Up

White perfect skin,
Glowing in the darkness,
I’m paralysed,
Illuminating.
Half wanting to bury myself,
Half wanting to flee.

A hot white beauty,
Muscles under flesh,
Tensing like temples,
Hands uncontrollably reaching,
Towel dropped,
Heart dropped,
Pride dropped.

Growling groins.
Painful exhaustive flashing,
Rolling along floorboards that creak with
Your elegant weight.
Vivacious hands,
That I need,
I want
I love,

But then,
Stop.
Panic.
Towel up,
Chin up,
Knickers up.
You.
Again,
Back up,
Those creaking stairs,
To her.

The only one he’ll see

You said you felt trapped.
If I could take it all away from you I would.

Don’t ever feel trapped.
You’re far too beautiful and brilliant to be stuck by words, pride, guilt and fear.
You only have one shot at this life.
If you find the courage for great change, if you really want it, I will be there to help and support you. Whenever you need it.
And even though it’s terrifying and it will feel fucking endless, eventually, all of the storms will calm.
The people who bitch and hate and force their opinions, will move on because everything has to in the end. Nothing stays the same.
Don’t turn your life into a miserable martyrdom.
You deserve true, long-lasting happiness.
It won’t be easy, but it’ll be all the more wonderful because of it.

Whatever you decide to do.

I love you lots.
But you know that.
That won’t change.

You know how hard it is to try and stop a feeling.

Crimson

Bloodied nostrils

Split in two sections of hard –boiled hands

And twisted cold nails

Sighing lungs

Aching groins

Thundering fists of lightning

Smoky winds

Sandy air

All of this

Crimson

Venison

Weeping

Slowly and softly on your sheets.

A Fool Bruised

 

 

Keep those legs shut.

She’d take my knees in each hand and clamp my legs shut like an un-hinged gate. She’d look at me in the eye.

I was 6.

I would always remember her eyes, cold blue, filled with water; they were a beautiful cold blue, like icy morning skies and tiny tropical bird feathers, a sensitive aching kind of blue.

It was as if in that moment, the slapping of my spindly legs together and her frosty stare, she had cast a spell on me. A flowery incensed spell of female empowerment and sexual drought.

Keep those legs shut.

So I did.

They stayed shut. So shut that I began to feel like a princess in a tower. Release me, my dear knight. Take your tongue into those dark forests and rescue my humanity. Tortured fruit.

My Aunt was Irish. She’d seen the consequences of having too much fun on a Catholic bed. An unhappy, unwanted marriage to a man who had just happened to catch you at your drunkest. You didn’t even fancy him that much but his rogue hands felt so good running across milky thighs. Maybe you did love him?

Only to be awoken in the morning, bruised, sticky, filled with shame and a tiny immaculate conception in your slaggy belly.

She didn’t want that for me.

I didn’t want that for myself.

But the damage was done, legs stay shut, heart stays shut, people stay out. An old grumpy giant behind a wall of fauna. You must have been something special to have scaled that gate.

Tell me

 

Tell me I’m a good person

Tell me that I’m wanted

You set me up slowly

Placing me higher

As if I could fall any lower

As if I can I can tell myself that it’s getting easier

There ‘s too many women

 

There’s too many women that are cursed by love

The brilliance of light and the great wallow of shadow, lurch across them daily.

A strong heart and an unbalanced whisper shuts out all reality

What will ever become of these great tales that cling to breasts and fade to history?

 

These poor bones that have crumbled to dust, will never be whole again,

Not even if all of life continued for eternity.

You look at girls and you can see the fall in their eyes,

We are never strong enough,

We are never cold enough to shut out all breath.

I often stare into the mirror and try to tear out the awe that I feel for you.

But I can’t,

I can’t bare to even wonder how grey my day would be without you.

 

Without your thought,

I no longer have the cotton wool cover, the safety net, the ratty leash.

Holding back and guiding through,

Everything,

All times.

 

 

All dedicated and fought true,

For the prospect of you.

 

 

The Monsters

 

Bad drugs,

Stupid little blue pills called monsters.

Drug addled sweaty face, but my god you are irresistible.

You walked me to the shop,

You told me I was your best friend.

We picked up fags and huffed them on our way back to your house.

The party.

Then your girl went to bed.

She’s looking old.

You are too, but with a magnificence that makes my eyes weak.

Four of us left, you grab the duvet and we hold hands underneath it.

Clammy, filled with blurred eyes and swinging jaws.

I feel my love for you burn in my chest as we clasp together in secret.

God I just want to kiss you, and fold into you, and caress every bit of your skin.

You peel my dress back and place your hand over my groin.

Digging between the band of my tights.

I lurch upwards to meet your fingers and we claps together once the rest are asleep.

I have to go to bed

You say it with a sigh and I cling on to your sticky body for one last wonderful time.

Again that terrible hymn rings through my skull,

I wish it didn’t have to be like this.

If only you were mine.

You kiss me on the forehead and leave the room.

Back up to her.

As you always do.

One monster dying inside me, another,

Growing wildly from an all too familiar ache.

Sunday Morning

I have loved you so deeply,

A deep that envelopes my chest and hums in open lungs.

To be alone forever with your memory is the comfort,

That, even if I can’t have you, I do still have you, alive in me.

 

In peace and silence I feel an inner ache of love,

I want to have you and hold you, but I want to let you shine,

You are not mine and you are the more beautiful for it.

Great waves of love are sent to you, always.

Great thoughts are farmed for you always.

It’s devastating but great loves do not travel along golden paths.

And you are always there

Just always too far from my reach.

 

Great Love Letters Aren’t Enough

Dear Abelard

 

You never write back to me,

While I sit here in my nunnery,

All blooms and chains,

Sending sonnets via lost trains.

Separated our we,

By our lie and indecency,

The least you could do,

Is alight in plea.

By pen or bird or smoke in the air,

I whittle away hours, thinking of you there.

Next to me as I weep and wonder,

What will become of me and all of my thunder?

Body and soul given up for our dream,

And now that thing isn’t what it seemed,

All is lost and all is gained,

In the swirl of your wrist,

In squid ink strained,

Silence and silence,

Stiff and ill,

Deafening my ears and mind until,

The shriek at the door,

Old desire, gone before,

Clutching my bed sheets,

I cry for you,

The roll of dew,

In time,

Till it I bid it all,

Adieu.

 

Heloise

Eponine

She took the bullet for him,

She swallowed her pride,

Their lie –

Which sat like wire in the stomach,

Was the only thing that kept

Her alone,

At night.

Cold feet on cold concrete,

No one would ever know,

How much,

She wanted him,

It would burn and rage through her,

And when times were black,

She pretended he was there.

She would find his face through the bottom of that

Great Green Gin bottle.

Blurred and Beautiful,

Just like how he was in her arms,

She would destroy herself to protect him.

Her wet hair sticking to his blackened feet.

She would tell him,

When all was lost,

She would finally,

Whisper,

How much he meant to her.

Only now, because before,

He had far too many things behind a closed door,

Confession too late,

Hell to soon,

All the great loves,

Are too beautiful and doomed.