So I was late,

And couldn’t find the words

To let you know,

I wanted, so much,

That piece of you,

Cocktailed with me,

That could grow so big;

Too big for us two,

Yet too small

For just this one,


I waited days, and spent

Hours dedicated

To agonising over words,

And decisions

And a life, at the helm

Of my body, and of us.

Yet in the end

It didn’t matter,

For you, or for me,

I guess, as it sank,

Like a ship in the red sea,

Drowning seamen and superstitions,

Despite words unspoken,

And I cleaned up the mess

of what never was, and said

Goodbye to the water,

My daughter,

“I’ll miss you.”

We Cannot Escape Ourselves

Nice article on why we need to be less hard on ourselves!

Thought Catalog

I sometimes imagine that we all exist in two. If not, how then to explain those moments when we get angry with ourselves, blaming ourselves for all the things we have done and regretted? Who is the target of our hostility? Who receives all of it? For that matter, who is the aggressor? When the fight is happening in our heads, it can feel like a mirror broken in two taking up our whole body.

The truth is that there is no escape from this dynamic. We are usually the hardest on those who are closest to us, and how much closer can you get than living inside of you? This means that we usually punish and torture ourselves harder than we do other people, made worse by the fact that we know ourselves all too well.

We are stuck in our own bodies until death comes for us, and…

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You called me beautiful,
I believed you.
Despite the other lies,
Fallen,like snowflakes
From desolate skies.
I believed you.
With all your tactless charm,
I felt able to disarm
And allow those words
To settle, to blanket my
Girlish fears and lonesome tears.
I believed you.
Pity, as it felt so true.

peaks & plains

He painted the peaks
And plains of my face a dark purplish hue,
Yet he was The One
Who sat wounded,cradling his hand,
Little boy lost.
“Poor baby,” I scorned,
“Poor, poor you, fucking coward,
You fucking fool”.
Cowering, I spat blood and hatred,
Sat listening
To the ringing
And the beating,
To the crying,
To the lying,
Then made my excuses.
Fucking coward, fucking fool.


You climb into bed

Beside me, from the end

Of the graveyard shift.

Tired of protesting, I listen

To your mumbles descend into snores,

And trace your lines with my eyes,

Watching your nostrils flare.

“I just want…” I whisper,

Into the silence.

I don’t know what I want.

You sling your arm across my rounded

Belly, and I grip your wrist with both hands;

Afraid to let you go, I could rub the fur from you,

I could love every single part of you,

Broken and used,

But I know you don’t want me to.

Your breath weighs heavy

In the room, and I draw my knees

To my chest, pressing

My back against the cold blank wall,

The clean slate that morning offers

Us, day after day.


Submerged in salted water,

Drawn from the sea and from

The tears of the lonely night,

I cast an eye over my body,

Prodding my betraying breasts and stomach;

My shell.

My cage.

I drag a ragged nail across

My grainy thigh, reaping the dead,

Then I dig in all five claws,

Furious, no, desperate to shed

These disused cells collected over time

By a hoarder who has nothing but

Must show for something.