I talk to God but
he responds with silence.
He said he couldn’t
And then he never responded.
Just keep praying,
Talking to an empty sky.
I talk to God but
Note: I am sorry if you think this topic shouldn’t be written about. I think you’re wrong. What I do think though, is that it should be (like everything else) written well, and I have failed to do that here.
I can smell it, but what is it you might ask?
It is the mere fact I am a woman
And maybe one day I’ll multiple.
Children to become me.
Suicide. Beautiful, red scratches.
A pool of tears to drown in.
Food to devour while voices
Remind me I’m fat again.
Finally, it is musty, blood smell.
It is the tiny egg cells who could have been.
If someone (anyone) had wanted them.
It’s a bad smell lingering and it’s tell-tale.
First floor flats are like cat flaps for riff raff.
You, my dear flatmate, are a
sea of middle class paranoia.
Should have worn a tighter dress
then, is be revealing myself less.
Please don’t ruin me by texting again.
But. Every night she goes to sleep
harbouring the desire to wake up to his text.
I shouldn’t believe him
because he’s lied before.
But today it hurts not to
Before my eggs went off,
I birthed a nation.
It’s sinking. It’s all slow drowning. A thought torrent. Whirlpool. I can’t stop.
Don’t. Disciple. It’s all within. Won’t.
It’ll all come out in the shower.
Waves come, deatroy.
I don’t think I’m okay.
But I do.
Before I’m pulled apart again.
And she won’t get found.
This is as me as me can be.
Of course I like him! But I screwed it up by trying to fuck his friend.
Blood bleeds through a clit in the sky,
Mother Nature bleeds herself dry.
I take a few steps forward…
and a fucking bus back.
Mechanical he can talk.
He rapes her I think.
Would be lovely if I could sit down without ending up with an Asian between my legs.
I cannot complain
Because I knew what you were
Before you bit me.
The tick list ticks me off.
at a gig
number 5 is here too
but he’s ignoring me.
it makes me glad i didn’t shag him.
how then would we have
managed the awkwardness.
the girl he is with
makes me feel uncomfortable.
i am no pretty girl,
and i can’t decide whether she is.
of course she’s better.
he’s here with her afterall.
i can’t work out if they are dating.
she’s sexy though, i’ll give her that.
she’s making out this generic rock band
is the most sensual thing she’s ever heard.
she’s scrunching her hair.
yeah. actually on second thoughts,
they might not be dating, but she’s gagging.
there’s a song playing
it’s the best they’ve played
and it makes sense to play it last
but if they had played it first
i think i would have enjoyed this more.
i wanted to write this because
i thought it would be fitting.
write something pathetic about being pathetic.
there is a man behind me
he isn’t aware that i can feel him.
just a random man,
but i am enjoying the physical contact.
it reminds me of him, of when we went
to a band he hated but there was that girl
who was probably definitely high
and he subtly stopped her hitting me in the face.
he won’t remember that.
i think it has been too long.
‘all the miserable girls,
all the sad young men’
fuck. for the hundreth time in my life,
i wish i had written that.
they say youth is the prime of your life.
which means that this gets worse.
yes, i miss you.
not number 5.
his ignoring me has hurt
but i never think of him at all.
he was fun and i was drunk.
what i mean is i miss
the boy who went to canada
and left me here.
the boy i tried to kiss.
the boy i still wish i’d kissed.
i would settle i think though
for the other boy,
the one that texts me, wants to fuck me
wants to make sure i am still his.
because despite everything
he was my best friend
and i can’t shake that.
i think i just want to be held
like a child.
because i believe i will find my home in a man.
“You thought of me-”
“Actually that’s funny,
I don’t really think
of you at all”.
I’ve been thinking how
a book has raped me.
It’s incessant and overbearing
And it just goes and goes and goes.
Until it is quite finished.
And in between that,
I’ve created an entire life
with the man who sits opposite.
He (thankfully) does not know.
And how Bruce Springsteen just gets me.
Or perhaps just how I want to think he gets me.
My vehmant want to write something,
anything, really, just something good.
Something to surpass me.
Oh, and not to forget the endless
thinking of food,fuck,
in between that I really have no time at all.
You bled me dry.
Shut in a strange camp.
An internal hell, I occupy.
My ecstasty was so enticing,
to you, a incandesent high.
A narrative so beguiling.
Oh creature who defys my cry.
Hear me now, I give up.
You’re no more than a pain in my chest,
And a regret, a full hate cup.
A emblem of all lost, expressed.
Leave me alone entirely!
She cried into the black universe,
her self-inflicted universe, these four walls.
Leave me alone again!
Your words are a reminder,
without them I barely think of you at all.
She cried out again.
But she wasn’t speaking of him anymore.
She was speaking at one,
to everyone, to no one at all.
Give her time. She’ll be kind to him.
She’ll return words. And she’ll regret it.