Today i found the note i wrote myself

 

‘Grabbed my leg and hurt me’
Item one listed in notes so that
my memory could let go of it, and
leak the pain into the ends of my fingertips.
And i’d wonder’d why the tips of me
were etched with betrayal at the
cost of your nails, digging flesh that
only loved you.

‘Pushed me to have sex although i was in pain’
I hadn’t expected to suffer through that,
again, i hadn’t expected the boy obsessed with consent
to push and whine and beg before he
casually repents. I didn’t expect that the stabbing
inside of my womb, would make you want to
fuck me so soon, what kind of dream am I,
whilst wanting to cry?

‘threw eve on the bed’
Now, this is where you led me to
the spot marked X, your final place of rest
because oh my fucking god did you push and test
the self loathing you pushed like a seed
into my chest. But my child?
That is when i would advise, that you
run, and hide. And covet your lies.

Run, and hide.

 

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Miss me, can’t kiss me.

Do you miss me
when the screen is shut off and
the blue light, fizzing electric,
no longer illuminates your false bravado?
When the articles don’t get as much traffic,
when the politics are miles away, do you pray?
If all that is left between yourself,
and a mirror too painful to look into
is the desperate, clinging pretence that
you’re a ‘good guy’. Even though that ledge
is sliced thin enough to eat into
the flesh of your fingers. Do you imagine
the tears I’ve given the earth in your name
and swell with pride at your achievements,
gold star for making who you are
a misery. Would you apologise, given the chance,
or dig deeper into the clay pit designed
with me in mind: and slick wet edges.
Does your violet hue’d ego prefer
‘sorry’ or ‘it wasn’t me’ ? Do you
twist it till it tears paper thin:
the self pitying flame
that was we.

Out Of Love With The Moon

I don’t feel alive at night anymore.
The dark pulls at the roots of me like
i’m crisp brown and flaking, from baking
too long in the light. And I’ve
fallen out of love with the moon,
now he glares at me, festering with defiance
of anything we might have had.
I ask the stars if they remember
the names i gave them, but they
leave my ‘hello’ echoing
beneath a blanket of clouds;
sodden, and bursting at the seams
to rain on me.

I hope your bed is cold
and your feet can’t get warm. I hope
you seethe with regret. I hope you don’t
forget what you did , a thousand pin pricks,
a gas lit stove left on while you were away.
Maybe I’ll be okay and maybe the way
I sleep will one day learn to keep
away from waking up in tears:
fears confirmed. But still,
I burn.

I lost myself
in a boy with hair to nestle stars in.
Eyes that promise the moon far too soon.
I let him in to my bed, head, heart
let him meet my extra half: my lovely bear
and god, did he swear to always be there.
Didn’t realise until too late,
he didn’t say where.

You had the choice, darling one,
and you made it.
In line with character:
selfish, and I hate it.
As though the repetitive
chances weren’t enough
as though, you took my plea to be
an inconsequential bluff.

As though i’m not enough.

Excellent women.
Torn apart from behind
by the spine, by
less than adequate men who
swore they loved us with fists
full of our hair, our wrists
held tight ‘because I care’
told to share. Told to be good
and quiet and never walk too close
to the riots and wait patiently
no matter how long it takes.
His apology will come
no matter how it aches. Guaranteed;
again and again, promises?
Break.