I don’t write anymore
I gave up when the letters of the alphabet abandoned me leaving a pained soul and a ripple of sensitivity Cruel and ignorant aren’t thou ABCDEFUCKOFF Fuck off? Fuck you! You’re the one that left me to my own devices filling the spaces you created with greedy lust and tragic dilemmas Vague disdain where my heart once was So I stop staring at the empty page and go see what’s in the fridge instead.
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Run away with me?
Bring tea and cakes and smiles make sure you pack your glee although I know you'll scream whilst dipping toes into the freezing sea before causing a splash and beckoning me to join you but I'll decline of course because the task at hand is removing sand from our sandwiches and attempting to stop this windbreaker from breaking off into the wind up where the seagulls sing before they swoop and dive and steal our crusts not forgetting that we must sit here until dusk make the most of our escape before we return to work with disgust don't fuss! I'm quite capable of pouring the bloody tea. I feel lost
not depressed just misplaced growing in the wrong place like a weed with the audacity to bloom in places I haven't been planted Granted it's my own doing but as disappointing words weigh heavy in my mind I feel blind and I need direction. You held me in the palm of your hand
with such protective bliss as though you were the river which effortlessly carried the leaf hypnotising my every action with a love so pure that it bloomed like a thousand tulips a rainbow of colours capturing the beauty of your guiding smile. And I utterly love you. Not just today, but every day. The first time I met you, you pulled at my long hair and called me adorably small as you winked and flashed me the cheekiest grin, and it felt as though a thousand bees had stung my chest leaving behind an ache that was as pleasurable as a rainbow on a rainy day.
And my mum warned me that I’d never fall in love as deeply as I would the first time. But as you made my cheeks blush and my heart beat faster, as I blossomed right before your beautiful eyes, you became the first boy to teach me that I wasn’t good enough to be anyone’s first choice. And as the clouds cry and my emotions spill all over my barstool, the ropes tangling themselves inside my stomach, I remember you. I plunge the words into the flames
the flesh on my fingers aching from the closeness of the heat as I watch the typed script coil and brighten like a thousand starry nights and I feel a sudden sense of sublime sadness a depressing euphoria as my efforts disintegrate and a tiny little ember threatens to burn my house down. His head is down
as he studiously scribbles with his chewed pen with determined alacrity. I want to gently brush away his floppy, unwashed hair cloaking his face so that I can see the words leave his flesh and bone but no. Boundaries. Can not touch, can not hug, can not provide physical comfort in any way as though it would scorch our skin and leave us forever scarred. Boundaries. So I imagine the words that he has chosen.. rejected alone high stupid worthless and I try to capture them before they hit the page so that I can absorb them like a thick, damp cloth collecting tears from the sea but it’s 9.30pm and he looks up at me with his teenage grin before fist bumping my knuckles and uttering ‘see you next week, Miss’ as his lolloping skeleton leaves the building and I stand at the window and squint into the darkness as I watch his feet move towards the dimly lit car park, his fingers reaching towards a car window as a faceless shape hands him a small package. A lone tear glides down my cheek as I turn away to retrieve his poem.. “Miss says I’m special Miss says I’m kind the drugs ain’t helping tho The drugs is makin me blind” And as the lone tear multiplies and a sound escapes my throat like a distressed child, I stop reading. But there is hope. Always, hope. The only spooning I've done lately is with icecream
until the bitter cold drowns out my thought stream Watching Lord Of The Onion Rings with bated breath from the deep dark depths of my impending death Casserole for my wounded soul. My heart melting like a strong cheddar cheese bubbling with emotional need Toast and tea to nourish me with three heaped teaspoons of positivity A little helping of blueberry pie why? to exude my social butterfly to disqualify the lack of beautify- ing possibility The tranquility of chopping and boiling and flutter as I sauté my esteem in a little hot butter Carbs may well be my soulmate but what does it matter when I'll throw it back in the lavatory later. It's a simple curiosity
a questioning monstrosity snooping defectuosity whilst hoping you don't notice my loquacious laudability and principally the promiscuity of my heightened sexuality and obsessional impracticality It's the prohibitive unclarity that mystifyingly dazzles me not knowing if you're finished with your artfully delicate Foxy and your breakfast, was it tasty? Does your dinner make you fidgety with hunger injected jollity? What exactly do you think of me? and do you doodle absentmindedly? Do you feel so utterly perfectly when faced with art so bourgeoisie? Which music makes you thrillingly and lyrically so joyously free And do you read religiously? Have you ever knelt down on one knee and declared a love so passionately? Which stories fill you with such glee? Where do you actually want to be? Your masculinity intriguing me Your likeability so specifically fittingly My familiarity becoming a difficulty Disparity Electricity A ridiculous sanguinity Ignore me I'm absolutely, fucking rusty at this curious emotional nudity. My emotionary
tells me that you're playing with my feelings that you have no intention of reeling my heart strings round your ceiling fan keeping your feelings unreaching and concealing ignorant of my heart so unyielding and pleading Bleeding Dreaming But all you want is my squealing writhing body underneath you as I break into pieces exquisitely increasing my fascination with you before you tell me that your care for me is different to all the rest so totally A blissfully bewitchingly preciseness, so beautifully executed before you pull my nipple and kiss me goodbye and take someone else out for dinner. It feels like a demon is under my skin
scraping away at my self esteem whilst whispering words of worthlessness towards my forlorn soul thwarting my thoughts and abandoning my surety. I'll be fine. I suffer not all the time not every second of every day not always But for the last 1 million seconds I've let this demon shriek at me from the other side of the mirror as it sings and dances and throws rocks at my face. And I know I'll be fine despite the white noise scratching like a skipped record. I'm a writer who can't find her pen. But I know I'll be fine. It just takes time to relieve such mysterious pain. I'll be fine. I'll be fine. I'll be fine. I miss you
Like a puzzle dissipated Incomprehensible fading into meaningless alliteration My inadequate concentration perplexing my frustrations We used to use words that mystified You clarified my love of life Do you remember the times you made me cry as you released me into this butterfly whose dreams shan’t die Because loving me made me love me too and loving you, my inspirational muse gave me visions of worlds and skies up so high Violescent atmospheres above dusty minds eye as our mutual care flickers behind our lips as we dream of the time that we wanted to kiss with contented elation and poetry penned I do hope you know you’re my very best friend. Jx I’m a lady. What? You can’t be surprised
despite all my utterings so sexualised on my knees looking up with my big blowjob eyes romanticised calling me slutty whilst I’m down on all fours just because my number is higher than yours Sure let’s just ignore my intellect and complexity my power, my desperately collectively nonsensically empathically bonhomie as you joke how my vagina must be a Facebook check in location folks Because I like sex with girls and I like sex with boys and you can’t fathom out how to use all my toys so you utter vile words and call me harsh names aims my shame so high in the sky that the clouds know your game but tomorrow you’ll beg me to do it again Why can’t I be both; dichotomous alignment of pleasure and passion and moral refinement. I have the flu
and I know not what to do with my head so fuzzy, so blue needing to cozy up and eat chicken noo- dle soup, wrapped in blankets and tissues ACHOO "Bless you" Bless me? Fuck you! You gave this to me, didn't you? Bring me tea and crumpets and accrue brownie points. Oh, brownies ... those too. And let me sit and stew thinking of the countersue I'll put you through for this awful state you got me into. I’m gathering rain drops for my rain collection
to counteract the puddles of disaffection Inescapable wetness of reflection, filling up this jar whilst gusting winds push my soul further afar An outlook so bizarre, miniscule little mar A need to push the clouds above the plethora of stars And when I have enough to fill my stormy little sea you may row row row, the fuck away from me. I’m hungover
hungover as fuck “Come out for a drink”, they said “It’ll be great”, they said “Remember when we used to call them Wankered Wednesdays?” they said, they said, they said It’s like a drill, you know reverberating inside my skull Worse than a drill whatever worse than a drill is And I am craving craving c r a v i n g Eggs Benedict with the fluffiest of eggs and lashings of ham the freshest of muffins the decadent drizzle of hollandaise and a healthy pinch of pepper It’s calling to me, begging to be had Perhaps a small serving of hashed potatoes on the side and a gallon Yes, a gallon, of tea Earl Grey, brewed for 180 seconds as the bergamot scent invades my mind and calms the drill But as the dog vomits all over the floor I forget all about food and woefully go about my day. Are nap dates a thing?
Because that's something I could totally work with.. Coiled together on a sofa in front of a glorious fire encased in an abundence of blankets arms intermingled with chest and muscle with hands clutching firm skin Whilst we talk about our dreams and our demons and atoms and magic and the unknown and intellect and sex and the meaning of life Whilst you gently stroke my hair until sleep entices us.. Poetry is often cinematic; the unseen being just as important as the seen.. imaginations fizzing with curiosity and the desire to solve the unknown. And just like the movie industry, a plethora of poems don't quite make the cut; subjected to a lifetime within a worn notebook, unfinished and unloved. The Unfinished Poem.. I am unraveling
in a cloud of confusion Being pulled by my lust towards your beckoning eyes your words so hypnotic and my need to please you with my sex so chaotic Being pulled by my soul towards an abyss of loneliness a cavern of despair with deep, dark desperation and a sorrowful air. Being pulled by my heart (missing line) in every which direction like a sugar induced child craving attention Being pulled by my head toward reason and closure and I know I'll be fine despite never making love because you're not actually mine There's a mouse in my alleyway
I tell thee no lie It's as dead as a doorknob But it still made me cry I'm not that ashamed of my scampering fear but I do wish a gent was decidedly right here So I knocked on the door of my burly beard neighbour and flutter my lashes as I asked him a favour "Oh do come and help in my dark alleyway and please bring a shovel as it's all quite risqué" And the neighbour did come via his vastly tooled shed with his wink and his smile whilst scratching his head As I led him towards the little dead mouse who was suddenly alive and running right toward my house So I'm moving out today and in with my neighbour as the mouse is now lodging within the fruits of my labour. I'm staring at you across the bar
feeling rather smug You're mine, you see, with all that facial hair and those lickable tattoos that make my knickers wet whilst you consume me with the lust surrounding your cheeky grin as your eyes dart around the dimly lit room looking for I-don't-know-what And I panic as the bells start 10 because I can't get to you through the endless armpits and leery gazes down my too-tight dress making me cover my breasts with my arm 9 Do you notice I'm not next to you? 8 I watch your smile focus on the girl with the pointy tits and the endless fucking hair extensions 7 and you place your hand on the small of her back and whisper "six" into her ear. And I feel hot and sick and jealous and ashamed 5 Do you really not realise I'm missing from your side? 4 when everyone else is moving closer and closer towards one another like a slow motion porno until I can barely see you 3 "Just down the tequila, Josephine", I say to myself. "And look away." Look away 2 watching the way everyone is looking at one another with frenzied lust and drunken passion 1 as they kiss and hold tight with the noise so unbearable And the Happy New Years get stuck in my throat as I watch you kiss her instead of me. Let me leave these words here, and never speak of them again.
Once upon a summertime, I burst into splendiferous flame; amidst the fear and suspicion of letting someone in, despite my lifetime of protestations, I was filled with petals and teardrops, lustful cries of unfathomable proportions, craving skin and words and blankets and you. 6 months. Six tiny little months. The deep cavernous walls of the stories we built, the gripping elation and unforced smiles. Gosh, you taught me so very much about how to love, and how to be loved. You left me like a leaf floating in the wind with no direction. I wonder what I did. Should I weep? Should I be sad? Should I at least be a little bitter, even if only to attach a momentary glimpse of ordinary cliché? No. I shan’t. I shall just say thank you for giving me something that no one else ever bothered to. Myself. May your days be filled with sunshine and perfect waves. May your mind only ever be filled with the certainty that you were loved, unexpectedly, and without expectation. And may your smile always brighten the day of whoever is fortunate enough to be stood in its view. Yours, Jx He loves me
He loves me not He loves me He loves me not Petals scattered across the floor like haphazard question marks querying his silence and fucking with my mind He loves me He loves me not He loves me He loves me not Plucking frantically but with caution Thoughts of his smile between every heartbeat echoing around my ribcage He loves me He loves me not Tap-dancing on my heart He loves me He loves me not Whispering along my inner thigh He loves me He loves me not Licking my lip with anticipation He loves me He loves me not Fuck! I ran out of petals! I’m daydreaming about hands again.
I’m daydreaming about how yours are strong and mine are so small and how yours fit charmingly around my throat whilst mine claw at your back and I gasp … fuck me. And I’m daydreaming about your steadiness and my trembling and about how we both create universes with just our hands and our lips and our teeth. I’m daydreaming about how my hands would like to find yours in the dark and rest in its spaces under your ocean of blankets like an empty room waiting to be filled. In the future there is a small, quiet room that is just yours, where you are safe and where you are free. Your hands will finally stop trembling and you’ll be able to look up from the ground and sense the blissful peace that envelops you like an old friend. No one can come in unless you let them. No one can make you fly so close to the sun that it no longer feels like a warm hug. No one can make you become the unsung song of your short life.
In that clean quiet space, you will recover and you will endure. You will love and you will heal. I know this to be true because I am there with you. We are there together because you saved us. You saved us because you were so very brave and never stopped living. Hold on tight, my darling, and I shall see you there. Jx One lick, two lick, three lick
four? Or was it five? Kisses down my thighs Pure lust in my eyes Hands everywhere Tickling in my underwear Kisses on my neck It all started with just a peck Feelings so intense with pleasure Too many orgasms to measure Smiles One smile, two smile, three smile four? Or was it more? |
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December 2017
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