Monday, 23 December 2013
Sunday, 22 December 2013
Here we stand
In an era of texts and wretched selfies
Where I hide my words away
Because secrets can be stolen
And I would rather keep them hidden
From the public prying eye
Than watch as your pretty lips
Mouth goodbye to any shred of dignity
That I retained
My ideogram language
To stay sane in a down and out
And I would say
Stay away from my friends
If I had any to save
Here we go again
Kissing stars and keeping hearts
Escaping all our preconceived loneliness
Beauty forgotten but not gone
Forgotten but not silent
You never heard me leaving
And now I'm never
Tuesday, 17 December 2013
the remorseful cut is made dismissive we had a deal a compromise so on impulse I lean forward lift your shield it is heavy and tired but I must be armoured against the hiddendark in the shadows with a needle waiting there lies our secret anesthesiologist with contempt in his eyes for the bittersweet irony of our reunion while I strangle you choke choke choke on your defiance I abandon you with a blackblue face and an empty mind full of chandeliers as we push off the goodbye gondola I see your glassghost drifting delicate I no longer have faith in you dear firefly lying in that hollow grave of yours oh the irony I see it but no one else does line my eyes with extra kohl and then we're in liplock stasis passing lost lying letters between tongues like no one else ever could eyes like the aurora borealis high tide begging for justice well maybe I will give you mercy is it a sign is it an omen of silkpoison ribbons screaming their siren slaves in spiteful vice thread wind round my fingers until it goes purple and a pulse forms inside oh me oh my what a wreck what a wretch as we slip slide fall downtown to the ellipses eclipses of widowed wives who still hold the luxury of flesh through the gateway the goosegirl dances over the waves in harmony harbour machinery clicking clockwork gears humming numbers inkstitched inside eyelids to drown the hovercraft iron keyboard and as it falls there's a millisecond of silence complete stillness and then gone to the platinum disc the carbon world plastic and nylon in december winds with cigarette smoke floating through the monday rain.
Monday, 16 December 2013
Sunday, 15 December 2013
like a precious, brittle thing
my bones are made of tight-packed sugar
and I think if I stand now they will
if this is your revolution
taping the authorities to the wall and trying to be
more mature than they ever were
then I think you could have done better than
militia born and bred on coffee and blood
veins was always a favourite word of mine
don’t get confused
there’s fear of not breathing
and then there’s having water rising, choking up
until breath is a thing of the past and you can’t remember how to
inhale even if there wasn’t a flood inside of you
forcing you silent
vultures settle on the wires
oh, waiting for something just like you and I
tumour flowering open and infectious
rainless and brushfire
and I thought about saying
love isn’t a romanticised idiom
the scientists say love is survival
love is evolution and it lives parasitical in our hearts
keeping us from throwing our minds into a pile and mingling our thoughts until
we are indistinguishable
though sometimes that’s all any of us want
stumbling with a twisted tie and your hair isn’t slicked back
you always drew a queen
running joke and your eyes light up like optical fibres too many sparkling stars
and dark dark dark
it was always a favourite song of mine
so you took.
Tuesday, 10 December 2013
mind choked up, absorbed
and thrown back polished up like brass
you must remember that you are not broken.
you do not need fixing.
you never needed fixing.
and Ariadne, the girl with the string to guide me home
and four different words for love.
i love you with all four of those words and more besides
because you never needed fixing
and yet you knew you were imperfect.
remember your imperfections
cherish your flaws
banish pain and you banish who you are
poison your water in small doses
call up your immunity
every second was worth it.
Monday, 2 December 2013
my comforts were nothing in the face of your grief.
my words were drowned by yours.
you sat in front of the mirror this morning for an hour with a brush and straighteners
your hopes and dreams bottled up in foundation and mascara
but when you were finished it was still not enough
and it will never be enough
because you hate me more than even i can fully understand.
you loathe me with a passion
you hate my crooked, too-large nose
and my ears that stick out too far through my wild hair
you hate my skin that breaks out
and my lips and breasts that aren't full enough
and my body that isn't slim enough
you can't see that my face is proportional
you are blind to my healthy weight and size
my mostly-calm skin
and my expressive mouth
because you hate me far too much to ever consider me beautiful.
you hate the way i talk too much
and the way i say the wrong things
you hate the way i make things awkward
the way i can't make friends.
you hate the fact that i see things that others don't
because it separates me still further.
you can't see that my conversations are beautiful
full of philosophy and fascination
you can't see that i don't need the kinds of friends other people depend on
because they don't give, they only take
you are oblivious to the joys of my sight
the world i see.
you're breaking me apart, and i deserve better.
Sunday, 1 December 2013
The cut was clean but it was long and wide and she dug inside me and found all of my flaws prodding and exploring until she was unsatisfied enough for satisfaction. She deliberated, her cogitating clockwork spinning faster as her mind raced with the speed of determination and faulty networks, and she said,
I remember the snap as they broke and a few splinters embedded themselves in your hands. Your face was white and your fists clenched and your fear as obvious and hidden as anything could be. You had broken ends in your pencil case for weeks, and I – I have a theory -
You used to cry when you were happy.
It’s not so unusual, but you used to cry so much that I’d ask you what was wrong and you would have to explain, and then we would laugh together and sit on the broken heater in the classroom singing stupid songs until the bell went, talking about celebrities and thinking about the dichotomy of the world.
You used to laugh when you were sad.
I think it was because you didn’t like to talk about your feelings, so you talked about everything else instead, and when it all became far too much the laughter was a distraction, so you could cry with isolation watching mindful of your fear. Isolation came to you once, trying to talk to you because she more than anyone understood, but you fought her off with one hand, hiding your tears with the other and punishing yourself with people.
And the teeth clicked together in my mind and tore apart her words and my world like shredded fragments of memories or a white cloud savaged by the wind.