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poems for this 2019 (broken bones)

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Its passed down, the hole >>>> I used to play in a hole at the end of the garden, my hidden spot, the moss growing on the compost bin, the cracked glass of the dusty window on the shed lit with morning light. I would hide & spit worlds into stones with sticky baby fingers and primary coloured plastic blocks covered in specks of dirt, I would bury them deep in the ground with my secrets. 

— 

Buried deep in the snow were my secrets; buried deep down under piles of ice. I forgot that a place could be so white, so heaving with thickness. White ice piling like soft pillows reflects the spots in my eyes. I’m eating lukewarm bread and peeling eggs and everything is frozen around me. The whites of my eyes are reflected in these great puddles, like round white eggs fried on the ice. I’m trying to remember my insignificance, surrounded by tiny shards of cardboard picked apart by nervous fingers, here and here and here. Tonight I sleep restless in an attic room. 

—-

In Iceland, I felt so bad I wanted to die.

—-

Undulating 

___

Warm wriggle against skin, I dance inside you

Your rhythm moves with my breath

Grey, blue, white

The moon pulls you off of my skin

I haven’t got anything left

My lips fall apart like rainwater crushed against skin crashing with seafoam

My bones turn to sand underneath you

—-

 

Im not turned on by anything. flicking through the TV channels, the night is alive outside, dark and teeming with the kind of life that surfaces on the streets of london after 12pm on a Friday night. I got stoned and crashed out in the hotel room. The ceiling was painted with fake clouds underlit by that same blue hue emitted by a sleeping laptop, or rather the blue hue that keeps you from sleeing. Fuck, the clouds were so realistic. I ate a whole bag of jellybeans and fell asleep with the television on. I woke to a text from a girl on Tinder about sunshine but there were no windows and I felt like I had been pushed through a time capsule, my head was dense with sugar and nicotine. The maid kept knocking on the door and I just couldnt get off. I woke up again a few hours later to the tv blaring and emitting an orange hue.                                                                  >>>>>>>>

Sticky walls, water. Babyfish, swimming upstream, I Dont Give A Fuck About Your Art World

my head is full of cotton wool I self medicate to eradicate

——-

His hands are black, dirty fingernails and he shouts at me in the street and grabs my body and calls me a bitch. My tongue is heavy in my mouth heavy slippery stuck erupting sensation tingle reverberation across my back shoulders shockwave shaking muscles low key pain undulating belly rot heavy and expanding flutter dance black liquid seeping through my skin pushing against my sea wall. The belly undulates. The belly undulates

(give my another chance baby, Ill never hurt you baby)

———

I wanted you

To rip me in two

Like petals in the wind

I wanted to be carried on 

The waves

your body

Stretched over mine 

Until I disappear 

Into Dust

—–

My lungs expand with smoke rot, the belly carve, my name into the fleshy underside

Of a tree we planted in your memory

The soil packs around my bones heavy underneath damp skies 

—–

Relapse

I never thought I would be here again squealing for my morals 

skin stretched under

Yours like a horse corpse

Shed on the bathroom floor

My fucking body quaking

Under yours the bullet

Slung from sinking ships

Red lipstick kissed the rim

I dont trust the boy

Who breathes life in lips

Sun kissed the windowpane

Silver lips walled up

Shining curve of light

—–

The sky went grey before i had a chance to feel the water licking my body

—-

She is made from stone and gold-plated. Flies settle on your legs hairs sprout from roots. You are uprooted – deep –

breath – 

Waves lap and children scream as cold water shocks their diving bodies

Stationary boats rock to the beat of the ocean current

I dug down deep into the sand beneath me to find gold plated stones 

Flies circle my body waning

Sails flying a crisp breeze like biting into an apple

Bellyflop, 

I worked to the bone. 

Under the undergrowth, the piles of seaweed rot

Your muscles flex in milky waters, 

Give me something to believe in. 

_____

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