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.
I am a dream holiday
A winning lottery ticket
A pre-suicidal Marilyn
They say, being with me is like chasing a fantasy
I’m always almost certain the novelty will wear off
What a curse it is, to be the type of woman who comes afterwards
to men who have already seen the world.
When you know he will go back to where he started off all along,
When you leave for vacation you always come home.
Spoken word Poem.
I think if you were a better man you could have loved me better, but maybe we were just the worst thing that could have happened to each other.
I knew our millennial love was over in dust, when we started to talk about us in the past tense, and face away from each other when undressing and in bed, when we both pretended to be asleep, You couldn’t hold eye contact when we made love but yours were no longer the arms I would run to if our house, our life, our world was burning down, my annoying habits were no longer endearing and you hated the sound of my laugh, how irritating you were to me too, the relief when I kept thinking thank fuck we didn’t get married or get that joint bank account or have that baby we talked about when we were young and had less frown lines when life felt light the way only two people who are in love can feel it, I wonder how we got here, if it was me or you, but I hate the way you shout at me, at nothing sometimes, you are not handsome to me anymore, just unkind, stagnant, I don’t think I am as beautiful as when you met me, as when you loved me, I think that it is ok to age I think it is ok to walk away from love I think it is brave to look at someone and say, I no longer love you, need you, want you, I think it is ok to grieve but remembering grief always makes the other person seem better than what they were, like a saint on a pedestal with a light shining on them from above, fuck, I hope you find someone unlike me, I hope she is polar opposite even, and brings the light back into your eyes, the smile back to your lips, I hope you test the waters before you spend the rest of your life with someone else, I hope love find you when you aren’t looking and I hope the next one lasts, I hope the next one lasts.
The August heat came with love and chance
A melodic butterfly gasoir dance
And stolen kisses underneath that old tree
The sapling brought from Italy
The one which grew up with me.
Ah, this old, crooked, strange tree
My mother loved to tell this story
how it could live for thousands of years
but would only ever bear fruit once.
What a gift it would be, in this lifetime
How wonderful, if the universe, aligned
In chance, in beauty, in laughter.
And like a bumblebee to lavender
That Summer the fruit came and so did you, to me
Your mouth on my mouth under the Italian tree
Orange fruit, sweet, and we
Two love birds perched underneath.
When the wolf fell in love with the girl.
When the leader of the wolf gang looks your way in
worn out leather and faded tattoos
Believe him when he says he is no good, he had lived longer than you
Ah but his smile, that jawline, his hands on the small of your back
You felt safe for the first time in your life, really, despite the bad.
He always smelt like hard whisky and smoke
Handsome with age
Hardened with age
You wouldn’t cross him
If only by mistake like the time you smiled at that man across the bar
But you knew this whisky wolf loved you, really
He would scream it at you all the time, he’d steal flowers from the cemetery too, See I can be Romantic, he’d say,
absent mother, abusive father, you never once saw him cry
You remember the wind in your hair, wild motorbike rides,
Dancing on bars
and tequila shots backwards,
That time you were so drunk you nearly got his name tattooed,
It almost felt end game, in bed, your head on his chest
the first time he told you he loved you,
The first time you told him you didn’t.
They say she was born with a Marilyn Monroe fate
And many a handsome James dean came her way
How she was always ready with a flash of a
Californian girl smile and a Hollywood laugh
Dressed up to the nines, pin-up girl thighs,
With that Dita Von Teese show girl vibe.
What’s a girl to do?
Break their pretty red hearts in two.
I fell in love
with a nightingale
He took my heart
And flew away
Do not fall in love
with a nightingale
They cannot stay
For this you pay
Its the wind
It calls them still
Fly away from her
She will never do you good
A home girl and a Wanderer
will always be apart
So take off now just be a man
Don’t mind her broken heart
The nightingale must fly away
There are so many things to see
I know you want to look at her
But think of Paris, Spain and Italy
So fly off now don’t be afraid
Her face, it soon will fade
Just remember it is yours, the sky
and soar soar soar