lucypettigrew - Hello Poetry

Your hands must be soft as nectarine skins in summer. Old skin torn away by hardship to reveal new beginnings, and when I feel your fingers against my own I know it’ll be the start of something much more wonderful than when we were alone.

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Aug 11, 2018

Aug 11, 2018 at 12:41 PM UTC

lucypettigrew

Nectarines

Your hands must be soft as nectarine skins in summer. Old skin torn away by hardship to reveal new beginnings, and when I feel your fingers against my own I know it’ll be the start of something much more wonderful than when we were alone.

8

You used to not wear lipstick just so that you could kiss me, and it hit my chest like bricks when I noticed you were wearing it today.

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Jun 12, 2018

Jun 12, 2018 at 3:35 PM UTC

lucypettigrew

Lipstick Nil

You used to not wear lipstick just so that you could kiss me, and it hit my chest like bricks when I noticed you were wearing it today.

4

You sit across from me on the 3pm Friday train, taking us from the throbbing heart of Nottingham to the serenity of York. I listen to the same song over and over again for the whole journey. We exchange multiple glances and multiple smiles. I imagine what it must be like for your girlfriend to be wrapped up in your arms. Part of me wishes I was her. You just look like power - the kind of power that could complete me and tear me apart all at once.

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May 22, 2018

May 22, 2018 at 5:54 PM UTC

lucypettigrew

You, who looks like power

You sit across from me on the 3pm Friday train, taking us from the throbbing heart of Nottingham to the serenity of York. I listen to the same song over and over again for the whole journey. We exchange multiple glances and multiple smiles. I imagine what it must be like for your girlfriend to be wrapped up in your arms. Part of me wishes I was her. You just look like power - the kind of power that could complete me and tear me apart all at once.

11

I always thought we’d move in together. Cram all our stuff, our thoughts, our hearts into one small flat; not quite in London but close enough. I guess some things don’t work out, though. Now instead of this space being filled with your presence it is full of me missing you; nostalgia seeps between the cracks in the paint, in the walls, in the last crumbling pieces of our relationship. When I go outside in the unforgiving wind tomorrow the last specks of us will leave my clothes like a spirit leaving a dead body. Still in the world but not existing where it used to. Not where it hurts like salt in an open wound.

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May 7, 2018

May 7, 2018 at 4:10 PM UTC

lucypettigrew

Salt

I always thought we’d move in together. Cram all our stuff, our thoughts, our hearts into one small flat; not quite in London but close enough. I guess some things don’t work out, though. Now instead of this space being filled with your presence it is full of me missing you; nostalgia seeps between the cracks in the paint, in the walls, in the last crumbling pieces of our relationship. When I go outside in the unforgiving wind tomorrow the last specks of us will leave my clothes like a spirit leaving a dead body. Still in the world but not existing where it used to. Not where it hurts like salt in an open wound.

25

“How do you feel?” She sits across from me with an unintentional smug look plastered across the canvas of her face. “Fine.” I say bluntly. “Fine” meaning ‘I can’t stop picturing his face and how his hands feel on my waist and how it’s so much better when he’s with me and not her’. “Fine” meaning ‘why did he have to ruin it? Why didn’t he just pretend he loved me back?’ “Fine” meaning ‘I could catch the bus to his home right now; stand on the doorstep and demand he glue and stitch back together my broken heart.’ “Fine” meaning ‘I don’t want to talk to you about it.” “Fine” meaning ‘I’m going to go home now, lie on the roof of my house and try to get the sound of his muffled-through-his-chest heartbeat and the sound of my own crying out of my head’.

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May 2, 2018

May 2, 2018 at 2:22 PM UTC

lucypettigrew

"Fine."

“How do you feel?” She sits across from me with an unintentional smug look plastered across the canvas of her face. “Fine.” I say bluntly. “Fine” meaning ‘I can’t stop picturing his face and how his hands feel on my waist and how it’s so much better when he’s with me and not her’. “Fine” meaning ‘why did he have to ruin it? Why didn’t he just pretend he loved me back?’ “Fine” meaning ‘I could catch the bus to his home right now; stand on the doorstep and demand he glue and stitch back together my broken heart.’ “Fine” meaning ‘I don’t want to talk to you about it.” “Fine” meaning ‘I’m going to go home now, lie on the roof of my house and try to get the sound of his muffled-through-his-chest heartbeat and the sound of my own crying out of my head’.

18

My depression is a glass of flat lemonade – hard to swallow but I can’t stop coming back to its sweetness. I have learnt to stop wallowing in it, though - deep down there is a part of me unwilling, yet it knows to give up trying to get rid and I’ve learnt to accept, because despite what I’m told, that I should not let my depression be so bold in telling me what to do, existing like this is almost bearable because it exists like outer space – there is so much of it yet it communicates its complexity in silence. I am yet to receive a response from the void, but feeling this crushing nothingness at 2pm in an aisle of a supermarket makes me realise it’s not gone yet. I don’t know if it’ll ever leave.

0

May 2, 2018

May 2, 2018 at 8:56 AM UTC

lucypettigrew

Flat Lemonade

My depression is a glass of flat lemonade – hard to swallow but I can’t stop coming back to its sweetness. I have learnt to stop wallowing in it, though - deep down there is a part of me unwilling, yet it knows to give up trying to get rid and I’ve learnt to accept, because despite what I’m told, that I should not let my depression be so bold in telling me what to do, existing like this is almost bearable because it exists like outer space – there is so much of it yet it communicates its complexity in silence. I am yet to receive a response from the void, but feeling this crushing nothingness at 2pm in an aisle of a supermarket makes me realise it’s not gone yet. I don’t know if it’ll ever leave.

21

It feels so heavy right now – like your bones are cracking under the weight of your head. You swore you could get through this – clutching notebook in shaky hands saying “the words will get me through.” You thought this was going to be easy but continuing each day, lifting the fork to mouth, watching your life fly south for the winter, is harder than you ever thought it could be. But let me tell you that one day you’ll be ok – sometime soon you will not be able to wait to start your day and I know how hard it is right now. I know depression is crushing you into a fine dust, but I can tell you now that one day you will feel good again. One day flowers will bloom in your head instead of wilt. Just please don’t give up. The shift is coming soon.

0

May 2, 2018

May 2, 2018 at 8:40 AM UTC

lucypettigrew

Advice From an Older Me to a Younger Me

It feels so heavy right now – like your bones are cracking under the weight of your head. You swore you could get through this – clutching notebook in shaky hands saying “the words will get me through.” You thought this was going to be easy but continuing each day, lifting the fork to mouth, watching your life fly south for the winter, is harder than you ever thought it could be. But let me tell you that one day you’ll be ok – sometime soon you will not be able to wait to start your day and I know how hard it is right now. I know depression is crushing you into a fine dust, but I can tell you now that one day you will feel good again. One day flowers will bloom in your head instead of wilt. Just please don’t give up. The shift is coming soon.

25

Sometimes I go into the city at night alone. Let the pavement trace the way without breaks, get lost under the blue lights. I go to the places we used to and sometimes get a little drunk – I don’t want to remember but I have gravitated to these places so maybe I should just honour my cravings for you – the sickly-sweet syrup of your spit, the saffron, sticky honey of your eyes. We used to do the same together as I am now doing alone – let the concrete slabs pave the way without breaks; going nowhere and everywhere all at once.

0

May 2, 2018

May 2, 2018 at 8:31 AM UTC

lucypettigrew

Blue Lights

Sometimes I go into the city at night alone. Let the pavement trace the way without breaks, get lost under the blue lights. I go to the places we used to and sometimes get a little drunk – I don’t want to remember but I have gravitated to these places so maybe I should just honour my cravings for you – the sickly-sweet syrup of your spit, the saffron, sticky honey of your eyes. We used to do the same together as I am now doing alone – let the concrete slabs pave the way without breaks; going nowhere and everywhere all at once.

23