming next to a blue flame glowing ectoplasm glitters the tour guide is a woman’s voice under the stars and everything concave is inside out far away from what it once was, uninverted happy is the uncertain I looked for you in the chrysalis and you were still wearing your socks when you disappeared I found them in my drawer three days later tucked themselves in still covered in glitter from the caves I had so many questions when I reached out my hands stuck to the walls and swallowed my palm silicone and retreating light it wanted me to stay in a time I could only help but leave the artists gold leafed my throat like it was delicate and ready to go on stage wearing shoe covers walking and talking gently avoiding swimming their arms the foxgloves developed negatives backwards in gelatine over water pasted down every darkness bright green lime green stinging immediately nauseous turning to stone under the gaze of the walls.

22

Press to exit the door glowed green for the others pink boiler biohazard suit something I was made of once swaying a net something that became made of me I peer respectively over the edge of the bowl drooping on the wall to the left speaker hits reverb hanging in it’s sadness there was a time I was afraid but not anymore extinct to each other they took her apart the end of a new species I am a body that shouldn’t be here anymore last seen to slip through the crack in the door you are giraffes in human skin fitting our insides to our shirts like buttons I went home in the human bodies they took me with them under their skin

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Jan 14, 2024

Jan 14, 2024 at 6:57 AM UTC

Giraffes in the human bodies

Press to exit the door glowed green for the others pink boiler biohazard suit something I was made of once swaying a net something that became made of me I peer respectively over the edge of the bowl drooping on the wall to the left speaker hits reverb hanging in it’s sadness there was a time I was afraid but not anymore extinct to each other they took her apart the end of a new species I am a body that shouldn’t be here anymore last seen to slip through the crack in the door you are giraffes in human skin fitting our insides to our shirts like buttons I went home in the human bodies they took me with them under their skin

20

Good morning body I called you in for a meeting because you can’t sleep again and I just wanted to tell you you don’t already seem to know and no one can read your writing you already know what you’re wearing tomorrow and you’ll pay the gallery in the morning and it's all fine and you’re very much allowed to yawn sigh or take a deep breath I know January keeps trying to go on and on and on and on like you’re not already over it a few weeks ahead of yourself like we’re not all stuck in Deja-vu despite the fact that it’s fun to type out soothing repetition like a hot tea lavender oil or the last smile on the page like a consoling yoga chant it’s time you heard this where are the words you’re hiding? when you sit down and say you can’t do this again I will tell you I think this might be growing it was you under the pile of clothes the whole time holding the remote murmuring prophetically in the corner it was you you see you already said you’re everything you know you’re everything you need Good morning body I called you in to talk to me for us to meet each other letters to yourself are the new shopping list or at least they’re calming to write when you can’t sleep.

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Jan 6, 2024

Jan 6, 2024 at 12:17 PM UTC

Letters to yourself are the new shopping list

Good morning body I called you in for a meeting because you can’t sleep again and I just wanted to tell you you don’t already seem to know and no one can read your writing you already know what you’re wearing tomorrow and you’ll pay the gallery in the morning and it's all fine and you’re very much allowed to yawn sigh or take a deep breath I know January keeps trying to go on and on and on and on like you’re not already over it a few weeks ahead of yourself like we’re not all stuck in Deja-vu despite the fact that it’s fun to type out soothing repetition like a hot tea lavender oil or the last smile on the page like a consoling yoga chant it’s time you heard this where are the words you’re hiding? when you sit down and say you can’t do this again I will tell you I think this might be growing it was you under the pile of clothes the whole time holding the remote murmuring prophetically in the corner it was you you see you already said you’re everything you know you’re everything you need Good morning body I called you in to talk to me for us to meet each other letters to yourself are the new shopping list or at least they’re calming to write when you can’t sleep.

37

If I looked like I was dying as much as I feel it my teeth would be the only thing left of my face the door to an abandoned cabin my creaking vacant ribcage would be the only thing left I need reminding sometimes this ****** old place I call this home the roof is leaking the carpet is a funny colour the brickwork is coming loose and there’s some kind of invasive plant growing up the walls it’s dying from the cold, too but it’s still home and while you’re here you’ll be respectful you’ll be respectful enough to remove your shoes not track mud through the hallways I can’t always understand what’s she’s saying to me but me and this territory have reclaimed each other there’s a flag in each of our moons I don’t trust anyone else’s hands in my ribcage pockets I don’t want to wear anyone else’s smile It’s taken me an awful long time to see the light coming through to sit in it’s warmth another day always follows the sunset around here it loops and I know it’s coming something to finally count on she knows being around her is a pleasure home is an abandoned cabin made of my ribcage while you’re here you’ll be respectful respectful enough to remove your shoes.

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Jul 15, 2023

Jul 15, 2023 at 10:03 AM UTC

Home is an abandoned cabin made of my ribcage

If I looked like I was dying as much as I feel it my teeth would be the only thing left of my face the door to an abandoned cabin my creaking vacant ribcage would be the only thing left I need reminding sometimes this ****** old place I call this home the roof is leaking the carpet is a funny colour the brickwork is coming loose and there’s some kind of invasive plant growing up the walls it’s dying from the cold, too but it’s still home and while you’re here you’ll be respectful you’ll be respectful enough to remove your shoes not track mud through the hallways I can’t always understand what’s she’s saying to me but me and this territory have reclaimed each other there’s a flag in each of our moons I don’t trust anyone else’s hands in my ribcage pockets I don’t want to wear anyone else’s smile It’s taken me an awful long time to see the light coming through to sit in it’s warmth another day always follows the sunset around here it loops and I know it’s coming something to finally count on she knows being around her is a pleasure home is an abandoned cabin made of my ribcage while you’re here you’ll be respectful respectful enough to remove your shoes.

39

This poem has been waiting for me out back for days it’s been waiting for me to wake up see it offer it a spot next to me under the blanket but I’m still waking up in a cold sweat in shock from the way it’s eyes find me this poem has been waiting for me patiently until now waiting at the fence with a cowboy hat under one arm and a sad smile tucked under the other condolences are what it offered me when you were found misplaced cold on a hotel room floor oh you pretty things hands bruised knuckles frayed like old rope eyes not meeting the right ends whizzing past the mark every time everyone everyday passes and into something other pink fingernails scraping the dirt from the side of your face a thumb brushes under your lip and you can’t smile to meet it at the corner of your mouth it’s reassuring you at the corner of the street and you chase it off until it becomes a golden glimmer too far ahead can still hear it whispering tag you’re it somewhere near your left shoulder the calloused hands are back and they tell you to stay far away from being with anyone that reminds you of your parents you go in the opposite direction trip over a tree root and end up flat on your back staring at the sky the way the trees are scared of intimacy too they won’t hold each other’s boughs fingers ever stretching they sustain it to let the forest floor below breathe and you’re grateful as you settle on it let your mind go blank and feel yourself come out of the other side you want to see the other side of this where breathing is a bit easier not such a shallow pool and you can meet your lovers eyes without a trembling breath paused in your esophagus not where there’s something rising and again you keep waking up falling in each direction it goes from tripping over a pavement through to falling straight through nothing feeling rather sick now can’t remember the glimmer in his eyes the glint you were before you were born not even a thought nothing that could be abused or stretched or held against your own will I’ve been scrubbing underneath my fingernails ever since I pressed them into my palm to create half moon shapes my skin but your imprint your trauma still in my handbag I tired to throw it into the sea but it caught a wave each time and I’d find it each Tuesday washed up in front of my feet looking at me sad and sort of forlorn I couldn’t step on it put it out of it’s misery needing to shower every time I hear your name I want to hear nothing from it been biting my own lip in the cold again responses coming out delayed and slow the skin rash a slow rejection the bust lip from the holding back screams the cells inside me growing where they shouldn’t from each time I let you pass through rip up the carpets pull the paper off the walls and demand I clean up the mess I imagine my body telling me a story as things begin to catch up in head too trying to find my toolbox in the chaos letting my brain go fuzzy against it there’s nothing in here butting against this wall nothing good anyways learning to breathe learning to lean letting the rubber band go slack for better reasons letting the poem catch up open the hatch on the gate and come inside a wry smile on her face she never left but she was hoping the next time she saw you things would be different and it washes over they are when you can’t breathe remember when a tsunami hit the house remember how it took everything away to where it came from and you smiled nothing standing and you thought how beautiful it was the whole house wrecked and gone and you grinned at how lovely nothing could be to not be overwhelmed for the first time the walls that trapped you when you thought you were home taken back no more cabin fever how glorious it was having nothing but a blank slate and two hands how things coming apart can be things repairing themselves how everything came together when the walls came down.

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Jul 15, 2023

Jul 15, 2023 at 10:00 AM UTC

A BLANK SLATE AND TWO HANDS (WHEN THE TSUNAMI HIT)

This poem has been waiting for me out back for days it’s been waiting for me to wake up see it offer it a spot next to me under the blanket but I’m still waking up in a cold sweat in shock from the way it’s eyes find me this poem has been waiting for me patiently until now waiting at the fence with a cowboy hat under one arm and a sad smile tucked under the other condolences are what it offered me when you were found misplaced cold on a hotel room floor oh you pretty things hands bruised knuckles frayed like old rope eyes not meeting the right ends whizzing past the mark every time everyone everyday passes and into something other pink fingernails scraping the dirt from the side of your face a thumb brushes under your lip and you can’t smile to meet it at the corner of your mouth it’s reassuring you at the corner of the street and you chase it off until it becomes a golden glimmer too far ahead can still hear it whispering tag you’re it somewhere near your left shoulder the calloused hands are back and they tell you to stay far away from being with anyone that reminds you of your parents you go in the opposite direction trip over a tree root and end up flat on your back staring at the sky the way the trees are scared of intimacy too they won’t hold each other’s boughs fingers ever stretching they sustain it to let the forest floor below breathe and you’re grateful as you settle on it let your mind go blank and feel yourself come out of the other side you want to see the other side of this where breathing is a bit easier not such a shallow pool and you can meet your lovers eyes without a trembling breath paused in your esophagus not where there’s something rising and again you keep waking up falling in each direction it goes from tripping over a pavement through to falling straight through nothing feeling rather sick now can’t remember the glimmer in his eyes the glint you were before you were born not even a thought nothing that could be abused or stretched or held against your own will I’ve been scrubbing underneath my fingernails ever since I pressed them into my palm to create half moon shapes my skin but your imprint your trauma still in my handbag I tired to throw it into the sea but it caught a wave each time and I’d find it each Tuesday washed up in front of my feet looking at me sad and sort of forlorn I couldn’t step on it put it out of it’s misery needing to shower every time I hear your name I want to hear nothing from it been biting my own lip in the cold again responses coming out delayed and slow the skin rash a slow rejection the bust lip from the holding back screams the cells inside me growing where they shouldn’t from each time I let you pass through rip up the carpets pull the paper off the walls and demand I clean up the mess I imagine my body telling me a story as things begin to catch up in head too trying to find my toolbox in the chaos letting my brain go fuzzy against it there’s nothing in here butting against this wall nothing good anyways learning to breathe learning to lean letting the rubber band go slack for better reasons letting the poem catch up open the hatch on the gate and come inside a wry smile on her face she never left but she was hoping the next time she saw you things would be different and it washes over they are when you can’t breathe remember when a tsunami hit the house remember how it took everything away to where it came from and you smiled nothing standing and you thought how beautiful it was the whole house wrecked and gone and you grinned at how lovely nothing could be to not be overwhelmed for the first time the walls that trapped you when you thought you were home taken back no more cabin fever how glorious it was having nothing but a blank slate and two hands how things coming apart can be things repairing themselves how everything came together when the walls came down.

63

Our mistakes mask themselves like me outside of Sainsbury's frantically.

0

Jan 26, 2022

Jan 26, 2022 at 5:53 PM UTC

Don't swallow the plastic bag

Our mistakes mask themselves like me outside of Sainsbury's frantically.

6

I see you, I think when I need you most climbing a bad day, there you were the very day after your birthday robin on a birdfeeder all will be okay.

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Jan 23, 2022

Jan 23, 2022 at 4:56 PM UTC

Robin on a birdfeeder

I see you, I think when I need you most climbing a bad day, there you were the very day after your birthday robin on a birdfeeder all will be okay.

7

Your small face smiles at me from across the dining room a dining room with a bed the bed doesn’t have a frame and your blonde fringe is gone too cut off when it started to fall out I didn’t say the image fit these days you can hardly move and I forget for a second my own losses I only think of what’s coming an inhale is stubbing my sternum on fibreglass while it’s reinforcing some concrete it’s all the same I try to hold the past a little tighter I felt it then nothing at first and then all of a sudden in a burst an itch on the roof of my mouth when I close it something persistently ingrown it catches on a button a crease a similar in relation smile and then it is my turn I smile and tell you “I’m sorry” you smile at me like you’re sorry that I’ve come back to see this.

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Jan 23, 2022

Jan 23, 2022 at 4:54 PM UTC

The dining room is a bedroom

Your small face smiles at me from across the dining room a dining room with a bed the bed doesn’t have a frame and your blonde fringe is gone too cut off when it started to fall out I didn’t say the image fit these days you can hardly move and I forget for a second my own losses I only think of what’s coming an inhale is stubbing my sternum on fibreglass while it’s reinforcing some concrete it’s all the same I try to hold the past a little tighter I felt it then nothing at first and then all of a sudden in a burst an itch on the roof of my mouth when I close it something persistently ingrown it catches on a button a crease a similar in relation smile and then it is my turn I smile and tell you “I’m sorry” you smile at me like you’re sorry that I’ve come back to see this.

34

I can see the light coming through beginning to flood us there’s something honest about being here call it understanding give it a willing name it knows exactly what to say I need me the most.

0

Jan 23, 2022

Jan 23, 2022 at 4:49 PM UTC

I need me the most

I can see the light coming through beginning to flood us there’s something honest about being here call it understanding give it a willing name it knows exactly what to say I need me the most.

7

On a day that was shaped a little different, I was talking to two specs of star-stuff. Grief was staring at me from her chair in the corner. I asked them, What comes next? The small one, she smiled quite sadly and said: The most important part, but you’ll have to wait and see. Mum’s waiting, you’d better go.

0

Jan 23, 2022

Jan 23, 2022 at 4:46 PM UTC

On a day shaped a little different

On a day that was shaped a little different, I was talking to two specs of star-stuff. Grief was staring at me from her chair in the corner. I asked them, What comes next? The small one, she smiled quite sadly and said: The most important part, but you’ll have to wait and see. Mum’s waiting, you’d better go.

10