"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

She's taken your body wash, and used it without permission.
She's used it twice before and
presumed it would be fine to take it again.

You never gave consent.
You even said No.

She's used it twice before so what's a third time,
or a fourth or even a fifth,
she's just hoping you won't snitch and tell someone
she stole something from you...
Your confidence or your peach shampoo?

She lied about the temperature of the bath water,
you were supposed to drown
before you felt the heat,
but you didn't and now you're
tearing your skin to shreds,
Self-destruction on the first date,
how sweet.

She wants you to wash your mouth out,
you said something you shouldn't and now she's mad,
feeling sorry for you is in the past,
the new thing is drowning you in the bath.

Your heads now under water,
feet kicking the floor.
She's doused you with her perfume,
just to see you choke against the wooden frame of the door.

We are so few and far between.
And for a few years every woman has been
Boring and bored, tired with no drive.
I am doing well. But within a circle of empowered women, we thrive.
Me, no exception. And I'd hate to lose my fragile perception
that you and I can change the world.
Others called it loneliness, we called it hard work -
Without your affirmation and kindred conversation
I'm finding it hard to call it anything other than a 'personal quirk'.
Lately, even, I find myself hiding. An action we used to find worthy of deriding -
A mark of lesser minds.
I still desire to change the world, and I miss that spark, that look in your eye
That told me to defy sexist expectations.
Now I'm in a sea of people and I struggle to find a grip, an ally.
But my heart still thuds like it did then.
The knowledge that women like you are out there
and that we will always be friends,
Gives me confidence
that together we can.

Everything about this feels inevitable.
I scribble poems down like a madwoman,
and that's how I know this must be love.
Infatuation always gets stuck on my tongue,
and lust just buries me.

See, I've read accounts of women who died of literal broken hearts
and wondered why the sternum isn't the strongest bone in the body
and whether it is our hearts are truly made of elastic or glass --
but mine just beats out of time whenever you brush up against me.

It's the oldest story in the world.
It's the only story I know how to tell.