I am an empty well with nothing left to give but the frayed, overused rope and a bucket full of holes.
No water left to quench your thirst but my tears my wet your cheek, cool your skin, soak you to the bone. I am a forced metaphor.
Recycled. Chipped away at the corners to fit my new mold. I am empty. I have nothing left to give.

It's so impossibly hard to capture fleeting moments of anguish in words that truly embody the experience. In that second stretching for on for days, there is no escape, no end, no hope. Such a hopelessness is intensely lonely and creates a terror that passes through muscles so concretely the electrical current sparks fuzzy on my teeth, freezing my jaw.

And when that moment ends, seconds to days later, such a feeling is still so impossibly hard to capture that I doubt memory and weary body alike. The exhaustion has no tangible cause. Nothing ties my lingering reactions to their root any longer. The synapses decay.

These words become all I have.

Overthinking.
Reading into it too much.
Seeing things that aren't there.
Replaying interactions for intimate dissection.
Praying that wasn't the wrong thing to say.
Wishing the words would stop.
Hoping the silence will be filled by someone else.
Desperate for anything other than this.

There's an ache and a peace that washes over me with the little bay's tide. All memories made in this town are etched on my heart - good, bad, devastating, eternal. It's a home like no other and I might never tend roots except familial ties here again, but this is my soul place.

Tracing old paths down memory lane bathed in golden hour sun.

sick of stumbling on words that don't fit
trying to sound pretty but just tasting ash on my tongue
the dirt is just dirt, not a bed for sprouting new leaves
no cultivation will help me blossom
the meagre harvest of years gone by is as good as it gets
perhaps it's time to hang up the emotional shears
it's too painful to keep trying and not make it
let me fall asleep on the moss and become part of the scenery

A bumblebee landed on my hand
Whisper light and feet kissing the pad of my finger
Down digit limb
And onto the cosmos white head yellow belly
To fill up on pollen, love drunk on Nature's sweet centre
And I yearned for paper and pen to catalogue this moment
Grounding me in my surroundings
Gentle water slipping over rock
Soft breeze and wings
Hopping from flower heads
Stocking up
Filling my lungs
Revelling in the abundance

Skin is sun warmed
but skeleton still rattles
desperate for soul heat
despite the fat on my sinew
and beige-lined stomach pit
last night's gin lingers
metal tongue, acid gullet
fuzzy head and discontent
my flesh doesn't fit
bad cut on my jib
across the grain
no diner satisfaction
from this dinner plate
carcass inedible

it feels impossible
to ignore the vulnerability
extending the olive branch
sweeping shadows under the rug
to feel included
to ignore the reality
mismatched expectations
always a step behind
a beat or two out of time with the rest
trust and reliance further
from the bedfellows you had always believed
and resentment builds at tight-knit bonds
you've never felt welcomed in
always on the outside
playing make-believe with borrowed time
and the other kids' toys
sometimes the big girl boots
tread paths you're not ready for
and routes to new possibilities
though painful and lonely and
endlessly daunting
are safest for a heart
worn out from breaking
under the mishandled fragile bonds
left of a trampled soul
rebuilding softly

give me your words that i might finally rest
the aching, the longing, the want
mark your heat with mine
indelible flame
history's ghosts will nevermore haunt

A second glass, filled
Full of a sort
Wine and bright side
Equally measured.
Pain feels manageable
In these compartments
Labels for days of the week
And diary entry hours
To briefly acknowledge
The storm.
Golden hour hues
Paint monotony
Interesting
Change of pace
And life feels
Life-like
Not disconnected
But real
And my bone-ache
Muted.
Furry companion,
My charge - for a while
Tangible connection
Convention
Of friendship
Desire
Companion
Motivation enough
For now
To carry, onwards

soundtracking my summer, soft and wistful
a teen nostalgia time capsule
of angst and wide-eyed innocence
simplicity wrapped in pastel softness
sugar mice, 99s, Boys Like Girls - how fitting
as thunder rolls in to clear the skies
for sunny promises and late night kisses
undiluted joy with barely mixed ***
sweet on my lips and salt at the waistline
warming our skin through windows
as gulls pepper the soundwaves
how magnificent the glory days are
reborn, revisited, revitalised
with today's knowledge
and back then's hope
danced and tiptoed and sprinted through
to songs of child hearts and dreamer tongues

Oh my darling my darling my darling
In feeling you are living
The pain doesn't end you just
Live
Though, through, despite, because
It's a life
Life
Not easy or simple or without fighting
Not without crying and trying
Not without wondering
But if you read this
Despite wondering
If Dying
Might be the solution
I promise life offers more than
The alternative
And how can you know
Except
To live

The sky turns purple grey on the last aft of the decade and I can't help but lean into the flirtatious nature of newness and clean slate (even if only until the sun rises anew)

She shines bright like a star desperate to be seen among the inky night sky
In a universe stretching galaxies, with milky ways of endless beauty and terror and brightness and wonder.

She carries on flickering in the hope that those who spot her are guided to better things by her light.
She burns hot, forever aflame and highlighting the vast darkness that can never be kept at bay.
There cannot exist one without its opposing force and no matter how hard she tries, the pitch black will prevail.

She rails against the odds, emitting radiant hues in white and red and green and blue
Painting the universe with a haze that is distinctly hers, tirelessly working to brighten, lighten, to thrive.
Survive.

But what happens when stars burn too bright having spent that light being seen
admired
cursed
wished upon
spent
and there's none left to fuel the spark?

What happens to little stars alone in the sprawling universe, unseen and unmourned when they burn out?

They fall.

a heart full of Norah Jones
but the pounding staccato is
not soothed by breathy velvet

built under a cerulean sky
bones of Tori Amos
soul of Fiona Apple
*** of Erin McKeown

make me a sapphire woman
hard edges and smooth plains
build me up and let me shatter:
Stevie Nicks untouched.

inky midnight colours me
drowning in its conflicting
warmth and chill
and still my veins sing the blues

I look down and my sadness
weighs on me
I am heavy with hunger
But it is nothing like the weight
that my body is forced to carry
that I am forced to carry
After years of
shovel hands
thunderous teeth
kilos slip from shoulders to waistline
Legs might be stronger
But my back breaks all the same
Wretched, ravenous
Abstinence makes the mind grow obsessive
But a four days of counting and
no dress for the occasion
without looking fit to burst
Hot flash of anger in the pan
Sizzling shame
My faults spilling out for all to see
How utterly unappetising
So when my mouth waters
I look down

I have a sob stuck
in my lower right lung
it won't (or can't) dislodge
on its own
twisting, dancing, laughing,
stretching, forcing - nothing works.
Little pops and groans as muscles
protest and I along with them
hate moving every which way
but the pressure is mounting
so I keep trying to worm this
little collection of tears
down and away.

I imagine the lobe like
a jacket's third pocket
pressed against my ribs
safe and secret
close to my vest.
Perhaps that's why
it got trapped there
it's warm, feels secure
and near the feeling part
my traitorous heart
so I try coaxing the tears
with sad thoughts and fears
but to no avail
it won't get lost
or maybe it is lost
because sobs should be stuck
in throats
not in lungs
not that my body has ever
done its job right
all mixed up signals
weak muscles
too-old bones
and feelings aren't supposed
to sit in the meat sack
rattling skeleton
clogging arteries
stealing breaths
though my lung's filling fine
despite this new obstruction.

The little sob in my chest pocket
whose zip teeth won't unclench
so my back is up
unsure how to carry this extra weight
without giving out
body caving in
and I'm on my knees
emotionally capped
carrying this orb of sadness
all blue and heavy and wet
it's no surprise the sob
wanted a place to rest
so constant, predictable
expand, release
breathe in, exhale
rhythmic and vital and alive
tapping into that space
a reminder, a grounding
present and here and continuing on
survival mode engaged
motions and habit and back to basics
until I can tap into the memories
the fears or the thoughts
that chased this sob from tear ducts
to ribcage for safe keeping.

I want to bask in the glory of your light and drown myself with your dark. Cool contradictions burn bright inside me.

In your arms I am Brigit, crafting a searing flame. Or Hestia, perhaps, as our hearth and home become one and the same.

Bathing in the warm winter sunlight I think of us intertwined, scintillating. It is not just a little spark. It is a roaring fire.

A flicker, a glimmer in the endless dark. Keep a candle burning, my love, to guide me always home.

It sits heavy on my heart
Stirs up my stomach
Twists me into knots
And I hate it.

Putrifaction in my veins
Rotting away my soul
Tearing my confidence to shreds
Digging deeper, desperate to taint.

Shiny. New. Small. Wanted.
Everything I'm not.
Dependable doesn't beckon bedfellows
When the unknown waltzes by in satin and ***.

Monstrous. Ever-present. Bellowing.
Inescapable are the doubts and fears
The panging need to be seen and held
As I was way back when.

Witching hour
Temptation at its peak
Traveling south
Heat beckons
Soft and ready
Pulling you in
And under
After midnight
Up above
As below
Explorers delve
In inky midnight
Overloaded
Flesh meets flesh
Souls ignite
Chanting tongues
Entwined

Seeing myself through his eyes I can put words to dreamy days that dance in my chest - windswept and completely enraptured by the scenery. At home, steady, peaceful bones, happy soft soul and hopeful. Lulled to a gentle sway, the push and pull of the waves guiding and grounding.

Renewed would suggest I am different, but I'm the same same same - unkempt and unabashed, joy skips through me and gratitude hums electric over my skin. Those waters are the same and fresh with each blink, I think so am I. Constant and always moving with the flotsam, liquid and resolute.

Trail pretty words across my skin
Promise me nothing and give me the world's ripe fruit
As I quench my thirst with your juices.
Etch stars behind mine eyelids
And capture my breath in your whisper
As you weave fantasy in my tapestry golden hues of wonder.
Unlocking mysteries with your lips.
Wrapping your hair in my hands.
We become as one.
Your hand on my throat. My waist. My thigh. My cheek. Me.


The new day brings adventure
And we young hearts will never wake the same
As we do tonight.

Words tumble like broken glass from my mouth
Shards cutting my tongue and crunching between teeth
Disjointed.

A demon claws at my chest, another stealing my breath
And I wish I would slip away but I'm all too aware
Hurting.

What will it take to quiet the screams
Ringing in my ears, catching in my throat
Silently.

what are we beyond pixels and pictures
but empty shells dictated by a valley of greed, violence, silence, data
unable to exist without, desperate for beyond, behind, outside

neon nostalgia and retrofuturism promise relief we cannot obtain
while all that glitters in silicon steel boxes is stored away with fans churning air thick with dead heat

donna - mad, iconic, far from first but memorable in her questioning
no escape for us until we break the boundaries, binaries in code and encoded

unravel, split me, unzip and withdraw exterior for a hint of personality past performance - search for something real
rest in possibilities, all that will not
be

The melancholy is thick on my tongue
heavy on my shoulders
tight around my chest
pulling me down and down
under the bathwater as I stew,
marinate,
simmer.

The sad is not loud or exultant
it is not rage-fueled or violent
but a soft, lowly whisper
which crashes against me
waves of velvet and suffocating
emptiness tangled in my
ventricles, clenching and
draining and dimming.

Sit with it, they tell you
honour those feelings that steal your breath
or gut you with painful precision
sit and accept and move on
but how can I move forward when
time has lost meaning and
life has no direction and
purpose trickles down the drain
with the last of the bubbles.

Time's ticking
Future waning
Engine clunky in disrepair
Hot muscle furious
Fists flying
Pummelling oppressive chest
Exorcising faulty heart
Weighty
No longer waiting
Clawing
Climbing windpipe ladder
Desperate to escape
Feral creature
Spitting fire
Shrieks and shivers
Defiant for
The end

The one-two punch knocks the air from my chest
As I desperately want your comfort for the white hot heartache
And knowing I can't reach for you
The source of the pain I cannot ease alone
Clamping my jaw to hold back the howls of injustice, bitten tongue to avoid lashing out in anger - but it's not anger at all
It's furious hurt and mishandling
Your hand on another woman's knee
Innocuous but not
Meaningless and full of answers
Amplifying my isolation
The distance a canyon as we stand toe to toe
In a bar full of shiny happy people
And I am muddy brown sad
Crunching ice to unfreeze my jaw and remind my nerves to feel. Something. Anything.
As long as they ignore the despair.

Why is it that I can fill my mouth with clunky words, ugly words, but I can never pinpoint the pretty words that roll off my tongue and make pretty sounds?

I talk and am told I'm too much. I fold in on myself behind closed doors and berate my need for attention, unbridled desperation. Yet tomorrow more words will spill and spoil and even still I'll wish they were drowning me.

I want to choke on my verbiage. Sew my mouth shut with steely reminders that my teeth and tongue and lips will get me nothing but lonely and a stomach ache.

Make it stop. I can't take pliers to my molars while my tongue wags. Make me stop. I don't want to be loud but I am. Make the embarrassment stop. Shred my tongue into ribbons and make it end. Make the words stop.

Stalactites warp, following the bevels of the cave
Water drips rhythmically
Occasional tide patterns emerge and dissipate as echoes and ****** noise mingle and crest, ricocheting from natural ceiling.

Chaos

I grieve and I grieve
It moves in me, through
Capsized and sinking
Dried out and bones bare
Shedding old skin
New foliage curls
Rot and ruin feed roots
Strengthen core
Sprout new growth
Scars of loss
Decorate my soul
Direct light
Damp ground
Still I will grow

my heart clenches thinking
back on friendships and fun and laughter
i poured my heart and soul into
for nought.

desperate to give my weary head
space to look on those decaying connections
fondly, not with bitterness
or aching.

the grief of friends loved and lost
to time, distance and mismatched expectations
is a quiet trauma that imprints on
my soul.

yet I will repeat my mistakes again
ready to welcome new friends into my heart
and hope desperately it won't end
in pain.

I pulled the head from my childhood toy
A bear once pastel, now grey - jaded
Picked at frayed stitches with tragic desperation, frantic, unhinged
Filled my mouth with stuffing
Choked on childhood innocence
Gasped for closure
Compact fluff forced down my throat
Fistfuls to dampen the raw keening
No nightlight to fend off the day's monster
Suffocated on pastel sweet hope
Cancerous shame, rotted brain
Slipped away with a discordant lullaby
And nylon strands wedged in my teeth

What is a promise
But heartbreak packaged in sonnet-sweet deception
Lies interlaced with long fingers
Destruction delivered with storytelling eyes
Depths unknown and opaque intention destination unclear
Log-axe swung with old acquaintance hands knowingly
The cottage's fate one of ruin and disrepair

What is I love you
If not wet air and empty vibrations
Limp attempt to write over scars with thicker pen nib
Buried doubt seeds far past the lungs and into the belly
Hope the ground is too acidic to bear fruit
Smothering the flicker of heat that might set questions alight
Pacify - silence - deny

What is I'm sorry
Besides yesterday's breakfast regurgitated
Retiring tongue
Dousing retaliation
Cold water drowning
Lungs crushed under the magnitude of your infidelity
A pitiful pass at piety, grace in the face of your sins

What is heartbreak
But spitting anger and screeching injustice
The instinct to bolt pulsing muscles
Desperate feet pounding sharp weeds
Skin torn to free space in the body for anything else
No peace no solace
Nothing but pain

I want to purge every painful memory
Incindiary- exorcise my ghosts of the past
Pouring salt on invisible wound, infected and unhealing
Incapable of moving on, crossing over
Letting go and fighting fair

Arm hairs upright
Muscles fraught with anguish
Unable to extinguish the barrage of remembrance assaulting my senses
White-hot on my eyelids and blackened ash on my tongue
With the tears and the lies

Exorcise my anger
Let out the snarling mongrel
Limping and fiercely protective of every vulnerability
No ability to let go or let loose or let up
Because it only leads to new scars in old wounds

Make room for stillness
For connection, soft and gentle affection
Tactile love and visible satisfaction
Undeniable pride and ephemeral wonder
That I'm here and living and alive

Another year, another milestone. I take stock, survey my self for signs of life, of death, of other, of the After.

My emotions have a strange taste, metallic and unknown. My body is a marionette doll with loose strings. I could sleep for a thousand years yet force myself to stay awake. I'm lulled to slumber only by tales of wizards and trolls and girls with silver shoes from my love's honey voice soft as lavender- sweet sandalwood-man dreams are summoned.

Grief is hard work. Tiring. Endless. And that knowledge is a comfort when little else in the world can soothe the blistering pains and festered wounds that lie but a layer of skin below. So I let the stories wash over, a calamine salve on red raw me. How else to unleash the worlds of hurt that live inside with the no-longers and would-have-beens unable to exist with him gone. The universe is full of possibilities, but not for him. Impossible adheres to my ribcage and Gone locks my kneecaps and Never stops the heart I demand keeps beating so the Left Behind of him might live on, if only to be heard in a breaking heart once in a while.

It's not the orange line between my neck and cheek
Or the wonky liner that never looks even
The accidental overdrawn lip
Or even the thankless task of taming eyebrow hairs with gel and pen
That makes me fret before nights out

Yes, gusset-less tights are frustrating
One shoe unfindable in the wardrobe forest floor drive me up the wall
And no two items of clothing match or sit right on my increasingly fraught frame

But mostly I detest
The thought
Other people's eyes
Judgement
Appraisal
Decisions and approval
(or lack thereof)

How can I begin to make presentable, or pleasing to the eye a face, a body, a soul that I find nothing pleasant in
Concealer can't work magic tricks
And glitter bares all
There's nowhere to hide

So maybe I'll stay home tonight

She is a whirlwind of contradictions
hates her flesh, relishes the freedom of her body naked.
She despises being watched, but performs for an audience
when the chance arises.
Her body thrums with carnal need, but shies away from intimacy
scared to be seen.
She encourages exploration, but is afraid to leave creature comforts
for fear of the unknown.
She's emptied herself to fill others up and fears her brimming emotions might overflow
Naive and wise beyond her years, old before her time
walking through life with childish wonderment and aged bones.
She is messy and clumsy and Not All That Good
And he sees her perfection.

Hot flames lick up my belly and ribs
Digits dance along my thighs
Curl inward
Gasp.
Lust metallic on my tongue
Desperation seeping
A white knuckle ride
Buck.
Wound tight and buttons press
Unlocking ancient truths
Old as time, new as dawn
Tense.
Chasing that wave as it swells
From the feet and up through
Every nerve ending
Breaks.
Heat radiates and sweat pools
Evidence of the relief
As the fire reignites
Again.

No room for closed minds
in a sea of writhing bodies
Plenty for the lonely
as I sit surrounded by noise
Empty but for the heaviness
inside every part of me.

Be good, be gracious, be willing
don't ruin this for them
Be happy, be into it, be excited
don't let your selfishness override.

Bending and bending
over and out of shape
Twisting this way and that
to ensure your happiness
That you get your fill
of small, beautiful, better.

But now as I shatter
all I feel is guilty
Questions dizzying
and stomach turns.

Why am I not enough?

He makes me see stars
paints galaxies on my skin
pours oceans of love
til I'm swimming in affections
unsteady tiptoes
slick on the marble
hooking his belt loops:
Let's lose ourselves tonight.

I can't put into words what I'm feeling just now and it's maddening because the emotions and physical manifestations are so visceral and the language completely intangible, tearing up dictionaries in twelve languages to accurately pinpoint what bubbles furiously beneath the surface, ready to boil over, spill outside the lines of my corpse

I could rip myself in two and splatter the searing hot everything on paper and still not make sense of the colours and violent slashes and lost lines and marks of hesitation and deep etchings that imprint far beyond the page I marr with scribblings, half-word annotations and empty, unsatisfying compounds falling short of sentences that ooze the right mouth feel, instead reminiscent of chewing plasticine

Empty coffins lie in wait for exorcised ghosts in ink or graphite or hot condensation to finally put to rest a body fraught, haunted by memory and nightmare and razor sharp reality embroiled, inseparable, to cut the cord would end it all but to leave it a ribbon wrapped around my throat will surely suffocate me under its weighty expectation - head rolling or at least mind racing as life and limb are lost, mere casualties of an unseen war but one whose battle scars invisible and insurmountable leave little option but to extoll one final silent scream

The breeze lifts branches and leafy fingers wiggle warmly in welcome
As older generations lean over cots to coo and soothe newborns
The barely there breeze washes away tension carried on the back of birdsong
And I am recharged under the sun's careful eye

Songs of the past
Reverberate
Echoing through my skin
Ripples of memory and dream and fantasy
Child wonder and hope and promise and faith
Marrying villains in storybooks
With historical figures still living
Present, ominous, oppressive
Crushing guilt
Shame

Soul-full living is only ever just around the corner

today i wish i had grass to settle my bare feet in, a printer to take my reading away from the screen, and friends to unravel some ideas that I have percolating but barely have words to put to yet. i want post-it note messes and tangential rants over fruit smoothies in the sun.

today i wish i could thread together fringe ideas and substanceless maybes by myself. or more accurately, i wish the doctoral research project was not so lonely. that it championed collaboration of ideas and became a project of care, of community, of compassion not focused on colonial concepts of breaking ground first but instead of ruminating, pausing, treading water, observing and reflecting. on inthemoment not firstpastthepost or beforetherest. rest as pause as care as vital as lifesource of thinking. dreaming first. dreaming always. dreaming and idealising and creating. mess becomes beauty. becoming. the doctoral project is a waiting place, an expectant limbo or rather a succession of waiting places, elevator lifts to new floors but never a transition straight to answers. never up up up. elevators that move in all directions. escalators maybe. certainly shopping centre escalators. forever stalling, breaking, too fast, too slow, unsteady as we step off.

what a mess. and yet what beauty. and still a project that requires so many moving parts, so many individual pieces to function, to culminate in the final result - movement. forward or standing still, long way round or unmechanical steps. organic. always.

grounding, like toes in the daisies and heel-crumpled buttercups. natural, nature, not a fix but a part of the process. stopping, breathing, back to roots. basics are care and care is anything but basic in frenetic lives. but removing bureaucracy, deadlines and paperwork as limitations, ignoring processes and breaking protocols is a glitch in the capitalist machine. a glint in the grin of an accomplice who revels in the breaks, the breaking, the pauses and fresh starts in new branches. divergence is crucial.

deep breaths, cool breeze through cracked windows and a reminder that hot laptops on crossed legs will be there tomorrow. now to rest and to think. always thinking, always distilling. but today the sunshine is more important. the levity of the outside more pressing than years-away deadlines, Bureaucratic Other forces.

today is paperless, weightless, endless. new life grows through cracks, persistent nature and persevering natural. in my own time. how else will the project evolve?

Limbs heavy, joints creak with aging beyond their years
My eyes are heavy with tears I don't have because the aching chasm in my chest is frantically drawing every drop of water in my body to fill it up so there's something there, parched and so empty that each tear drop echoes in the hollow cavern. My ears are ringing, auditory canal itching, lips tingling. My body is having a reaction, allergic to my brain and the toxins
chemicals of imbalance
sadness

This isn't numbness
This is fire and ice
Pressure, ghostly echoes
Fading fingerprints and blooming bruises

Desperation and joint-locking uncertainty
Despair, grief, debilitating sadness
Fear

Too distraught to pretend the hope isn't a fragile bud
Too superstitious to trample those slow creeping vines
Too untrusting
Too tender
Too alive

He loves me
He wants her
I'll bend over backwards
Turn my stomach inside out
Sit home and pick myself apart
The ugly outside and in
Wishing I was more, less, better, not
Knowing all the while it's not me
But his too big heart and too much lust
Desperate to connect
And I know that desperation well
I had a him and a her and a them
He let me connect with
Encouraged, even
So the guilt wraps around me
Vice-like and unrelenting
Because I owe him this freedom
Without my hesitation and fear
I'll bite my tongue
Grin with blood soaked teeth
And let him roam awhile
Praying he'll return without resentment
In his belly
As he takes in his fill of her.

purged my grief and the unfairness of loss in this time of distance and longing.

forgot to save it. lost it in a second of carelessness.

if that isn't a metaphor for two dead relatives who'd still be living if the powers that be gave a ****, I don't know what is.

the only line i remember writing:

weak / titanium built / soft/ out of reach