Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

The Things I See In The Dark

Watching you walk away,

I am stuck in place,

until you return.

I make plans,

of how I’ll tell you,

that it’s over,

knowing they are just fantasies,

preemptive proposals,

that came together too late,

because you have already gone,

and I am talking to myself,

talking myself down,

from going back to a version of you,

that only exists in my head.

It doesn’t even matter.

It is 7AM.

I have been up since 5.

You are so far away,

but I’m staring at the moments we were closest,

and it’s like you were a different person.

I make a wish for you,

as I strike up my last cigarette,

out of habit,

because every aspect of my life has you in it,

and I’m afraid of how much I’d destroy,

if I tried to cut you out.

I know you never believed,

in my cards and the psychics who broke my heart,

because you deluded yourself into thinking that love was enough,

and that good people find each other,

and never get lost again.

I’m holding onto a blue lighter,

like it’s my soul,

tighter and tighter,

as if it will become your hands,

and I can feel found again,

but now,

it’s too late,

and I’m just staring at the emerging day,

wondering if I can survive it.

I saw scarlet,

but I didn’t want to say too much,

in case my words came to life,

tearing at the walls of the house we built,

until it was nothing more,

than empty, impossible echoes,

things you said,

when you were confused by carnal desire,

and thought you were in love.

I only wanted to come undone.

I’d ask you to take me home,

but I joined my worries,

last night,

tearing it from the sky,

down to the ground,

so now,

all that remains,

is a floor,

filled with mistaken memories,

and it’s so cold.

You like the cold,

so I am frozen,

on the floor,

still hoping,

heart still,

hoping.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Newlyweds

Night falls,

and the hands of time,

are tornadoes,

ticking and trawling on.

Round and round,

reliving our frequent fights,

silently saying ‘Sorry’,

counting the things we have in common,

creeping around each other,

silent, sombre snakes,

nightmares in the daylight,

only dreaming when it gets dark.

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Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Pretty

She told me I was pretty.

I wasn’t sure if I should accept,

or apologise again,

for a mistake I didn’t know I’d made,

until she made it clear,

creeping into the tiny temple I’d built,

inside of my head,

where I learned to believe.

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She didn’t mean to invade,

it’s just one of those things,

because life is as fair as my raven hair,

and you were good for me,

until I saw that you weren’t.

She told me I was pretty,

that I’d find somebody new,

but after investing so much,

yet still ending up destitute,

I wasn’t sure I wanted her to be right.

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I wanted you,

still,

sorrowful and set ablaze,

placing the books I wrote for you,

back on the shelf,

and then in a new home,

the fireplace,

cursing the gift you said belonged to me,

for being regifted,

rescinded,

and,

FUCK

I still want you,

and maybe you want me too,

maybe I am so destitute,

that I am at peace with my destiny,

being locked away,

in a hidden folder on your phone,

so that she doesn’t know that you’re divorced,

totally over for her,

feeling things you never felt before.

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You keep me to yourself,

so that she won’t know that you never loved her,

or that I was your first and truest love,

so she won’t know that I’m so fucking different,

and that you said you loved me,

after you stared at death,

and realised I was the only one you lived for…

img_2264

I still want you,

still,

wondering if your words were ever true.

She told me I was pretty.

She didn’t even sound angry.

She sounded like there were lots like me.

She told me I was pretty.

Your wife called,

and she told me I was pretty.


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Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

In Which Jennifer Asserts Herself, For The Very First Time

If you ever get the urge to look me up,

to hook up,

to check up,

on what I’m up to,

don’t.

img_0995

I’ve spent so long,

trying to stand up,

to grow up to be the person I knew I had the power to be,

before I met you.

You’re not the worst person I’ve ever met,

sometimes,

I don’t even regret not telling you to fuck off,

when you asked me for my number.

Sometimes,

I look fondly,

on my time as your sexy midnight stranger,

but those times are small and insignificant,

and I avoid them,

so I don’t emulate them,

in my usual impressionable way.

img_0996

I’m trying,

through tired eyes,

to see myself as someone who was never cursed,

or corrupted by you,

because I’m tired of feeling like a fool,

for falling into the exact traps,

I was so sure I was too smart for,

and it’s easier to wear the image of a survivor,

if you aren’t lurking in the lobby of my heartbreak hotel,

waiting to check me out,

and fuck me up all over again.

img_0997

So,

don’t.

We know,

both you and I,

that you won’t listen,

but,

if you ever loved me,

or even liked me just a little,

don’t.

Don’t.

Don’t.


Read My Books

Hear My Music

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RECENT FREE CREATIVE WRITING COLLECTIONS
Virgin Vogue
Sad Girl’s Love Song
Drowning In Us

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Patreon

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