love & relationships

blog: going through changes

I’d been meaning to change my phone passcode for a while, and last week finally got around to it. I picked an easy code, but for a whole week I’ve been typing in my old one without thinking and it’s not until my phone buzzes at me that I realise that’s not my code anymore.

And every time I type the wrong passcode it slams home that NOTHING in my life is what it used to be, and will never be that way again. And while there was a lot of stuff in my life that needed to change, I’ve also lost a lot of reasons to wake up in the morning. I’ve lost my hopes and dreams for the future, and now I have to get new ones, but I don’t want to and I don’t know how.

At the moment I’m just trying to put one foot in front of the other. I’m not the first person whose marriage failed and I won’t be the last. But it really hurts to breathe right now. I wake up in my new room and wonder why my walls are purple instead of white. I wonder where the cats are and why they aren’t beside me. I feel like if I walk out of the room I’ll see my ex partner sitting on the couch or in the kitchen cooking. I often wake up thinking I should check what he wants to do that day or what he wants for dinner.

It’s like for a second my brain rejects my reality because it doesn’t seem like it should be real. For a second I’m all confused, I don’t understand how I got here, and life without him in it just seems wrong. I’m sure in time I will make this all make sense, but right now the dissonance is killing me.

poem: silent scream

I wish I could give birth
to this silent scream.

I wish I could erase the words
“I haven’t been feeling well”
From your vocabulary.

I wish you could feel
How my heart drops in my chest
When you say them.

How you can render a glorious day
Into a magnificent lie
With five simple words
And turn memory
Into ashes in my mouth.

I wish I could give birth
to this silent scream.
Wish I could explain why my smile
Is crooked
And why sometimes I feel like
Running away.

With you,
there’s no more good days any more
Just good moments
Snatched from the teeth of the
Demon inside that wants to
Ruin everything.

I wish I could give birth
to this silent scream.

What is real? (Excerpt from the Velveteen Rabbit)

“The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into anything else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it.

“What is REAL?” asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?”

“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”

“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.

“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”

“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”

“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

“I suppose you are real?” said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled.

“The Boy’s Uncle made me Real,” he said. “That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real you can’t become unreal again. It lasts for always.”


― Margery Williams Bianco, The Velveteen Rabbit

poem: running right back

– Spoken word piece performed at Re:Image in Nov 2013

We hit the ground running in
Another time another place
And it kills that I can’t trust in us
After all we’ve faced
I’m not saying what we’ve been through
Was inconsequential
But I’m haunted by the ghost of our
wasted potential

And now it’s like we’re on indefinite standby,
Sitting back watching my life flash
Before my eyes
And I know the lies you sold me
Before you got to know me
Are gonna leave me old & lonely
but I keep hanging on –

I’m tenacious
Cos I gotta be strong and believe
This ain’t just a going nowhere thing
That we can make it back to the
place where we
Had each other’s backs
where we were the best that we could be.

So I push through
Both of us trapped in this compromise
Living lives we never wanted
Feeding off each other’s pride
a tug of war for the heart and
Neither of us satisfied

And every day we lose a little more ground
And every day there’s less & less faith to be found
And I pray every day it will all work itself out
That I’ll find a way to clear away all the doubt

And just be,
The way it was at the start –
Just you and me
Ready to take on the world
Ready to see
What we were capable of
With just a spit and a polish
And a profession of love
Before we reached checkmate
Before we got tongue-tied
Before the third guest at our table arrived
Before we had to fight just to keep love alive
Before ambition was a dirty word.

And every day we lose a little more ground
And every day there’s less & less faith to be found
And I pray every day it will all work itself out
That I’ll find a way to clear away all the doub

So take me back to that place
Or I’m gonna lose you
Take me back to that place
And let’s see this through
Together, hand/in/hand, just you and me
Let’s strip it back
And see what’s left to see
Let’s strip it back to the you and me.
Let’s strip it back to the you and me.

poem: objects in the rear view mirror

– TW: domestic violence

Every step I take leads me further away from you
Without a word you call to me
I look back, surprised to see that once so tall,
You are now so small within my view

Someone must have greased your palm
Because I’m stumbling
Tumbling, tripping, struggling
Slowly slipping from your grasp
Unable to hold me
Unable to control me
You have no choice but to let me pass

There was a time when I hated you
There was a time when I hated myself
There was a time when every man wore your face
And echoes of your presence could be felt in every place
And I hated everyone around me
Even though they were only trying to help

So much anger inside me, so much rage
I threw my own pity party, and –
Though I sent out invitations by the dozens –
No one came.

I took a look around the place where I was at
And found nothing… nothing
But a few dusty party hats
And a half eaten ice cream cake
Melting… melting
I stood with my feet planted firmly on the path
There was no right or left; no up or down
Just Forward and Back…
And I knew I could not stay
So I picked up my feet,
And placed one in front of the other

Now I’m headed for a better day
Because every step I take
Leads me further away from you
And although you were once so tall,
You are now so very small
Disappearing from my view

poem: sleepy afternoon

Your words
Spill from your lips
Into the marshmallow softness
Of overstuffed mattresses
I slip…
Further away from you
Sinking into the ever-widening ellipses
of Blue dreaming
The feather-light fibulas of
Time and reason
Tickle the edges of my mind
I turn away –
Take a breath and catch the wave
Blanketed by oblivion’s fuzzy greyness
I let go, carried away by polytheistic tides
Knowing you’ll be there to catch me
On the other side.

poem: RZCW

I am finding it hard to understand
Why the universe would send
Something as good as you my way.
How unusual!
To want, and be able to have;
How exciting –
The places you could take me.
You hold me with careful grace,
A lesson in patient passion.
Your eyes tell stories of things to come,
Your hands trace promises on my skin
You gently wear away my defenses
Like the ocean, lapping at the shore.

poem: eviscerate

The pen is mightier than the sword
But not all have the power to use it –
Do I? After all the abusive shit you put me through,
You bet I do! Hey, if Taylor Swift can do it,
I can too – I’ll eviscerate you
Till there’s nothing left,
But a pile of regrets
And a handful of memories I just can’t quite shed
See that’s the thing, in killing you
I’m killing a part of me, but it’s worth it
To make the hurt and anger go away
To live to fight another day
To reduce you to rubble
There’s nothing left to say…
Eat my dust.

poem: artsexmagick

I want us to be naked
Pressed limb to limb
Until there’s no telling
Where I end
And you begin

I want you to guide a paint-
Brush in my hand
Standing nude before an
Empty Canvas
Waiting for us to create
A masterpiece, A catastrophe
Something, anything…

Afterwards we make love
Your body covering mine
Laying me down and ravishing me
On a bed of oil and sweat and paint flecks
You taste of salt and sex
Deliciously sharp on my tongue.

Poem: dorian grey’s portrait

How is it possible for me to hate
The one person I love the most?
How can I honestly say
That falling in love with you
Was a big mistake?
You’ve given me some of my best years
But also some of my worst…
I’m struggling to keep my head
Above the water
Yet I’m dying of thirst.
I’m using myself up
To help you reach your goals and dreams
And I’m wondering what happened
To the girl I used to be.
What happened to all my potential,
My spark, my pizzazz?
My charm and my sass?
The “kiss my ass” attitude I used to have?
I love you so much
But I’m losing my touch
And the question is tough…
At what point do I walk away?
At what point is Love
Not enough?

poem: urban triptych

1. Oxford Street

    We walked along in silence on that cold, grey morning…
    I stumbled, and thought no one would notice, but you did.
    Your arm went hesitantly around me,
    steadying me,
    without really touching me,
    Your voice composed of casual concern
    I noticed you
    For the first time.

    2. Sitting in the dark watching TV

    We sat in the dark watching TV
    Blaring violence in our
    Eerily lit up faces
    The bowl sat between us
    An oily chaperone
    Our hands reached for popcorn
    And found each other
    Unexpected connections
    Mumbled apologies
    Confused thoughts
    Later you stroked my arm
    A single, fluid motion
    One word… “Stay.”

    3. Launchpad

    A window of opportunity
    A chance nearly missed
    Before it has properly begun

    No time to discover you
    As you should be discovered…
    No time to touch you
    As you should be touched…

    I long for extension
    For truth and honesty behind the wordplay
    I lay my hand alongside your face
    You laugh and take it companionably
    Between your own cumbersome fingers

    You ask me out for drinks
    We talk into the night
    You begin to think you know me…

    … Tell me – what happens next?