Selected Writings 2015 - Ongoing
I Guess This Is It
Obsessive poems of past loves line the walls of my bedroom
like a second skin,
echoes throughout my halls; flashbacks
feinting my body like hollow hugs.
One foot in front of the other, yet
somehow I keep ending up in my backyard,
melting, under the moon.
There’s less of me than I remember.
Instantaneously I taste transparency,
my mouth holds no words, just something
that tastes like regrets, or maybe remorse.
Everything is numb again but I feel obliged,
to feel guilty so I’m forcing myself,
to feel that instead.
I’m telling myself that’s what I’m feeling
I’m telling my mother that too.
We’re sitting down in a room I’ve never seen,
not like this anyway, not this
bright, not this
close, a new version
a new vision.
I’m staying ‘true’ to myself
and promise myself,
to become who I used to be,
but I remember
I already buried them, at least three versions prior.
I’m stuck with this, or at least that’s what I’m telling myself
to make it easier.
Currently shameless, so clean it stings
I can recall the dirt, the grit and the shit that hurt
more than before
I presume we’ve met,
I extend my hand
He asks to borrow my fist, again
I said its his whenever he needs
I even leave it on his shelf on my way out and he slams the door behind me
Love is a four-letter word
Sometimes it’s a contract that you’re almost born in to
One I’d rather not sign again any time soon but I already promised my mother I’d repay the debts (with other debts)
I’m a mess, someone hire me. I can rock up on time; use the bathroom twice every hour. I’ll keep my hands clean and reduce my anxiety attacks to once every fortnight.
12 and a half years ago I was 12 and a half
he wouldn’t have thought of that though
In my sleep I said I love you
He said he doesn’t need my other fist.
Two weeks later:
A new personality, a new me (hopefully)
hello I love you
kiss me on the mouth
he pays for my drink
a gin and tonic
with a slice of lime and a stroke of my arm.
A Glory hole but for holding hands
in the past I would have cried
I’m telling someone else’s story as my own
ha ha ha (I’m in)
the smell of warmth
but there’s no room in the spa
I watch the bubbles fight their way to the top
I’m drinking champagne now
I missed my stop again and my mum won’t pick me up because I’m 25 years old in my dreams and my nonchalance is regarded as negligence
Lonely walks home feel like memories and the nostalgia warms my core.
A name, a title, a prize;
A crybaby who survives.
From day to night skies,
he noticed a rise in sighs.
They’ve mapped their fears on their thighs,
it explains their muffled cries.
They tell him they’ve been suffocated by spies,
their new lies, were
always a surprise.
He asks how many more tries,
until they finally meet their inevitable demise,
And awake to swarming flies.
Cruising (Through Life)
the neediness leaks out of my pores and stains my old high school basketball shorts
the ones i wore on webcam that time
when I was a lot younger
his stare pierces me from the other side of the gym and I feel that tingle I haven't in longer than I can remember.
His bright pink booty shorts give me hope and I watch as he readjusts himself in the mirror with his two matching pink (5kg) dumbells.
My body movements change subconsciously and as I catch myself I flick my wrist so he knows what he's in for
I'm laughing but I don't think you're funny
4 beers in and you're touching my knee like you've touched it before
like you've touched me before and like
you're ready to touch me again
a bad boyfriend is not a brag-worthy title
as my body shifted and changed your distance confirmed you'd noticed it too
I've read about metaphoric suffocation and like a light bulb moment I finally understood
I consider running but with my self diagnosed arthritis I'm aware my knees are weak and won't get me very far and although I have a license, I don't have my own getaway car and it seems odd asking to borrow yours.
In the shower I remember exactly how many rotations it takes to reach my ideal temperature
our ideal temperature
that suited us both when we sat on the floor and let the droplets rain down on us disguising us, washing away our identities for just a moment as we sat their in complete silence, co existing.
Instant gratification takes too long
shouting into the void
they were coming to get me
but I am them too
a voice from hell said come a little closer, and I did
with their help, another notch in my belt
work out supplements work better
no come down
like a familiar sensation, another hug with an active pulse
I realize I’m sober and I slow down
I parked my bike against a white picket fence and remind myself
that high functioning depression was the goal
shooting for the stars
(the stars being neurotypicalism)
It starts at a catholic school
Kill me, father pierce
Bury me on the hill in your name
I want all of what you’re selling
Ring the bell; I’m wearing a white dress
The only time it’s allowed.
I’m drowning in my mother’s tears,
I am my mother’s tears!
I’m gliding down the peak of her cheek and I’m sinking in to her dimpled grin
I’m smiling too
A slap on the wrist a day keeps the nightmares at bay.
Consolidating in the shower again
Dissociating, my skin grows redder
I keep turning the taps but I don’t remember which way is which
The steam soothes my chest
Droplets massage my eyelids
The water is above my ankles
The bath matt is floating
My clothes in the corner of the bathroom become swans
Arching their necks into the shape of a heart
Sparkling white, they glimmer
I think they’re happy
I’m feeding them flakes of my skin
It’s peeling off so easily
Baked to perfection
At least someone is enjoying it
Someone calls my name
Like a song, my body dances
From the corner of my eye I see the clothes dive down the drain