I don’t want to relive this day ever, thank the stars I don’t gotta

I feel like I woke up and got dragged through broken glass and used needles before I managed to even put a shirt or panties on. It’s not even half ten in the morning yet.

Screaming, lightening headache turning migraine roused me from a restless, nightmare riddled sleep. Didn’t have any water next to the bed and I was drenched in cold sweat. Fringe partially stuck to my forehead and wet, the rest of my hair kinked and begging to be washed free of thoughts. My whole body felt clammy and cold but I was hot, hot, hot. Too hot to touch, I feared setting my sheets ablaze with my temperature.

Next came feeling around for my telephone, it had gotten lost in the blankets and I was half happy to play the finding game if only to prolong what sadness hadn’t settled in for the day quite yet.


Wrapped my stiff fingers around the slender rectangle and struggled to grip. Pressed the home button and saw a couple of notifications: Instagram, WordPress and word of the day telling me today’s word is pari passu which means at an equal rate or pace. The first few I ignored but the latter interested me, I love expanding my vocabulary. Couldn’t help but notice there was no message from you…. I didn’t expect it, never do, just sometimes I feel like I kinda need it and hope that maybe you’ve got some sixth sense that lets you know or maybe you’re just in the mood for a chat. But I guess you’re only human and so am I.

I couldn’t bring myself to get up so I started to guess it was going to be one of those days, flicked on an old film I used to love but hadn’t seen in years. It’s called Paris, Texas. Ry Cooder scored it and the acting is brilliant. It’s a transformative film, gets you feeling.

I hadn’t eaten more than two pieces of toast in the last two days but I wasn’t hungry. Climbed the ladder to the ground floor of the house, no one believes me when I say I live in an unfinished house so if a ladder instead of stairs doesn’t get you to understand then nothing will. Walked through makeshift walls made of old linen and building grade staples into the ‘kitchenlounge’, poured myself a glass of cloudy apple juice and swallowed a glucosamine and chondroitin pill the size of my acrylic thumbnail.

Then my brother said something really mean. Like, cruel mean. Like, you wouldn’t say it to your most hated foe.  And I didn’t know what to say back because I’m not mean in nature. So I just stared into his eyes and noticed that they were totally blank, totally honest and unreserved and felt tears welling in mine. I asked him how he could be so awful and he told me to “fuck off”, so I did.

I watched my mother cry today. She’s generally pretty hidden in any emotion, shrouds herself with monotone colours and speech. She loves jazz music and plays guitar really well, she’s rhythmic and soulful but I’m pretty sure she’s from another planet. I’ve only ever seen her cry once before in my life, when her father died and it was ten years ago now, almost to the day. It hurt me more than I think she was hurt to be crying today. She told me she thinks she wasn’t there for us enough when we were growing up and that’s why we never got along, I told her we are just two individuals and if he can’t get along with me then it is his problem not mine. Because I’m just kickin’ it in my bedroom with a book in hand and pencil between my teeth and music blaring or films rolling when I’m here, in the place I thought was my home.

Sometimes I hit refresh on repeat hoping you’ll post something to read so I can drift away on your words for a minute. But mostly I just sit tap, tap, tapppping on my keyboard until something makes sense to me. I have about a million files saved as untitled containing a couple of discarded sentences and I can’t remember what for. I try to find inspiration that isn’t seated in romance or sadness but I can’t, don’t know what else to write about because nothing else seems to matter all that much. Just want to walk down that beach and right into that sunset with you and if you break my heart well I guess I’d write about that if I could manage to carry on sensing.

Today I left my heart on the unfinished, chipboard floor and watched it pulsing. I pushed it around with my toes and surveyed thick, burgandy liquid ooze out and stain everything. It made me feel more alive to see it torn from my chest, like I was free because I didn’t have to worry about loving anyone or whatever. I was fascinated with this organ, it makes you suffer so very many things, makes you do stupid shit and then it won’t just stop beating when you want it to just because you’ve had enough and given up. It keeps you alive and let’s you broil in humiliation, let’s you deteriorate slowly, slowly, excrutiatingly slowly.

Atticus, Wolfgang, Casper, Wednesday, Max or Zero

I’ve already chosen names for the children I may or may not ever get the chance to have. I hope they’d get my blue eyes and vintage ideals. I hope they’d grow up knowing love and respect and happiness. Eyes lit, constantly searching and learning. Lightly weighted minds, no burdens or responsibility as children, hearts full with hope and future and possibility.

But I’m not at a time in my life where children are apparent or even close to it. I’ve only crawled mercifully across the surface of this merciless planet for twenty one years. Though it’s been enough time to realise that no one really cares and most everything lies. That hurt is more familiar than safety and honesty is as rare as a goose lain golden egg.

Begging for someone real and just as broken as I am to hold through the long, dark nights and frolic carelessly with during the heat of summer. Teach each other new strokes to keep us afloat in the tidal pull of depressive thoughts when we’re drowning and show each other new highs when we catch the other smiling. I’ve grown wings because of you, now let me show you yours.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t require protection, just a safe place sometimes. I’ve got a collection of killer stilettos and the tightest skirts you’ve ever seen and it’s all a facade, a suit of armour. It’s me saying “fuck you, my ass looks great in this so how ’bout you bite the curb and try saying that one more time”, but really I’m this little, brown wren who wants to be a pink flamingo. Entirely submissive, eager to obey. I can be loud but I’m mostly quiet. I can be colourful but I look better in black. Wanna make you laugh but I don’t know if I’m funny.

I nestle amongst polyester blankets and flannelette sheets all tucked up in my bed wishing I were sharing it with someone I might get to marry but not being certain anyone is out there for me anymore. Hope is fading fast and I’m praying the best parts of my genetics don’t go to waste. Don’t want my favourite names to go un-given, don’t want my heart to go on beating without beating for someone else.

Rain taps on my windows and tickles my tin roof, I can hear it from my lonely bed. I can also hear ding, ding, ding; here is me versus myself, it’s the knock out round so one of me won’t leave here alive. First rule of fight yourself club is that you can’t win so give up! The catch is if you give up then you’re pathetic so in giving up you lose, too. There really won’t be a champion here tonight, folks so please don’t bother to place your bets and get ready for an entertaining show! I said I didn’t know if I am funny, but I guess I can be.

I’m drifting off, dozing. Talon like nails attached to svelte fingers playing the keyboard of my macbook naturally, it’s the only instrument I can convince sweet sound from. Even in a semi-conscious state I could type a novel. Might not be entirely coherent but I bet it would be grammatically dressed in an evening gown complete with dripping diamond earrings and fluffy, glass slip on’s. I think I’m dreaming; day and night. It’s all merging into one.

Atticus, Wolfgang or Casper; Wednesday, Max or Zero.

Inclinations and allergies

Aesthetically intrigued, alphabetically inclined, numerically challenged
used to be real good at solving equations
but I’ve since lost all mathematical ability
lost it with my sense of regularity
Normality I am not familiar with
Animadversions berate me from all sides
like rain pelting in horizontally
no umbrella or vinyl coat keeps me dry
Luckily I have sharp wit, fake a smile, laugh
choke back the tears and if I can’t I say
Oh —I must have something in my eye
no one looks twice
Must be dust or sand or pollen
Mustn’t be the insults or snide remarks or sideways glances
Must just be an allergy

Maybe I am a library

It seems to me that all I have left are aching words
that spill from my aching hands
Handwritten script or text typed feverishly
I have bad circulation so my fingers are always either
slightly numb with cold
or palms sweaty, clammy, gross
My joints hurt, they always hurt
wish my life wasn’t anchored in tactility
but it’s all I live for
touch and sound touching my soul
Sadness is the only thing I can rely on
never lets me down, never freezes me out
listens and responds
Always lets me write of it
Quill morphing between feather and knife
eeny meeny miny moe
what shall stroke my skin today?
Blades slice deep, I always wanted stitches
but words cut deeper still
and there is no medical procedure brilliant enough
to save the internal bleeding they cause
It seems to me that all I have left are letters
vowels rounded, consonants hard
trying to connect on a verbal level

Silver medal, red ribbon

I have always felt second. Like, I was just never that important or that special or that anything. I feel like I’m always in the background and no one ever really sees me. Not cool enough to be prime time featured, not uncool enough to be thrown off set altogether. Some people know I’m there but few know my name and fewer still know I’m aiming for the stars but ever failing to reach. Fewer than that even care.

Second in every friendship I have ever known. Second in relationships. Second to my old cat, of all things, how ridiculous. Second to every fibre comprising my libraries pages, second to all the garments I hide my form amongst, second to all the makeup I reform myself with. I’m unrecognisable if I’m not second.

Second in every race, second in every competition, second to my brother in my parents eyes. He’s younger than I, used to pull his own hair out and bruise his own thighs to get me in trouble. Once he even drew blood, that was a particularly good performance. I was always so frustrated and learnt to take the whopping punishments I didn’t deserve. They felt like fire and sounded like sirens.

Second to pleasure I know pain. For every hot and heavy moment I’ve craved a little danger, a little pressure on my throat, a little rope around my wrists. Don’t mind being roughed up a little, clothes torn, lipstick smudged and mascara bleeding. Shedding a tear or two for satisfactory indulgence because I’m second to you.

I wish I could be like the magnolia that blooms for me on my birthday

See my imposition
How dare I not feel able to stand alone
on my own two feet
How dare I feel grief in singularity
companionship should not feel compulsory, yet so it does
Love is not to be sought,
love is for happening and enveloping
evolving and amplifying

Let me free fall into infinity
maybe, in my descent I’ll find the courage
to let my wings grow strong and bloom
like magnolia blossom when Spring springs
and lift me up, soaring out of that cold depth
toward the suns kind warmth
but maybe I won’t because I feel weak
weak and worthless and sleepy

Your very own rainbow, I want to dance in it’s non sequential ribbons

I inhaled every shade of dioxide you expelled
lungs raw and absorbent
like some kind of viscid, organic sponge
with need for your colours to flourish and feel

Sultry red passion I am so eager to attain
desperate to sense your hard, exotic love
no need for gentlemanly courtesies
hungry for instinct to kick in, take over, messy and loud

All the blue misery you carry; day in, day out
sadness kissing grief and dancing with fear
heartbreak, heartache, distance
let my cerulean eyes swallow your cobalt sad

Mystery, soft pink grey mist whirling amongst your tousled hair
can’t see our stiffened hands in front of our clouded eyes
curiosity amounting to off scale measure
mine and yours equally so; feline, whimsical

Charm and wit, violet effervescence intensifying
magnetism and intellect electrifying the very vibrations washing over me
feel all your unspoken reverberation
let it move me, let me sway in your vibrato

Your most natural state of earthy green, eyes undressing me
cloaked in nothing, teeth grit in full smile; proud, exquisite
unwavering, still, but ready to pounce
steal away all former innocence, replace it with ecstasy

Pure white sheets, despite your idea of being jaded
dove like, gliding, olive branch in beak, peaceful

Dark black liquid, infinite unlit future
serpentine paths, crawling, striding, one

Alka Seltzer

And now it’s me who can’t fucking sleep despite exhaustion ’cause I’ve been sick all day, probably been sick all my life, there is definitely something wrong. I’m tired, I’m achey, my brain hurts but my heart hurts more. I don’t know how to be alone, I don’t know how to be happy and alone. I don’t even know how to stand upright in this moment or take that shower I so desperately need to dissolve in, just fizzle right up like the Alka Seltzer I just swallowed and disappear down the drain. Wouldn’t be missed, that could be easy.

I cried a lot today, because being sick gives me anxiety attacks and causes blackouts. But also because I feel alone. For every tear that hits my pillow and bloats my face I am sorry, sorry for something to someone because maybe if I were different I wouldn’t be alone now? Every decision I ever made or had made for me has lead me to this point in time. Lead me blindfolded and drunk on ideals of hope and future, what a fucking joke.

Mum keeps telling me I made all the right choices and I’m just tired because it’s all been so sudden but I’m finding it hard to believe. The choices I made weren’t hard because I had the emotion to back them up, it’s the repercussion.
It’s like this: there is this great orchestra and they lull me to sleep every night and hold my hand musically when I’m sad but now it’s only the brass section and everyone’s lungs have shrunk and weakened, now they sound awful. It’s like fingernails down a chalkboard making me retch but it won’t dull because I can’t see ahead of me clearly.

I’ve always tried hard.
Tried real hard to put my own feet forward in my own ugly shoes instead of pretending I like to wear anything other than my outrageous pair of vintage Alice McCall’s or dirty, black combat boots. I don’t want to be anyone other than me but I want to be needed, I want to be someone’s oxygen or someone’s orchestra— but what if I can’t be without being someone else altogether?
Derivative of a different star sign or heritage. Alternative parent’s or birthplace.

Now I’m crying again, I’m that crazy lady who doesn’t talk to many people because she’s been judged and hurt one too many times. I’m that crazy lady who believes in true love and trust and handwritten letters.
I’m also that sad, quiet girl who just tripped over in front of the supermarket and grazed her knees through her now laddered stockings, black mascara tears and piercing blue eyes. She just needs an outstretched palm, a smile and a bandaid but instead they’re laughing at her, not with her and she’s embarrassed. Just wants to shy away and fizzle down that drain.

Your rock pool

If I could I’d fill a rock pool with your words, stories, sentences.

I’d fill a rock pool that has sharp edges and a soft bottom so that every time your current throws me against the side I feel the same hurt you feel and I’m cut deep to scarring. So that every time you suck me under the surface of your syllables and I start to lose my breath and I’m tempted to start inhaling your script I feel your soft core. The letters are cold and warm, hard and gentle. The pressure is great and when I drift amongst you I feel like I am suffocating, it’s the most glorious moment of breathlessness I’ve ever encountered.

Fragile bones and molasses stardust

You said I was bird like, that you love birds

And in that moment I wanted to fly for you
spread my threadbare wings so you could see my fragile bones
scream down from the skies and land upon your gloved hand

Then I couldn’t tell you what you are like
I don’t know what you are like because—

I have never met anything quite like you before 

You are this innocuous being, a safe haven safety net
Yet some contagion; toxin replacing hot, sticky, molasses, blood

A medicinal poison; anti-anti-venom

Caution, side effects may include:
mercury rising, probably off the charts
erratic heart beat beating to some foreign rhythm
some kind of something dancing in your stomach
uncontrollable, unapologetic grin
slurring words you’ve practiced numerous times

you just want to get it right but you’re hot, dizzy, stomach twisted, smiling, dumb

…you are merely a man
Flesh and bone and marrow and stardust
so, how is it I am so fascinated?
so very intrigued
and so very captivated
and so very nervous?

I just want you to see my fragile bones
my certain, timid heart

Want you to hold what stardust I am made of
see my galaxies and constellations
Notice my gossamer veins
Watch my eyes close
as I exhale in the moment I fall into unconsciousness