this is not a poem. it's more of an anthem, to honour all the nights i set my hair on fire with the wind & to raise a glass to all my glasses of wine brought on by poems written under candlelight. i'm not a writer, i'm just a woman paying tribute to you & all the ways you made my chest ache with infatuation & my finger tips tingle with skin-on-skin interaction. this is not a poem, i am not an artist. i am merely recollecting, reminiscing all the nights my skin was wild with alcohol & my breath was breathing out endless love letters & my guitar was singing out holy hymns. i was praising something. i was praising my body & the way my arms always unfolded for you & the way we always seemed to fit together. even when we didn't. but no, this is not a poem. i am not romantic but i was madly, romantically in love with you.

Pushing through the tourists
the sounds and scents of a bazaar
flood my body,
until I wake up to find it's all a dream.

What madness.

I've pulled away from my bed,
dug my fingernails into the corners of my eyes
and bitten my nails to the dull news that its
12 o'clock and even the ******* trucks have
left their skidmarks on the road behind.

While a yawn fights the tightness in the joins
of my lips i'm embraced by a slow numbness
that's familiar.

It's the rough teeth of another hangover
immune to colgate.
Its another day of shame hanging to my forehead,
sighing a tired ******* to moisturiser.

In the mirror I look like the anti-man and
I feel I should ask
if a gorgon once stared into the same mirror
and left just a stone behind.

I look myself in the anti-man's eyes
and we listen to our mantra -

Be a human.
Cast out the magic
in your fingertips.
Let the dust fly out
and become the Midas
of glitter.

Be a man and beat
the job market, stiffen up
To this pantomime and
through your black eyes  
blink back the sweat
of every empty promise you've ever made .

Be a girl and
dress like you want to
in bodycon and heels.
Lets the long hair fall
down your back
and believe you're pretty.

Please be something,
because I won't I wake up tomorrow
and find its all a dream

I'm just an animal boy.

I  feel the cold granite of my skin.

I am terrified of going back to how that pain wouldn't leave me two years ago because I have enough burdens left over to carry, and I don't deal with agony very well.

I am terrified of going back to how that numbness wouldn't leave me last year because it's worse even than anguish to be unable to feel, unconvinced you are still alive.

I am terrified of going back to how that happiness wouldn't leave me just over two years ago because as soon as you get up high, the further you have to fall.

The way we don't joke.
The way we sometimes never do.
The tendencies of overburdened humans.
Internalizations.
Expanding walls.
******* up what matters most.
Never playing host.
Chicken flavored gummy toast.
Rhyming **** that don't make sense.
Putting up with ignorance.
Thoughts of death and suicide.
Neglect on ******* override.