poetry

I want a word with you, D.H Lawrence

You think women are fruit,

destined for decay?

You call us figs, 

or pears. Or whatever other

beautiful thing you find.

Then threaten that beauty with rot.

Imposing upon us your threat

of selfish enjoyment

and imminent discard.

But what's that which you sip?

You drink and you wake finding lines

drawing a path of wreckage.

We are not the same.

We are but wine!

Take the grapes of our youth

and mash them into the rich,

flowing, goodness you love.

Year upon year, we take our time maturing;

from sweet to bold,

delicate to powerful.

It's the drink of deities

of the powerful,

of the seductive

and it's made from fruit

you think has gone bad.

Well, you are what you drink,

so beg for our mercy,

when our bad wine,

from our bad fruit,

turns you into nothing

but a lonely, wailing, 

drunken man

at 3am, out in the cold.

(02/25)

Too many thoughts

I see their pictures in my sleep,

it feels like one big joke against me;

I’ve thrown up countless times this week.

You ask me to trust you,

are you joking again with me?

It’s not fair.

When we hold hands,

are you holding the hands of everyone else?

What am I, what am I?

I question what I knew.

I question what I believe.

It's still not making sense -

I ruminate all day 

and all night.

Holding on, holding out;

if they turned around,

would you leave me?

Who am I, who am I?

It comes back to haunt me.

I change how I look

(do you want me now)?

I change how I act

(will you want me now)?

Thank you for reminding me

every moment is fleeting,

that it’s all temporary and

I am as replaceable as any other.

Show me my life,

shatter my fairytale.

What am I, what am I?

I’ll be as dramatic as I please

and you better say no more.

Do as you are told

because I have been so perfect

and it was all for a lie.

And still all I want is you here.

Please, hold me while I hurt;

don’t make this about you.

How can you look

into my crying, innocent eyes

and not feel like the worst man on earth?

Who am I

to you?

(02/25)

Fire and lies

Like the last embers

spitting furiously,

bring yourself face to face

with this dying fire.

Come on, say your goodbyes

with the loudest roar,

if you dare.

Throw yourself at the window,

at the door, against our sanity,

one last time.

When did I lose it?

Her. She.

I have never been crazy.

It’s almost poetic;

the crashing and burning.

It doesn’t feel real; only

feels like I’m floating.

The floor is a whirlpool,

inky-black and starless,

like your eyes on that night.

I don't want to look anymore.

How many more secrets

do those eyes hide?

(02/25)

It’s confusing to be me

This feeling; like drinking

cloudy lemonade,

like tasting cinnamon sugar

on the tip of my tongue,

try to dissect the flavour.

Bitter, sweet, or sour?

It’s a soggy plate of beige;

chips and chicken nuggets.

With each mouthful,

I’m unable to tell chips

from mash and I binge

until my soft belly

bursts open,

exposing my insides,

spilling uncontrollably.

And those with magic empathy

make sure you don’t forget

one thing,

for me,

every bite is blindfolded

and like a child,

in the dark,

I cry for comfort.

(11/24)

My other half

I wish brains were like clocks,

forgive me, I know it's a common one;

imagine one thousand, tiny, neatly placed cogs,

all spinning, spinning, together in place, like a dance.

There's clarity in the fix, should one fall apart.

Instead, this is what I've got;

I've got you and me,

two warm-blooded, hot-headed, fragile things,

housing, barely balancing, squishy, honestly, plain monstrosities.

And they're filled with dreams,

connections fused in odd ways,

stubborn perceptions and sticky memories.

It's a thing we can't read -

just write yourself on paper to me

and if it's so hard, I'll shred it after my read.

I write on paper to make it leave,

I give, I give. Give it to me -

tell me, tell me,

will all my dreams -

is that all they will be?

I'm too scared to say it but, whatever;

am I living in a fantasy?

Now don't start this again because what do you know?

Nothing, exactly, these are all unknowns.

I dream to heal the holes,

in my brain, where one day memories will be.

Because I can have what I want.

I can have what I dream.

The beauty in being able to be anything.

And in my brain, I never have known myself

connect, or able to fuse -

but I have felt, with you, the places

between silence and catastrophe.

And now I know, I know, I know!

It's the hues of eyes and types of ale -

it's leaves falling and the music we like -

it's our shadows during the day

and our reflections in the mirror.

Like buttered toast, like British weather, like steak -

and if you don't get it,

let me tell it a different way.

When our voices go quiet

and our hands hold on tight,

I'm thinking what you're thinking,

write me, if I'm right.

(08/24)

Spring

Where have you come from?

I read back the memory,

translating the wet, blurred ink

into a hot night in July.

Sometimes I wish I could return

to times as simple, on paper.

Nothing is the same

and everything moves at a pace too fast.

Memories get lost in the heat.

But in this moment,

I look inside, and know

I fear all the unknowns,

but fear most 

how I know

it grows.

It grows;

like a child clawing for adolescence

like delicate daffodils, 

blooming in spring,

like the grey clouds clearing,

letting the glorious sunshine in.

(04/24)

Static

I wish the world would slow

down for a

second, breathe,

and be quiet.

I want to take in the sunrise –

the sun and I 

never needed words

to speak.

I want to feel

the wind blowing,

gently,

through my hair,

and let the air 

wrap around me,

like a baby’s blanket.

I want to hear the birds

talk in their harmonies,

while gazing ahead

at squeaking squirrels

in their treetop towns.

I’m always rudely awakened

by a stupid alarm,

in my stupid room.

It's cold.

I’m not ready to

roll away from my

dreams.

I dream of disappearing –

dropping everything and running.

Where can I run to?

This world is the wrong shape,

it's all pavements and screens

and sirens and

And I tried to fit it,

I tried my best,

but I really can’t.

Like a bad pair of jeans,

we will never fit each other.

Me and mother,

we are at odds.

Everything has dulled,

my desires diluted.

I’ve lost my voice;

I don’t want to talk –

I don’t want to sing –

I want the noise to clear,

so I can go to sleep,

so I can dream again.

(01/24)

Diagnosed

And with the confirmation of a diagnosis,

I have found nothing to be clear.

I thought knowing would fix things

but now I know 

I know nothing.

This knowledge has spawned fear.

My past life has become a nightmare

and I find myself wanting to nestle

inside my room, my bed, myself,

until everything goes away.

The worst part is realising,

and then realising again,

this is forever;

always has been,

always will be.

My brain is broken.

I tell myself what I am,

over and over, to a blank face

staring at me in the mirror.

When there's no one else there,

I let myself grieve, until it's time

to face the world again.

I put myself back into place,

piecing parts together, shoving

memories into hiding spots.

Sometimes, they still leak

through little cracks,

like gaps in teeth,

I have forgotten to close off,

or struggle to even seal.

My body feels broken.

But I'm ridiculous

because after everything, I keep moving.

It's what I know.

I'm strong; I keep moving,

even if each step 

scrapes my feet

and each fall

bruises my knees.

I remind myself,

with gentle force,

my brain and my body

will never be broken.

(12/2023)

Colwick woods

That’s our bench.

The one looking out

over the city,

or somewhere.

I’m not the greatest with geography -

but I know the landscape’s pretty,

and green and gentle.

I used to search for places like this

to sit and be quiet.

To try to feel 

something

new.

Now we’re here together,

I’d rather always

sit with you.

One person and it feels

like the company of

one hundred.

This will be the warmest winter -

we can sit out here

in rain, in frost, in snow

and the air will taste sweet;

I will feel something new.

(10/2023)

I wish I could drown you without drowning myself

You grabbed my skin,

trying to enter

a home that is not yours

and your ears went

deaf

when I said 

no.

Angry that I'd resisted,

you battered my body

like a toddler,

in a rage,

careless,

with his toy.

You lit fires

everywhere you went,

hoping to burn me -

branding your name on me.

And that pain,

radiating through me, 

it was a pain worse than 

anything I could ever have

done to myself.

And I know 

you were still hoping

I'd give up

and let you consume me,

like the wolf you wish you were.

When I thought

it might finally be over,

you injected poison

into my veins. 

But my blood, strong, 

pushed you deep 

into my brain;

the only place you could go – 

because you will not have

my heart.

In my mind is where you hide,

somewhere hidden, 

somewhere I can’t find – 

waking up as I fall asleep,

waking up when I let someone in,

waking up and reminding me

of your presence.

Of your power.

You are a little leech

but I can’t kill

you without me.

We are together

in this parasitic 

collaboration.

You’re a chameleon

and I see your face

on many men I meet.

Ruining all that could have been.

Why do you still scare me?

You’re an infiltrator,

destroying my peace;

and you pretend 

you are a part of,

but will never be,

nor have,

me.

(09/2023)

Dizzy

I'm under a spell -

of what?

I'll let you guess.

When you held me

for the first time I

was hypnotised;

my head still spins

when we kiss.

Many things make me breathless

and you are the best thing -

but too much and

I'm nauseous;

I won't let myself be

sick.

So let's spin -

we can take it in turns -

spin together,

spin apart,

spinning, spinning, spinning, spinning

(09/2023)

Alien

Everything feels wrong,

in this stoic sea of faces

I struggle to wade through,

searching my hidden cave.

And I can’t breathe.

I feel wrong.

Like I’m not where

I am meant to be.

My crash landing

left me hurt.

They made me feel wrong.

I try to find where I belong

but it never works.

They make me hurt.

I carry them with me – 

my backpack of voices,

a hoard of rocks, 

breaking my body.

I make myself hurt.

There is nowhere to hide – 

all this space and I can’t find

somewhere to hibernate

from myself.

I make everything wrong.

(09/2023)

Bruised

Skin like the flesh of fruit,

with a tissue paper texture,

painted by concrete, walls and razors.

Black, brown, red, clear, blue – 

some from me, some from you.

Marks that will fade

and stains that won’t;

there’s always this

heaviness

that never dissolves.

And it’s to myself

that I always lie – 

it doesn’t hurt anymore.

I’ve learnt how to hide.

(08/2023)

My love is mute

and trapped inside flesh,

freezing, thawing,

fizzing in my stomach.

It’s stubborn,

nesting

between my lungs

and larynx.

It argues like an essay,

hiding in my cheeks

flushing my face.

It casts fog

over the words

that hide behind my teeth

bound to cause friction

were I to push them out.

(12/2022)