You would never make me happy.
But sometimes I long to abandon all,
In sadness, fall
To melancholy pleasure
Forever.

I should have
What I deserve
Shouldn't I?

In a bright white room
My eyes burn, desert dry
Hoping to be healthy.

I wanted to be your lover,
And I still do.
You will be my dream lover, forever.
I have no choice, and neither do you,
Neither of us can escape my dreams.
I think you ought to know,
There aren't just pictures in my head,
There are words, too.
All the messages you ever sent me,
Playing over and over again, on repeat.
That's why I can't recover,
That's why I can't let you go.
You are eternally perfect, saying and doing and writing
All the right things.
I need you back in my life, flawed and deficient,
And then I'll want you in a different way,
One that will be easier to quash.

When I was around nine or so my Father looked at me in disgust,
And said in a loud voice
"There are rolls of fat on her legs,
I've never heard of that before."
Poor Daddy wanted a perfect daughter,
And got a chubby social misfit with argumentative tendencies,
Combined with a complete disregard for anything as inconvenient as reality.
I wouldn't have chosen an alcoholic sociopath for a father, either,
So, hey, we're sort of even.
I have my father's temper, which disgusts me,
More than my legs disgusted him, I'll bet.
He knows that I don't like him,
I've never been able to please him, or impress him,
And I've never understood what made him so angry,
I'm angry, too, a lot of the time, but I would never look at my daughters with horror and scorn,
And coldly evaluate their physical shortcomings.
Everything about them is beautiful, everything.
What an *******,
Wish I didn't love him, so.

Last night I dreamed of her.
I lay with my head on her chest,
Embracing forgiveness.
It can never happen,
You have seen to that,
By fabricating a vile and predatory version of me
and feeding it to her, piece by piece,
Coated in your own remorse,
until she was sick.
I don't hate you for it.
Talented salesman,
You did what you had to
To save yourself.
I wish you would serve me the same special meal,
So I could blame me, too,
And hate myself, instead of you.

There is a pink furry one
For snuggling,
Under the coffee table,

A silver chiming one
Hanging from the door.

Upstairs two tiny ones
Beat in harmony,
Sleeping and at peace.

And you are playing with mine,
Holding it inside you,
Making me wonder if you plan to be gentle
When you hide it away, with your own.

You don't know that I have yours, already
I stole it away, as you slept.
It beat faster and harder, trying to warn you,
But I calmed it with a kiss...

And now it's mine, and I will not give it up.
Keep squeezing what you have,
But I need you to be careful,
And I will be, too,
I'll take my cue from you.

Lots of hands
Reaching out and touching me,
Tentatively.
Lots of minds
Sending little poem probes
Deep into my own.
It's Saturday night.
I have a sore throat,
A cup of tea,
Hello Poetry,
There's nowhere else I'd rather be.

There is nowhere to go
Except straight ahead,
On and on
Into the grey.
At some point
Colours will return
And I'll know
That I'm finally
Somewhere.

I've more curves than are fashionable,
And I love every single succulent contour.
'Pin-up petite' I like to call it,
A considerable ***** and bottom, fifties style,
Not the angled, jutting hipbone sleekness
That is so coveted, and Kate Moss-esque.
I like breaking the mould,
And dress to suit my out of era shape
In wiggle dresses, flouncy skirts, petticoats,
Red, and bold, and look-at-me,
Black hair, red lips, a look twice smile,
That's my style.

My better self
Is giving my weak and silly self
A pep talk.

He isn't worth it, she says.
There's nothing to like, let alone love.
And you don't love him, anyway,
It's an infatuation.
He paid you some attention,
Made you feel amazing, and admired,
But he should have kept his **** mouth shut.
Why would you care about someone,
Who would do that to his two friends,
One he called his best friend?
What a scumbag.
Forget him.
Let.  Him.  Go.

My weak and silly self smiles a silly smile
And nods, weakly.
Yes, yes,
She says.
Yes.

There is nothing ****, romantic, beautiful or admirable
In starving, bingeing or throwing up.
It doesn’t make you different
And it doesn’t mean you’re in control.
Fish-Bone body,
Spine like shards of glass,
Risking a rupture each time you indulge your
sordid, secret habit.
Why are you trying to find beautiful words
To pretty your ugly, violent acts?
There are none.
There is no beauty
In ***** and bile,
There is nothing to admire
In the punching of your stomach
The water loading,
The blisters on your knuckles
And your grey, grainy skin.

I watched someone die from this.
I refuse to do it again.

I want to **** humanely, but
The pulsing gushes taste sublime
When they’re aware that it’s their time.

I need to feed.
I long to read
The terror in those heartshed tendrils

His lifesblood is delicious.

Scarlet drips
Awake my lust
He needs to bleed.

I should not…But I must…

I still don't know what to do,
So I do nothing
For another evening.
Waiting for the right moment
Is nothing more than cowardice.
I am too afraid that you will ignore me,
Or delete me,
So I do nothing,
Because while you are an option,
I could do something
While you are still there, connected,
I could be the one to reach out.
I want it to be you,
But know it won't be.
You have left the door open
Only to see if I will follow,
And if I do,
You will have won,
And may well slam it in my face.

Recently I’ve been censoring myself
Because the things I imagine you doing to me
Are somewhat brutal
And the fact that I enjoy the thoughts
Disturbs me.

The thought of your hands slapping
Things that have only ever been caressed
Excites me.
You make me hurt
All over, and inside.

My heart is a honeycomb
Riddled with many small spaces,
Each one a placeholder
For pieces I gifted to you.
I remember each moment of gifting.
The first; your birthday party,
You walked me to the bar and gazed on me with wonder
Before revealing more than you should, frankly and without fear
or expectation.
Later that night,
You slipped your hand illicitly into the warm space just above my knees
And breathed a longing sigh.
I took your hand away and held it in my own,
Closing your fingers around the first piece of my heart.
The first time we kissed, I had hidden another piece under my tongue
And it melted into yours.
When you told me I was beautiful
And proved that you really thought so,
You found a piece in what you gazed upon
And it burned itself onto your retinas, indelible - my hearts branding.
There were many other offerings,
And by the time it all collapsed around us,
My heart was barely able to sustain me,
I had offered almost all I could,
The final offering would have destroyed me.
I suppose I should be glad I never had to make it,
But I am a poor version of myself now;
A heart riddled with holes,
And nothing to show for all that I gave up.
You have so much of my heart, with you
I wonder if you feel it beating?
I wonder, if each little piece,
Now bleeding, and yearning to return,
Shares that yearning with you?
Is your heart bleeding, in sympathy, too?

I want to give you
A piece of me.
What would you like?
I want you to choose.

My eyes...?
No, too deficient, insufficient
And unseeing
With a tendency, recently, to flood.

My fingers...?
Tremblers now, them.
And the nails are bitten ragged, ******.
I push my rings to my knuckles,
And bend, and flex the joints,
Deliberately creating callouses, enjoying the pain.
You don't want these masochistic digits.

My arrhythmic, angry heart?
I think not,
You've rejected that, already,
And I'm not prepared to offer it again,
Get away, that won't be yours,
Cast your greedy glance elsewhere...

And so, we're back to what you wanted all along.
Go ahead, take it,
The part you wanted, longer for, risked
your world, and mine, for.
I hope it's worth it,
But I think
It would have been a better prize
Along with all the rest.

Soft ******* stiffen,
Slick with sweat.

Involuntary moans
Released from an unwilling throat
Pierce the night
With need.

Where are you?
Where are you now?
I dare you to resist me
I dare you to deny me
What I need.

I am savouring
The mouthfeel of our joining
In my dreams.
Come, come,
This is the way to the feast.

I can see myself, sitting on the edge of an uncomfortable bed,
In an unknown, alien room,
Watering.

Flooding, out of control.

I can see
Catastrophe.

I can see
What could be.

I'm not sure I can stop it.
I'm not sure I have the self control.
Baby,
I have wrung every last drop of will power
From the sponge of me
For you,
I am not sure
I have anything left.

Even now,
After a month without,
You are pulling at me.
The word 'inevitable'
Sits on the centre of the bottom of my lip
Waiting to leap into your mouth
And caress your tongue
With long, slow strokes.

Oh, I
Am undone
And aware
Fully aware
I cannot bear
This potential betrayal
Which will ever haunt me, a possibility...

A wish,

A longing
I can never assuage.

A restless wanting
I can never appease.

People take photos
Of random body parts and
Send them to
People they know or
People they don't.
I took a photo of my *******
In the mirror
To see if I would then have to battle
A sudden urge to tweet them to
The world and his wife,
But they became '****'
in isolation
They were easy to delete.

Yearning for you
Makes me angry with myself.

So **** angry
That I literally weep with rage and horror,
Sometimes several times a day.

You are such a
Such a
Such a
Why do I want you, even now?

And I mean want want WANT you,
Desperately, angrily, resentfully,
Want you like the world wants saving,
The rain wants rivers,
Want you like a fallen angel
Wishes he could be with God, again.

I see your teeth
In the dark
Silently gnashing,
Grinding and clashing.

Bone
Bleached white
In sunlight
Scarred by teeth -
You bit down hard
You tore through flesh

You took your meal
Washed down with tears, with grief.

There's a name that I can no longer hear, or say.
So I have hidden my four year old daughters' favourite book (about a bee),
And taken down the postcard of the Houses of Parliament
That sat in my study, for years.
CBeebies is switched off at certain key moments, too,
It's only a cartoon, but...
I can't hear, see, speak or think the name,
Without wanting to *****, or cry.
It means 'son of...'

And that's pretty apt, actually.

The secret to a happy marriage
Is

The secretions of a happy marriage
Are

The secretary
is
The secret in my marriage.

I am not a very nice person
And it's fine.
I know it, I accept it
I am not nice.
I don't want to be nice.
Who would choose to be Olivia Newton John
Over Scarlett O'Hara?
Nice gets you nowhere,
Good gets you nothing,
Ask Marilyn, Miley or Madonna
Nice girls finish last.

Bad Morning, long time no see, wish it had stayed that way.      

It's **** to see you.

I don't give a monkeys how you are.

And as for your wife and kids, I never liked her, and they were always horrible to mine.

Got to go? Thank God for that.

Be careless,

With any luck I won't bump into you again for a long, long time. Please don't call.

I can't think of a single nice thing to say to you, and it would be awkward as hell.

I don't want you knowing anything about my life.


Good morning, long time no see!
It's great to see you!
How are you?
How's Sally, Joe and Sam? We should set up that playdate, it's been awhile.
Oh, you're in a rush? That's a shame, never mind.
Take care,
Hope to see you soon - call me!
It would be so great to get the chance to have a proper chat.
I've so much to tell you.

Anonymity is an illusion
He tells me.
He tells me,
No-one can remain unknown
On the World Wide Web.
Don't think deletion makes a difference,
Don't think that everything you've ever sent
Received
And posted,
Isn't hosted on a server
Forever,
Awaiting discovery and disclosure.
He could find me in minutes,
He could find me,
If he wanted to.
He doesn't,
But what if he did?
What if he did?
I would feel safer
If I'd posted intimate photos
Or sexted a thousand faceless strangers.
My poems are a diary of my soul,
My hearts' helpless, hopeful blog.
They expose me.
No-one knows me here,
But he could find me,
And he would know.
No-one is anonymous,
No-one is unknown.

Cold rain cleanses
A polluted soul.
Fragility crumbles
In the face of such relentless
Pounding downpours.
This is character building,
Strengthening weather.
It's everything I need.
I bathe,
I bask,
I bring my weakness out to play,
And watch the rainfall
Wash it all away.

You have tied me too tightly
And the ropes are chafing,
Let me go
Before I panic
And the blackness overwhelms.
You have bound me
Mercilessly,
Now you pound me,
You won't stop -
Don't stop,
Until you've ground me
Down.

My eyes are getting heartily sick of the demands on them
And are refusing to produce
Any more tears.
My stomach
Wants a chuckle,
So come on,
Joke me up
real good,
I need a
       Hysterical
           Over the top
                Roll around
                     Chortle-fest.

I need to start laughing
Before my eyes give in,
And begin, again,
To cry.

I wish you were here
And could hold me.
I expect that you have big, strong arms,
And would make me feel
Safe, warm, blissfully buried.
I bet being held by you
Would feel like hibernation,
Like shutting out the cold, cruel world.
I wish you were here
And could hold me,
I'll wish it for a little while longer,
Until I fall asleep.

Oktober
In September.
My world collapses
Amid the loamy stench of portaloos and stale spilled *****,
Indecency caught
Betrayal unearthed
Catastrophe birthed.
I enter Hell
A husk,
A shell.