They all have opinions
on how I "let" boys treat me.
Why I shouldn't be crying,
or trying so hard. Why I shouldn't
stand for it when they stand me up
after saying they'd meet me.
And then they get angry
when I don't tell them anything.

I'm so ******* sorry
that the boys don't treat me
like I'm a queen,
but look at them telling me I'm stupid
to run back to them.

Look at them telling me
to cop myself on when I'm already crying,
to get my act together
when I already hate myself.

It's a vicious cycle, the boy breaks me—
they tell me I'm backward,
dig me a hole and make me feel bad.
Then I'm lonely, want someone
to hold me,
whether it's alcohol, coke or
to press my lips to a cigarette
or the same boy either
that split my heart in two.

Here's the thing girls,
I don't deserve better. All I
want is to be let suffer in private.
I don't deserve someone
who thinks I'm his world,
and if a boy did that I couldn't act right.

Stood on the car roof
with a Stanley knife from the milking parlour
cutting down posters
and their vicious screaming.

*******, *******,
the corrugated plastic cuts my hands
and it's raining icy and
hailing mercilessly. I hope
that's the wrath of God on us.
The cable ties take a few
goes of the scissors.

"Vote No" to love —
I've been denied of it
too many times myself.

Have you ever had someone
tell you you weren't good enough?
Or worse,
lie and say it's all down to them?

Let a man kiss his man,
that's his business.
Don't tell your dad that I'm doing this.
Partaking in sociopolitical
vigilantism, with a dairy farmer's
knife and my best friends
and a farm vehicle.

I don't
read the bible. Holy water
means nothing to me.
I won't marry you in a church,
probably. Or at all, because you
don't ******* love me.

Let a woman kiss her woman,
what difference is that to me?
I'm just a leaf in the ******* breeze.
I'm just an acorn fallen from a tree.

My hands bleed.
There's rain and there's tears
and I can't ******* see.
The wind is howling around me
as these posters come down I'm finally free.
All of ye can have love,
**** hatred and all that it gets me.

I wonder who she is.
Whoever's got your attention now.
I can't believe
I've done this to myself again.

You won't even realise
what a mess I am. And for what?
Two more nights in a car,
and a morning watching two and a half men?

I'm pathetic.
I've been run into the ground too many times
and I don't understand
how boys don't have feelings.

What is it about me
that makes them think - "Ooh,
she looks tasty, and ripe
for the picking."

Then for taking one bite and dropping?
And thinking
"it's only one little piece"
but over the years I'm ate to the core.

I'm just the passing fancy.
A little bit pretty,
but boring or something.
Why have I done this to myself again?

Your eyes are soft, wrinkled at the sides,
gentle sighs, peach skin
every time I look into them I'm terrified.

Your petal breath raises my hair
to a stand. I wonder
how did I lose you before and
what if I lose you again?

Last time,
I cried on the couch for a week
and in the canteen
my roommate  just watched in confusion.

Yes, I kissed another boy.
But how can I explain to you
that I only kissed him because
I was so ******* scared of falling in love with you.

You're so out of my league
and I'm just a blonde silly girl
hacking my way through a science degree
and crying because I can't
find the time to sing or read.

I want to love you,
but I'm not prepared for the stomach drop feeling.
I'm not prepared
for you to kiss me any less.

This is why I look at other boys —
you're too good for me,
but not in the
"You're too good for me,
so I'm leaving you" way.
In the genuine, you're such a diamond
in the rough
that I can't possibly believe you'd ever stay with me.

Nervous and shaky, a newborn,
barely stood up. My wobbling voice
must give way to my anxiety.
The words are like *****,
thick and rancid —
When I hear what I've said I just cringe.

There's a man in my chest
stamping on the inside of my breastplate,
squeezing my heart at the wrong time
every
time
I hear your
name.

Your face is so little and beautiful.
I love to look at the little earrings
in your upper ear.
I love your expensive car
and leaning over the handbrake
to kiss you.

I've never done this.
I've never dated. I've never felt
butterflies and obsessed about a boy.
It's all drama,
it's all push-my-hair-behind-my-ear
and lay your lips on mine.

**** me dry boy,
take my soul because it's all yours anyways.

methyl (1R,2R,3S,5S)-3- (benzoyloxy)-8-methyl-8-azabicyclo[3.2.1] octane-2-carboxylate

Cahn Ingold Prelog

Whose rules are these? Press
on my lips boy, fill my face
and my hands with love.
Fill it up with confetti
little pink hearts that flutter
like Eskimo kisses or snowflakes.

Chop it doll. Link my elbow.

I'm so in love with a boy
that doesn't even drink -
I wonder if he loves me too.
He doesn't.
I wonder if he knows
that without him I'll get in with the ******* crew.

I know the chemistry of it. I can read the IUPAC.
I can breathe the molecules
I can taste the bad decisions I'm making.

I eat junk food and drink too much
€3.99 Revero
so I can stomach bad things.
Your saliva swims in with the bile.

How many times have I puked
behind cars
or old convents? Too many.

How many boys have I loved? Too many.

Anyway,
uni is finished soon.
I'm going home. Home again.

Straight on a plain, miles with the blowing wind.
Miles on a plane, nowhere near the mountain ranges,
nowhere near the Atlantic shore, no lapping sounds -
Just your gentle breathing
I’m just happy you’re alive.

This bulldozed land is barren,
dry like my eyes like a dirt road.
I’m stung on the arm by an imaginary bee,
flung out the open window.
This reminds me of the pleasantries we exchanged.

How polite we used to be.
And now your tired arm is slung over the wheel
angry with me. “Can you just
shut the **** up.” I’m not saying anything.
Let’s pull over at the next petrol station
get some Red Bull and make out like we’re American.

Lick the sting. Does it taste like Pepsi?
Can I be your blonde baby or your Barbie?
These dust clouds are haloing the sun,
as we sing out loud and off tune harmony.
It’s just you and me and nowhere baby.
So use me up until I’m gone. Drag on me
like a cigarette and extinguish me on the lawn.

---------------------------------------------------------
­
Nowhereland.
Head ready to burst
like elastic bands around a watermelon.
I’ve been getting angry.
Snappy again.
The long drive has left me whacked,
our conversation gone putrid,
the air swimming with expletives.
Hay bales.
Green fields.
Lost track of how many.
Wasn’t counting anyway.
Into sixth gear then.
South Dakotan sun
stretches into the car,
over your body;
I knew it well. I know it well.
The milometer slides
to fifty-seven thousand
and the silence stings my skin
like a small fresh burn
so I raise my voice - your mouth is closed.
I toss an empty Coke can out the window,
hear it scuttle over hot grey road.
Then you begin to sing, so I sing. Why?
Awful. Wrong key. Don’t care.
You look across,
destroy me so well,
the tumbling heart in a tower of cards.
I know. Stop the car.
Find a bar.
Let’s numb ourselves together
so we feel something,
gorge on US TV
till our eyes go red white and blue.
Look what we’ve become.
Just your gentle breathing.
This is what alive feels like.
Now give me a drag
of whatever it is you’re having.