I’ve gone over tiktok, then instagram, then tiktok then
facebook and no sign
no sign of you, this is odd that you would
after a year of dumping me with no contact,
saying you are happy with her,
that you’d stay gone, today as well.

Oh I know .
I know one does not love like I love if one
has not got damage, you feel so sweet in my
head; in real life, I might push you
away, in here you are mine, forehead pressed
to me, mine, I keep
your heart in the palm
of my hands, like
a baby bird, I keep it
gently, I could
break its bones
real easy, I would
never,

in real life you hold my head,
a sickly child all over
again, I cannot
hide my eyes and pretend
I am invisible like I did
then, I know

you have seen me, you have seen me
and you will not say the words;
when you do not
speak them, I want to die, you
call me friend, in real
life you frighten, you
do not want me, or that’s
not what you said, you said
you want me but

can’t choose me over her, said
you were happy, now here
I am, here, it’s been so long
you’ve crushed it and still,
somehow it
pumps, I

dreamed briefly of
crashing into rocks
instead of you, not

for you, for men,
all lovers betray,
I still have the note,
sits hollow and quiet, in
my google docs, IN CASE
I **** MYSELF, I edit it
sometimes, add people, it's
in comic sans, just to
**** with you all,

but days like today I imagine
I imagine you and forget you are
not coming back ever,
ever, not as a friend,
not as a lover, not
ever
not coming back, ever

I watch videos of me imagining
your reaction,

look at angel numbers, google the meaning, and
twin flames,  

when there’s nothing to hold on to -
I invent it. I hate that I am like this,
it’s why I survived.

I hate that I am like this,

how I love you is not
normal, one should
not love like this, It's
okay, I just need
to **** the hope, I need
to make the hope stop.

31/12/2022

It’s the last day of the year, and I’ve had one extra depressive episode
because a 21 year old noped out, apparently I’m demiromantic
and have never had a crush
need a strong connection, when it’s there – it’s nothing
to reckon with, had I known
I’d have put more space between us, taken it slower
rather than convincing myself I have control, as it slips

I’m leaving another lover, wretched with stench
I look at their face in old pictures, becoming
afraid at their void expression, beard
they refuse to trim for me
so I daydream and I know
like, I know now, with therapy that

there is no magical himbo to save me,
no delusions about that, no boo, no more
but I also know I deserve some ******* comfort
after the hell, oh the hell
I can’t broach, if I **** it will burst
like a yolk, I’ll be dead by morning, oh and

he’s so beautiful
his eyes on me, his cautious fingers, fear and shudders
makes me feel like my best was not just good enough
my best was fascinating.
I want to tell him about my songs, mixing in studio 1
I wanna duet, and melt,
I want him on his knees at random words, I want
that worship, wanna feel
his piercing on my
everything,
want to give that worship
not just in a word document,
so I daydream, I get to.
I ******* get to if I need it, daydream about
whichever thing will never happen if I need it.

I will not be shamed for surviving
I will not be blinded to an oasis for the chance
it’s a mirage, I need to
get from place to place, boo
What shall I do as I heal? Drink? Drugs? ******* cigarettes?
did you know the internet says I’ll die at 67?
Little more than half now
my life is not shortened by zoning out -
If I want a muse I will have a ******* muse, and he can think
I’m crazy along with the rest of them,
****
if
I
care,  
I want him to come here.
                                    I want to ask him questions, reasonable questions
because I know I would:
                                                          ­             is this an impulsive decision?
have you broken up?
                                                                ­                               how long ago?
are you in therapy?
                                            I am **** demisexual,
                                                  even in my mind,
                                              especially in my mind
Do       you      want      me      or      do       you       want      polyamory?
Because I can be anyone, and I have already been
                                                         an experiment for some guy, ‘fore he  
                                                            gets­ a bi curious, monogamous girl
Because we can grow alongside one another, but not fix
each other
because you need to process
because if you’re with her, she wouldn’t have a reason other than “my boyfriend really wants to” and that is the worst reason for polyamory, and I am not nor have ever been in the business of hurting people with intent (excluding  grade school, ((I’m
sorry, Martina – double sorry you died from
leukemia,) excluding when you c o n s e n t )),  
I’d like you to answer all of those, then
maybe I get to hold you.

That’s my daydream. Holding you. Watching films, you commenting on them the way I’ve done and annoyed all of my lovers.

how your neck would smell

                                      how your hair and head would feel in my hands

how you’d shiver and breathe shallow, and how easily
I could make it calm.  

and yeah, subspacing you and using your body, I am not entirely ace.

It’s difficult to comprehend that
this is the same skin that, a few years ago
frolicked around in bars, carelessly giving out kisses.

No fear.

Every scar carries more
ignorance,
my flesh, less young explains
the former stupidity I carried

Accompanied by confidence.

I was but a child, lost in the woods
unaware what dangerous animals lurk.

Even then, surprised by my own’s existence
Me still being here and
continuously breathing.

I was brave, but not brave enough.

The quick breaths during the
first attack.
I did not know they hit like a hammer, I
a hot blade

They were hardening fear.
Enormous, monstrous fear.

I was powerful and strong, every year
my height lowering, so that my
once clear voice turns into a
trembling
whisper.

An exhalation, kept alive by the ones
close enough to put their ear next to my
tickling lips.

What anger I contain.
How mutely I express it.

It was once powerful.
Erupted from my chest like
living fire,
burning the monsters far, far away from me.

Now it barely sparks when I’m reminded of
the long gone evil men
Mean, mean men who did mean things.

It’s not that I wasn’t fashioned to arrive at this point.

I was.

But the feet pressing onto my clay body did not help.

Now I’m dried and crooked.
My voice quiet, body
exhausted.

As I exhale smoke once more, I get inside
embrace my love and think:  


"**** it."

I own a good chin to lift
a look that threatens from a distance.
The shield I never thought I’d get in the mail is here,
name written on it and everything.

So I walk out, shield up,
and yet
I shiver if I only get a hint of

A scent,
reminding me of someone
who ****** me with no permission.

Sometimes, I forget the amount of my anger
But, if it bares meaning,
I understand it.
Not only mine, the anger of many women, who

woke up in someone’s bed, and
left there smelling of a body
they didn’t choose to smell of.

Don’t tell me I should’ve said “No.”
Because sometimes the mouth doesn’t listen to the body,
body doesn’t listen to the brain,
the brain is not aware that

six years later you’ll be sobbing with the realization that
you’re afraid of the man you trust most of all

because he produces testosterone.

Six years ago, it happened too fast.
I didn’t say  “No.”
He didn’t give me time to do it.

As I was leaving, eyes clenched to my feet
I let him kiss me and say:

“I hope you don’t regret this night.”

That’s what makes me the angriest.

Sometimes I think I’m good with words

Sometimes I firmly believe that everything I’ve ever
muttered
has been so meaningless that it causes someone pain

All my life I’ve been afraid that I’d caused more hurt than
good,
Just to find the same people I had blind faith in
Have been using my body and mind for their selfish goals

I was a good marionette
My body is a good body, endures good pain
it remained dull, insensitive despite everything.

As a result of everything.

Looking at all my past poems, blindly in love,
A dog of my masters,
who taught me how best to take care of them,  

I believe I had more potential than Cinderella,
I wish I hadn’t been at that bar, alone
I wish daddy could love,
I wish I hadn’t been attracted to heavy, lead words
launched towards my fragile ego.

I wish I could go back and **** that one year old girl.
I wish, when I was in first grade, and they called me
“Bald” for the first time, that
I had worn my scars with pride.

“Scars are signs of warriors” I said with arrogance
Whilst I pulled my bangs forwards,
So that despite my words, nobody would know.

“Scars are signs of warriors”, I say,
and maybe it’s  just comfort, or perhaps,

I look for reasons to believe I’ll bear through this.

My words are repeating themselves, I'm forgetting how to write
Like I've closed my mouth for too long, only opening to receive
I swallow insults from the front and back
Worst *** in the world.

I grasp the pipe in the bus, as if
I'll sink to the floor and towards people's ***** hands
Who watch me inside their heads as I'm blowing them
obediently
Even when I'm wearing my modest clothes.

These days a pretty girl is not won by honesty
everybody's understood that the words they're looking for have to be intriguing  
or hit a certain spot.
"You have sad eyes"
Yes. You're not the one who noticed it.

I was the one who followed their deprivation of joy
replacing what I once had with something I have
And will have more.
A shell, clotting blood forcing itself in the veins.
Protection.

Realizing that every vulnerability means abuse
Also understanding that it is my nature.
Every mask is obvious, I'll end um like my mother.  
I am the one who has noticed.

I'm going back to where I've been
I know the smell, the feeling
like an old lover it greets me and knows how to touch
freezes the blood, puts me in the corner
And yet

I often enjoy it.

I feel like it's over with this guy.

I'd love for me to be surprised that it isn't but I have
that feeling
I didn't even love him, I didn't know him so well

It's not a pain of loosing someone,
its just that...
“it's a shame” moment


It's a shame that it didn't lead to anywhere, with him,
and this other guy,
and this other guy.

It's a shame I don't know them so well and they don't know me
That they didn't have my scent at some point,
they didn't wear it on them like a mark,

It's a shame they barely scratched the surface of who I am
and I of who they are

It's a dull, miniature pain of meaningless kisses,
a hint of joy and sadness
thrown around with no purpose
leaving a small lesson behind.

Years from now, he’ll be a number
It’s just a shame.