Stone nightmares hang like bats off the edge of the
rain pocked buildings that line the street.
They were part of a hospital once, students in crisp,
white coats learnt the mysteries of life within their walls.
Echoes reverberate through the now empty skeletons,
of the scratching of pens,
coughs,
wails,
silence,
countless lives beginning and ending.
They're due to be torn down; bulldozers edge closer by the day,
cranes swing overhead,
drills shatter concrete.
Still, the gargoyles do their best.
I find comfort in their gnashing jaws and bottomless sockets -
amongst the structures popping out the ground like
worms during a storm,
they remain as a reminder of the past: an imprint, double exposure.
The old, shoulder to shoulder with the new,
a present memory.
Each day, as I draw the blind, I look to see what else has gone;
time marches on,
unrelenting,
mercilessly,
but the past, too, sinks in its claws -
a gargoyle on my shoulder.
What a glorious horror to call a friend.

I turn on the news
Scroll all day on my phone
The first words on my tongue
Are how can this be so

I walk down the street
And see those without homes
I ask once again
How can this be so

I hear people talk
Of our great country so bold
But still the words on my tongue
Are how can be this so

The people with power
Spit on those down below
I cry out the words
How can this be so

Those around me are bleeding
While their pockets grow
I beg them to tell me
How can this be so

The whole world is on fire
And still we work to the bone
I get tired of asking
How can this be so

They would fall from their perch
If we all threw a stone
The system is broken
That I do know

Have you ever torn at your own flesh
in an attempt to be lighter?
Clawing at chunks of skin and life
to force a shape that isn't consecrated with shame
like the body that you're used to.
Have you ever looked at yourself in a mirror
and stared so long
with eyes squint
that you almost look like the girls in the magazines
on TV
described in novels
strutting down the runway
only to open up and see the same old you
soft
full
whole
and wish you could disappear
into the floor
forever?
Have you ever had a loved one say the very worst thing
you've always suspected?
The magic words that snap your heart in two
and confirm every doubt you've ever had
every bad thought about yourself
you've spent your whole life trying to swallow
into the stomach that has always been treated so cruelly.
Have you ever used every birthday wish
every dandelion blown in the wind
every 11:11
to pray
beg
plead
for a different person to live inside of?
I weep for my poor body
so bullied and bruised
and I swear to never wish
for another
ever
again.

I got tired today
Tired of looking
so hard in the mirror
that shapes swell and burst
and fill the room

I said no more today
No more wishing
No more waiting for a day
that will only come if I let it
Not because I've bent myself
in an impossible direction

I said "look at me" today
I'm beautiful, I'm soft,
I bulge and I tremble,
I hit and I kick
and I do it
hard

You are the funniest person I have ever met.
Perhaps that's why when you're gone
everything around me feels colder
and more unbearable
than it has before.

You have made me happier than I have ever known.
So I'm not sure why recently
I've been waking up with a lump in my throat
and a heaviness in my limbs that causes me to crawl,
bent over,
broken.

I am so unbelievably scared.
Scared that you're going to turn round and tell me this was a mistake.
Scared that you're going to realise
that I'm not who you thought you wanted.

I don't know what else you could do
to make me feel any safer.
But I feel so vulnerable,
so incredibly close
to the edge of the cliff side
that I can hardly catch my breath
and I can feel the hands on my back
ready to push.

Is it too much to want for you to message me first?
Is it too much to want to feel your hand on my back?
Is it too much to hope you'll reach for me on a morning?
Am I stupid for being terrified that you lie awake at night
wishing I was her?
I wait for the day that you *** and say her name
instead of mine.

I thought we were sat on the same step,
even.
But now I feel myself looking up to you,
reaching out
and you don't even look down.

Why won't you leave my ******* brain?
I know that you're a *******,
that you're not worth a minute of my time,
although really I know that that's not true
but that's what I keep telling myself,
in order to get out of bed in the morning.
I thought I was finally angry,
that I'd reached the long awaited
'Stage 2'
of the break up,
but here I am again,
sobbing in the street,
six beers in.
Do you still think of me?
Or if somebody mentioned me now
would you simply answer
"Molly who?"
Molly,
the girl that loved you.
Still loves you.
Molly,
the girl you ******
last thing at night and first thing in the morning.
Molly,
the girl that didn't turn out to be
the girl you prayed she was.
Molly,
the girl that's been alone so long
that she stays that way,
even when somebody else is rammed deep inside her.
You're with me more now
than when we were together.
How is it fair
that you get to snap your fingers,
say "that's that"
and be okay;
what happened to
"I'll never finish this"?
You lied.
Do you understand that?
You're a ******* liar.
You took me by the hand,
called me all the things I'd always dreamt of hearing
and pulled me down,
deep down,
to a place I didn't know I was capable of inhabiting.
I resisted at first,
the place you put me in strange and all too familiar,
and I wanted to keep one arm out of the water.
But you wouldn't stop asking,
wouldn't let go of my hand,
a merperson,
floating hypnotic in the water,
bewitching the love sick sailor with her head over the side of the boat,
cursing the moon.
And so I fell right in,
felt the foam crash right over my face,
the waves swell in my lungs,
the salt in my mouth
and the sting in my eyes like nettles,
and I laughed until I choked
and begged for more.
But that's when you swam away
and I was lost and lifeless inside the rib cage of a shipwreck,
right at the bottom of the sea bed,
amongst the whale bones,
and I suddenly remembered that I couldn't breathe.
I was stupid;
you were stupid.
I was clueless;
you were cruel.
There's shells in my hands
whenever I cough
and sand in my bed.
You used your tongue to open me up,
a clam,
and I swallowed down the ocean.
Fish flap on the shore
and search for sea,
puddles of air,
the kiss of life.
I wait for the rain
to turn into a river.

Eyes staring,
eyes everywhere;
watching,
looking,
laughing,
judging.
Can't breathe,
can't walk,
can't speak.
I just wanna get on the bus,
I just wanna eat my lunch,
I just wanna buy a cup of coffee.
Can't find the words,
can't find the breath,
hands shake,
coffee spills,
I blush -
violently,
unmistakably.
Walking across a room feels like running across a desert,
talking to a stranger
is incredibly impossible,
looking at anybody in the eye
is not gonna happen.
Just leave me be,
just let me live,
without this constant commentary
racing around my brain.
Does everybody feel like this?
Does everybody hear this voice?
Is this just how it is?
I'm not special,
I'm nothing to look at,
not attracting attention;
so why do I feel the burning stab of a thousand eyes
pressing against my back?
Am I just totally mental?
Is this just pure self-obsession?
Just simply BEING shouldn't be so excruciatingly difficult.
Should it?
I wanna go to the bathroom
but I can't get across the room
without anybody seeing.
An easy-breezy laugh comes out like an uncertain whimper,
a friendly smile makes me look angry and confused.
I swear I'm nice, really,
I promise.
Just don't look at me.
Please don't look at me.