Smoke

I’ve spent two weeks
In a city of millions
Every centimetre filled
With another hot coffee to go
And deadlines
Looming, always
Each step on the stairs
Occupied
With him and her
And assistant and CEO
Waiting for the same tick
Of the clock
This city contortionist
Makes Mary Poppins wheeze
A jealous sigh
Or release?
Not knowing how or why
But after two weeks
Of hurried cries
I’ve found a love
For this smoky town
Tied up and contained
In obtuse shapes
Sky high 9-5
And cityscapes

Girls and boy

I was at the same time the best

and the worst

 

I felt myself torn apart

My bottom half was theirs

and my top was his

and he would stroke my hair

whilst they dug their nails

into the skin around my ankles

and in the moment when I’d look up

and see him staring down

I’d feel that wordless adoration

before their claws once more

plucked my toenails from my feet

and crawled up my legs

used knives to scar me

each one on each

 

So I found it hard to balance

with such a mess at my feet

Maybe I had to give up that part of me for him

 

I would give up anything for him.

Halloween

And in the moment between

my alcohol-inspired slumber

and his drug-fuelled insomnia

he pressed his drunk fingers

against my patient back

and mapped a perfect and precise future

Blood

I imagine her

finding me

sat on the edge

and she says

‘Oh baby, that’s nothing

you didn’t even make yourself bleed’

 

Sleep talking

You slept on tiptoes

and between dreams

and told me

in your sleep

that I was stealing the covers

and I laughed

watching you cradled in cloud

and linen perfume.

 

You woke before the sun

and between seconds

and told me

as your eyes opened

that I’d stolen the covers

and I said I was sorry

and kissed your smiling greedy eyes

back to sleep.

Counting sheep

She looked at me weirdly today

And then not at all

And then my mind took me on another adventure

Where her hands were a harness around my neck

To keep my head upright, and my throat closed

Where her hands cut lengths of my hair off in my sleep

And began to weave a blanket to smother me with

Where her hands made fire and burnt my skin so it crackled

To show that I am lesser and I am not so fierce

 

 

And it took a while for me to escape my miserable dream

And find peace again in my sub-conscience

But also to rid the memory that her hands will return

To torment me again

Banana

I am peeling the skin,

thick repulsive dotted yellowed

lumpy boney

bruised

 

I am peeling the skin,

speckled brown sharp soft

dark edged

putrid

 

I am peeling the skin,

flesh spits outwards mouldy

squeezes squirts

doughy

 

I am peeling the skin,

sickening smell saliva decay

pulpy mess

wet

 

I am peeling the skin,

dig push finger into mush

pull out

sodden

 

I am peeling the skin,

grime on the floor sudden guilt

wasted taste

iron

 

I am peeling the skin,

rotting dirty fruit I think

thinking other

him

Do you understand it now?

Some people say they don’t understand my poems. But I don’t remember asking if they understood. I want to know if they enjoyed it.

Because. Because, this poem is about you. And that poem is about you too. That last one when I talked about those selfish girls or those feelings you get when you wake up and you’re no longer dreaming. That poem about hatred and jealousy is about you too. It’s selfish. You must think only about yourself. Poetry is completely selfish, you see.

So, tell me. What are you thinking about?

 

I’m thinking about him…

An apology

An apology

to you

who makes me blush

and scream

and tries too hard

to make me better.

 

I am sorry

for myself

for my bitter ways

and for my bitter words

but this is my all

and everything.

 

I hope you forgive

my selfish mind

that tries desperately

to win your approval

but falls too quick

and bruises.