You sicken me.
Put me in bad form in a heartbeat—
I don't
understand
how I didn't realise all these
feelings would come back.

It took so ******* long
just to get over you.
Why did I think you'd be nice to me?

The worst thing being
I can't tell a soul. Can't breathe a word
about the hold you have on me.
You just
belittle me. Make me feel tiny.
Not just because I'm 19
and you're 23, but you make me feel
young and silly.

You embarass me.

Listen,
you know at fifteen, sixteen,
someone beautiful arrives
and wins you over
with childish butterflies.
You might become obsessed
or think you're in love
but you're young -
you don't even know what love is.

Sometimes,
a person can be a security,
a little safety blanket or a dummy.
A soother to wipe down
my feverish head
when the night terrors kick back in.

You're not that.

You're the older, more beautiful,
bubbling entity I could tell my life to.
Imagine little kids
and a house in someplace boring.

You're exciting, terrifying,
you make me nervous. You make me
laugh like a geek
and scream like a sinner.

"You're a bad girl aren't you."
Yes, boy, yes I am.
I could be good for you though,
I promise I could be.

Valentines day,
out for my birthday
a few close friends,
a bag of dizz.
A plastic pig,
and a quiet conversation in the bathroom
with Rachael.
"Clara thinks I should see someone"
"I think you should too."

"But why?"
I didn't feel bad,
I swear to god I was happy.

I know now I wasn't,
filling myself with drugs
as fast as my blood stream
could run.

"What's up with you Molly?"
Even Dominic was worried
I was just floating on MDMA.
What's up with you, Molly?

He told me he could love me during rag week
and my god I thought it might cure me.
They found me
crying on the steps of the third floor
of Rachael's block
and no one ever found out why.

Not everyone made it out alive.
Oisin lifted me over walls
and Dominic caught me on the other side
and I suppose you could say that in many ways
they were lifting me through.

But think,
when I was in bed with him, stroking his back in little rings
and kissing him. Falling all over again,
so in love with him, some boy
who I'd never met
before that night
left that hotel room
and wound up dead in the Oranmore lake.

But how could you ever talk about that?

It's the tile walls. Hot
water
or
the 3AM dark room
again. The words
spill out, angry
but silent. A thousand things
to never get said. I
imagine
******* your brother again,
imagine
maybe,
you getting furious - hurt, even -
just anything. Showing
any emotion, any shred
of meaning. And I would
scream
"Don't!"
Don't act like I was anything to you.
Any more than an easy ride.
Just a blonde to
love buzz for
when you were high. Your *******
bunny. Just a hopalong.
Someone easy to rely on.

Did it **** you? When I
kissed David?
Well, *******.
I rotted inside, empty for a year.
And you - you tried to tell me you had
feelings. Feelings?
As if you weren't ice on the inside.

I've cried so many times, and you
always got angry when I thought
you were lying.
But be honest, for once,
nothing you ever said was true.
You're a bonafide
con artist. And I wasted 3 years
(nearly)
of my life on you.

I should have never gone back.
Should have never gone back.

Crouched in a bath
in a house in my hometown.
5AM and the moon's out.
Kevin hands me a rolled up bank note,
and tells me I'm innocent
all in one breath.

There's blood on my hands,
rolling down my wrist.
Big, fat, poppy teardrops
blooming like the cherry trees
in my university.
Home is a funny thing.

I'm not a cool kid.
Just a drugged up, loved up,
half pretty girl with a good brain.
Mad
after the wrong people
in love with every
broken soul.

I'm just chasing dreams
and welded differentials,
the car turns and screams.
One hand on the steering wheel
and one on my thigh -
can't you just need me for a weekend?
Can't you just
sigh your little promises
and chew my ear?

The sun isn't even cooking me
it's just not raining,
the brown Liffey is dipping and lapping
the bus windows are all open.

"What think ye of Christ"
asks the poster by the driver.
"Not much," but if he's real
I'll thank him for the blue of the sky.

Is this what happiness feels like?
Because it's pretty ******* good.
The silver lines on my arms
tease me about years ago.

I remember
tightening a belt around my neck
and wondering how it felt to die.
But I was silly back then.

Look at the blue of the sky.
Look at the wispy clouds.
Look at my friends saying
"Go outside and look at the moon."

Life is strung up by a rope.
I miss the boy who I love
but not too much.
One day I'll find a prince for myself

in Rome or America
in a land far away on the sea.
I'll sail away in a couple of days
life's going good for me.

My mom likes to feed the ducks and storks that frequent our lake.
We often refer to her as the "Bird Lady."
They congregate in our backyard, waiting to be fed.
She throws them cereal and dried up old bread.
She's given most of them names.
Whenever one becomes a mother,
she keeps track of the ducklings.
Most of them don't make it.
They fall prey to hawks and cranes.
I can always count on her for an unwarranted update.
"Juliet lost another baby today."
"I don't care."
If they lose them all,
she likes to call them Bad Mothers,
which I find ironic.

This morning, I saw three pelicans in our lake.
I guess there's a first time for everything.
They were white with black-tipped wings.
They were feeding with a sort of unexpected grace.
They'd dunk their heads then come back up with something in their long orange beaks.
The bottom of which would shake. All loose and leathery.
After they had their fill, they flew off in unison.
One after the other,
like one, two, three.
And afterwards I thought,
"**** swans."