if i have a daughter,
will she have my thin hair
and sneer at social niceties,
will she hug strangers tightly,
or hide in the corner at awkward parties?
would she have called him back,
or blocked the number, before
it all got so bad.
if i have a daughter,
will she have my imagination
and mold words into minds,
like holding onto herself wisely,
carrying confidence that glides past,
those who haven't met themselves?
or will she trust in the bigger picture, before
it ever gets taken.

you say you don't want me,
between texts about
who i'm talking to these days.
ways of holding space above me,
and dark matters to hide in.
to my mind you say "terra nullius",
invading open corners of my lands,
as if to cheer for my loneliness
with a batting swing
making sure you're still around.
"What are you up to?"
context is the killer here,
knowing that I'm alone in a new town,
thinking it will make a difference.
and it always does.

the red power outlet
with the drawn on deathly hallows sign,
the 1960s oven
with the ancient lead knobs,
creeking ceilings,
passing passengers of thought.
calculator clicks from the left room,
taking care of wall marks from
the Muhammad Ali success poster,
past the humming radiators
singing hushed whispers of
youthful experiments of doubt.
i'm twenty-five, and three years late,
but i still wonder if they've figured it out.

the seven season show
is coming to an end
four months out of
a massive break up
new chapters start for me
the final episode airs tomorrow
i pack up to my masters in Waterloo
i become another version of myself
a grown adult woman
she has her **** together
i am a home owner now
i am so confused
how to pay any bills
i can't pay you any respect either
does Rory end up with Logan,
or does she choose her career?
I choose myself.

see me without a pen,
shaking out emotions, reeling
run on sentences, trying to catch
a moment as it’s passing.
i’ve tried to live in the moment,
but they leave me too soon,
and i can’t hold anything in -
thoughts fall with gravity.
i wish i was mysterious, even secretive,
harsh questions of wondering what
she might do next -
that facetious woman with
a superiority complex.
i break the binds of open books,
kiss and tell to voids beneath me,
and i’m not obscene, just obvious -
okay, give me my pen back.

i don't want you,
not really,
i just want a compliment,
and some matty's patty's,
and i want to kiss you,
so maybe hold you?
okay we could walk
to christie and
talk about our feelings
i don't want you,
not really,
okay but maybe we could
go see the new marvel movie
and laugh at failed CGI...
then touch knees on the curb -
don't patronize me
and make me feel seen,
tell me about your
childhood dreams
okay i want you,
but not really???

it was 3am and I sent four texts
to four people i've slept with,
and my childhood bestfriend
is dating the owner of the bar
so im wasted and wasting time.
all of them are sleeping,
except the next morning when
James jokes about being too cheeky,
I remind him i'm barely holding on,
so he hangs onto my hollow words