I have two facts for you that exist in my mind -
1. I am normal
2. I do not 'feel' normal
I have never considered myself to be normal.
I knew i wasn't normal when at the age of eight after my Dad left my school hired a counsellor just for me,
and i wasn't normal how after then i was the only pupil to be from a single parent family.
I wasn't normal when just after this abandonment my body entered early puberty,
and so feeling weird didn't stay a feeling, it became a reality.
Picked on for things out of my control, i felt like a freak.
Even at the age of eight, every aspect of my identity was up for scrutiny.
I knew i wasn't normal when in secondary school i would purposely get detentions
to spend time with teachers, because the the turmoil of the school yard was a teenage no man's land.
The company of those my own age is something i will never understand.
I knew i wasn't normal when i would hesistate in conversation when someone asked me who i fancied in my class.
The name of a random boy rolled from my tongue in an attempt to not blow my cover.
I knew i wasn't normal when my tweets coming out as bi were passed around like breaking news.
When i tried to defend myself in the interrogations, teachers would sternly say to me -
'That's not appropriate to be talking about in school' like my sexuality was a hushed secret, even though the straight girls were never silenced.
I knew i wasn't normal when i had to say i was bi, when in fact this was a lie. A lie to help me pass, pass and hold on to some straight privilege.
At the age of sixteen i questionned my worth and value as a person, trying to blame myself for the treatment i was subjected to.
I knew i wasn't normal when i decided to place my emotional pain onto a physical space, then patching up the damage as a form of ironic self-care.
I left school for a college, desperately seeking freedom from the constraints of a Catholic school.
I never felt comfortable in sixth form, being there my mind felt like a spinning waltzer i was strapped to for two years.
At seventeen i knew i wasn't normal when i was prescribed the maximum dose of sertraline, then mirtazapine, venlafaxine, fluoxetine.
By this point in my life i was on a tally of maybe six counsellors and two CBT therapists.
I knew i wasn't normal when i started to blame myself for the therapy not being successful. Maybe i was just meant to be depressed.
Changing my thinking styles, emotional regulation, journalling my feelings and triggers, i knew exactly what i had to do.
I knew i wasn't normal when i clung onto certin things as comfort, like my adoration for florence and the machine.
I started to experiment, toying between wanting to fit in and wanting to be myself, painting bright eyeshadow on my lids as a vibrant mask to carry me through.
I knew i wasn't normal when i reached out to the local crisis team experiencing auditory hallicinations, hearing sounds only meant for my ears.
My emotional states are a product of my trauma, which is difficult to navigate as the world's greatest performer.
Maybe i was meant to face this internal torment, or until now i hadn't considered i could be neurodivergent.

naked,

underneath snow that falls,

like a dead waltzer,

like you and your shaking self.



naked ,

where snow melts around bones that break,

knees that shake.

and a voice that refuses to speak.



naked,

laid out to rest,

cede to the crackling frost;

frost like a galaxy,

the same galaxy, crafted and stitched into your ice-born skin,

into your glacier eyes.



naked,

starved,

a suicidal dreamer,

trying to touch the stars,

the begging, arctic moon -

trying to touch anything

but her anorexic, marbled form.

The sunflower droops
To the lazy wave; the wind sleeps;
Then, moving in dazzling links and loops,
A marvel of shadow and shine,
A glory of olive and amber and wine,
Runs the color in the wheat.

When the wild winds rumbled past you in the fall fields
and you blessed them, you surrendered
to splendor, when you lifted up your ruins on the old road
remember the seasons

when the wind was new, when your hands
were good fire in the hands of travelers,

A land of plenty, where
Toward the sun, as hasting there,
The colors run
Before the wind's feet
in the wheat.

Wind, as it sings you; kneel there,
So faint and far it seems the drone
Of bee or beetle, seems to come
as you must have done, in your first
world, when the wind

A cloud flies there—
A swirl
In the hollows like the twinkling feet
Of a fairy waltzer; the colors run
To the westward sun,
Through the deeps of the ripening wheat
was wind, when your ruin
was a music—you
who were no one, once, and colder,

and were open so wholly to the brokenness
that you sang to whatever left you empty
like the cello in the cello maker’s hands.

i definitely told you at the right time

cold new lips i kissed you at the right time

two years on and i kissed the same place so many times

i lost count of how happy it made me.

i swallowed your tears in so many different lights

a waltzer of a moment, i heard **** jagger

i heard the melody of mens voices, i heard every key and every shift

dazzled and dizzy in light and dark and in mud and rain and

smudgy warmth

i heard a buzz so loud it turned into vision

and everything was a spinning top

i heard everything i’d ever heard and seen everything i’d ever seen

and i held your hand like i was about to get pulled away any second

in the avalanche

i saw your beautiful important face so many times

shouting at the sea, in the palm of my hand, in grass

in pillow, on the back of everybody i ever meet

in love i licked all the salt away every time

i couldn’t tell whether it was the rain or the sea spray or tears

and i thought about this every time we kissed

and i thought about how it didn’t matter to me at all

we lived in an electric moment that fizzled ultraviolet for half a second

and i painted that second

so i could prove to everybody i met

that it happened

that this is kind of how it looked

to be on the tip of a hurricane looking down at the chaos

and being happy just for the excuse

to hold hands

I can still smell the mixture of mud and water on the ground, the stench of **** in the air as we walked next to each other across the campsite whilst the sun glared down on us beneath clouds filled with rain. I can still feel the sound of the bass vibrating from the main stage whilst you and I were all over each other in my tiny two-man tent that could only really fit one. I can still taste the overpriced candy floss we shared with each other and how your smile made my insides melt quicker than the ice cream we ate whilst watching the fair rides flash by under the sunset sky. That weekend flashed by faster than those screaming as they spun around in the neon-clad waltzer. I still wish to relive those four days, the four days I learned what love truly felt like and the four days I saw nothing but kindness in your ocean coloured eyes. But maybe it was the drugs in the air, the whole idea of a summer in love whilst we danced drunk together to Mumford and Sons that made me see you as someone worth my time. I was under the illusion of summer romance and it almost cost me my life.

what if love is the peeling off of the shell that connects us to the wish in the wishing well,
would you throw in a dime?

When I loved you for what seemed
the longest time
it was no time at all.

and if it's the nearer we come to the living then some
see it clearer than others,

I only see you.

Different rides
swings and slides
coconut shy to aim for
Onion skins roasting
cheese on bread toasting
screaming out for more.
Sausages frying
girls crying
mum's had enough.
Dodgems whizzing
lemonade's fizzing
the boy's full of the stuff.
He's won take your pick
Waltzer's making 'em sick
Spend the extra time.
Burgers and sauce
Now full of remorse
as if it is a crime.
A day at the fair
nothing can quite compare.

there's something about Josephine
or is my mind playing games
the quick assembly Gatling gun
the lion doll that tames

i met her on the Waltzer where
she fed me tales so strange
the fermented dog in a salty lake
the rifle without a range

an evening in a sparse living room
one chair, one fire and a screen
an ensuite rubber holding cell
a kitchen cat and cream

there's something about Josephine
i love her smile for sure
her collection of multi-vitamins
Her urge to cure and cure

I'll trudge
this shingle beach of a week
days hurting my feet
like stones
two steps forward
one back
I'll not be defeated
the weekend
we reach our pier
rides on the waltzer
roller coaster
ferris wheel
helter skelter
until it ends
waking on the shore again

Will you sell me back my skin, please?
You’ve already seen me
On my knees.
I know I wore the short dress;
I know my mouth can please.
I’m milking you for mercy;
I’m cranking your guilt’s degrees.
Please
Anything, but that.
Please let us try something new.
I need the money and can no longer stand
The view
Of what you want me to think, you want me to do!
I’m twisting my soul inside you.

I bend
And then I
Kneel.

Yes, I’ve been on my knees many times before,
But this time I’m not waiting
For the unzipping of your stockings.
Instead, I’m investigating
A different tactic to prove to you
I could be human.

Please,
Don’t let me cheat on your wife with you.
Can’t I be a maid other than French?
(I hear there’s cash in the cleaning business.)
Can I mow your lawn, watch your kids, wash your car, cover your fibs?
Please don’t make me do this;
Please don’t make me lose this.

Mother said,
go to Ryelands park,
the fairground's on
here's two bob
and don't you stay 'til
after dark
I want you home
it's school tomorrow.

Those yesterdays lay heavy on me.

it was all a fairground then,
even schooldays had their share of fun
but to be honest
I preferred the riverbanks
where I think I learned much more.

I got home late
it didn't seem like it
and though I won a coconut
my dad played merry hell with me
which was not as tuneful as the
waltzer.