Dysphoria

He chose me for my sadness, he told me; the challenge of it, of replacing the dead weight with life, my pallor with English rose. I know a project when I see one, he said, appraising my rib-caged flesh, my hollow eyes.  With each button opening, a mans desire. When he was done, I was sure I had counted each ceiling tile twice, compartmentalised each shade of white and grey, the slight mould of green in the left corner, the opal spider’s web on the right, the light flicker. My leaden legs shaking slightly with the weight of him; his breath in my ear. I wanted to slice him, groin to neck, and back again. But I soothed myself, my girly wiles, count to ten, then back again, Just remember to smile. 

My Joy

I am convinced I had not known pure joy until I met you.

Of course, I had felt sunbeams on my face and seen beauty in sunsets and the sound of the ocean. Heard a baby’s laugh and slept in someone’s arms that I loved. Seen snowflakes and sunrises and many wondrous things. But I would have given up all pleasures of the world for you. It is not a secret that you will never stop dazzling me. I had never known beauty until you and I would not be surprised if I lived my whole life and never found wonder again.

Love Equations

Our Love pencil smudged.

How you could not help but make it anything but mathematical,

How I could not help but hate you for it.

Our Tracing paper love ripped

Your logical brain and  my rubber heart a useless eraser,

Erase-her

Did she feel how I feel?

Will you keep on the straight and narrow

don’t you dare pencil me out now

and fall in love with the point of the compass

whilst detesting my soft projector  curve,

Was I too woman for you?

The sharp  point of your own silver compass, cold and piercing,

How I would always come back to you, scratched,

my heart a fistful of crumpled equation paper.

How I would try to multiply and add whilst you would divide and

subtract our relationship.

How you could never quite let me go.

So go ahead, Tell me Again,

Tell Me you love me 360 degrees.

Distance

 

Distance came to me a year later,

Tall and handsome,

he had not changed.

 

But, You haven’t known Distance.

Not until he says hello,

and you can’t recognise his voice anymore

 

Until he hugs you

and his arms

feel foreign,

 

Until you breathe him in

but his scent has been

forgotten.

 

I was certain I only knew Distance

once you were no longer familiar

to me.

 

But two years later,

Distance came again,

and

I welcomed him back

like an old friend.

 

 

Folded

“Am I still your favourite person?”

I asked, eyes wide,

Arms wrapped behind my back like folded

Linen laundry,

Egyptian cotton.

Can you unfold me and

tug at the frayed  edges until we forget they existed,

Kiss me clean.

“Am I still your favourite person?” I ask,

Or just forgotten

dirty

laundry.