Don't read too much into it
to get something out of it
that only you can hear

is it normal
to stand in my bathroom
for ten minutes
at 2:20 a.m.
pepper spray in hand
door locked
listening for footsteps
waiting for my breathing
to become less ragged
so i can run into my bedroom
check my closet
and under my bed
for monsters that only
come from my head?

is it normal to stare into the mirror
crying
wondering if that's really you in it
because you don't recognize
your own reflection
after checking behind
the shower curtain at least four times?
there's a reason i never want
to live alone.

is it normal that
even when i am alone
it fees like i am being watched
cameras, mirrors, windows of houses and people on the street.
they're waiting to laugh at me
or ****** me
or kidnap me
or stare at me
the list goes on.

everyone is out to get me
which i know isn't true
but that doesn't make
the feeling
go away.

I think my lips are chapped because I've kissed so many boys who don't love me.
You ask me 'what do you taste like?' I don't think its very **** to say regret and sadness.
You say 'when can I taste you' My taste has been passed around so many tongues there is nothing left for you.

He tells me 'I'm here for you, I'll always be here for you' as he kisses my neck. The next week the bite mark on my belly is fading and I can barely remember the colour of your eyes.

My sister says 'you will change your mind' she says, 'all woman want to be mothers'.
I have stumbled in at 4am with the taste of strangers in my throat to see my mother sitting upright waiting for me, I think of the night I spent crying on my mothers lap in a&e;, certain I couldn't make it through the day, the way my brother scowls at my mother, my sister telling her that 'you could've done more, you could've walked away.' I. Dont. Want. Children.

My mum tells me she is old, she is tired. She desperately needs a man to hold doors open for her and carry her shopping. I am trying to remember that needing someone does not mean you are weak.

My grandmother gave me waist beads to encourage fertility. She says 'god gave you those hips to birth children'. Ive never told her that i lost my faith in god the year i lost my virginity.  And if there is a god, i don't want his ******* fertility. I want to break these beads and let drugs engulf me to prove my grandmothers blind faith wrong.
I laugh and pray before our meal and kiss her forehead, 'god bless'.

He tells me 'i know youre *****, its natural'. I laugh and play along for his delight. 'women are just like toys, television, easy puzzles'. I think of my father beating my mother, my fathers face all the men ive walked past in the street. My mothers face is my own.

'if you don't want boys to touch you you shouldn't wear tight clothes'. I think of all the boys who have run their fingers over my back when i was dressed in clothes from neck to ankle. I wonder if god is a sexist man. I wonder if there's any men who aren't implicitly sexist.

He tells me, 'I'll spend hours on you, I'll make you believe in god again'. There is nothing I can do but laugh. I ask him, 'does your mother know you speak to girls like this?'
He ***** his teeth, 'do you always have to be so difficult?'  
I kiss him but I think of his mother, foreign and lonely, 2 sons and no husband.

He says 'you need a real man' I think of all the other boys who have told me that before leaving me.
He wants to know why I'm in hospital so much, 'how are we going love each other when you can't tell me what's wrong with you' I don't want to tell him that I've cut my arms so badly I can see god in my blood, and sometimes the voice in my head screams so loud I black out. I kiss his chest. He doesn't ask again. I resent him for that.

I've been ignoring my fathers phone calls for two weeks because his voice sounds like absence and I don't want to hear another 'I love you' from a man who doesn't know my secrets.

My heart doesn't beat.
It slams against my ribcage.
I picture my heart exploding
in my chest, nothing but
blood and shrapnel. Sweat
washes over me like a salty ocean wave
and if my heart doesn't explode first,
surely I will drown.
I try to swallow oxygen but
I choke on it! I try to drink water but
I choke on it! I can't breathe!
I can't breathe! I can't remember how
to be a human anymore.

If the Sun doesn't get you
the scorpions will.

There were four of us in a half track and a little way back lay the fifth.

The Sun got him good
roasted and peeled him like a spud.

Tannoy, the radio man was the next one to go, slow like a withering vine,
sounded like static on the line
then he went dead.

Fitzroy, the Sepoy, more of a boy than a man
prayed for a day and then went on his way to whatever heaven it is that Sepoys go.

Bill, a bull of a man from Mill Hill and who spoke with a permanent stutter
uttered his last and I travelled on at half mast
cursing the Sun and the Sand and the hand I'd been dealt.

Felt the scorpion sting as I pulled up and funny thing too
I could swear that the scorpion looked like
Frank Sinatra.

I would rather you be
A contrast to my pale expectations,
Than to merge into
The lowest pit of my imagination.

I would rather for it
To be the absolute worst day,
For I only like things to fit
Into the right plates on my tray.

Destroy everything I thought was right,
It'll be the most beautiful destruction I've ever seen,
Open all the jars and throw away the lids,
Teach me how to love the scariest places I've ever been.

Cause I'd rather be proven wrong,
Than continue this stale truth,
My mind needs a reevaluation,
Before it sweeps away my drying youth.

And in a different track,
Runs this parallel train,
Vision focused on the rails,
To acknowledge a hello refrained.