poems never really endgather in the light,warm and mould itin your open heart.make it a living thing.breathe it in. it is alover, a flotation devicein your lungs.and one day you willswell to breaking pointand burst, and there,glimmering in the star-shardswill be the beginningof another end.
loverand why why why am iso fucking sad becausethis is inseparablefrom happy fromsatisfied fromnormalthe air hurts in my lungsi breathe i breatheeven when i don't want toi am cryingtoo hard to readsadness creeps upout of the ground,through veins andleaves grey skyin my bones, placesclammy handson my hips, my waist,my breasts. bitesmy collarbone. thenswims up behind my eyesand leaves only mistbehind.
an elegy for the girl I used to knowThis is an elegyto the status quo:the girl I usedto know. I want totell you all how I missthe way she criedand the stripy wooltights she used towear. Speaking of that,I miss her awful dresssense. I want toremember how sheloved and lovedand loved untilit broke her down,and how her mothercalled her a tiger.I miss how she wouldalways end up making friendswith the loner in the groupeven though the otherswould talk to her,because she didn't wantto see anyone sad.I want you all to knowthat this wasn't whatshe wanted, that shedreamt of stories,of fairytales. I wantyou to remember how shealmost-sort-of dreamedof wedding bells butcould never picturethe groom. I want youto think about the daya wasp settled on her lipsand she sat there andlistened to the otherspanicking and was justquiet until itall went away.
With All My LoveMy darling Roger,this is a letter(if you haven't noticed)to tell you how glad I amfor the time we spenttogether. After all,without those days,I would never have learntabout the hangover sandwichin the cafe down the road,or the right way to carveinitials into a tree trunk.I'd never know the sounda mobile phone makesas it hits the ground fromthree stories up orthat the ocean isalways colder than you expect,and the beach grittier,at three in the morningwhen your dress is shredded.I wouldn't know thatbeing hurt by a lover isten times worse thanbeing hurt by a friendyet nowhere nearas bad as missing the buson a rainy day.I hope you remember,Roger, the thingsI taught you - likehow to wash a three-day-oldbeer/vomit stain froman antique carpet afterhaving one too many drinksseven days in a row.Like how easy it isto pick out the cracksin someone you love,and perhaps you learntfrom watching mehow they fall apartlike sand from a shatteredhourglass. I hop
Tunnel VisionBlinkered eyes aresullied and storming,whirlpooling, brewing.I peel apart your skin,remove you like a baby,like the segment of anorange. Sunset carvesacross the sky, a curvingdisc. I feel your cold feetagainst my thighs. We seein tunnel vision, a gapbetween teeth: hereis my soul, workable,often traitorous. It ischerry blossom seasonand the earth beneaththe tree is enriched withhearts and empty hands.
washingSo this is how I think I learnt to survive:by rocking and railing and staying aliveand shading my forehead and gilding my glarefor the saints and the sinners are never awareof the trouble they cause in the spectrum of sinand the aches they create, and the passion withina heart that is hollow from humming a strainof the hymn of the hypocrites, 'gain and again.I sacrificed frailty for a sense of self-aweto fill in the windows and cracks in the floor.I sealed up the air-gaps and locked myself inuntil the mirror flew open: I was safe in my skinbefore moving through fissures to carve myself out.I trod through the maze with a skein of self-doubt'til I found myself stumbling back where I began;beginning, beginning, I will and I can.I found it quite pleasant, like shimmering silk -self-belief on my doorstep, waiting next to the milk.
announcementall passengersshould rememberto wear sunscreen.earplugs.you can keepthem in andlisten to themaladaptivecognitionsscuttling overyour skull likebeetles(have you heardof the soldierants? they biteand do notlet go, evenwhen dead)you could alsostay awakeand listen tothe silentcamaraderiein your carriage.ensure all doorsare properly closed.remain seatedunless standingand please rememberthe weeping willow.a woman may lovefor her whole lifeand a manonly for a day(or vice versa)this is what createsthe sournessin my ears.a questionfor you to ponder:before your body,were youman or woman?mind the gap.
musei.hereis a fieldof sparrows.delicateflow.ii.this is nota love letter.iii.(i hearyour voicein the warmthof the wind)iv.look, child,world-builder -you have grown upa god.v.in meis youandin youis meandin weeverythingvi.you lightenthe grey skythat drenchesmy bones.vii.this is nota love letter.viii.(i love you.i love you.i love you.)