Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Recovery

Some days,

I think I’ve recovered,

and then I remember,

the first time I thought I had,

and I miss my naivety,

so much,

that I drown myself,

in the knowledge that I will always be struggling for air.

I have a little girl,

but not in the way you think.

She’s so optimistic,

sticking around,

hoping for recovery that can never reach her.

People don’t get it.

I don’t want to spend my life,

with the word “oh” before my name,

as people who can’t understand,

rub my shoulders,

and tell me that it’s okay.

I don’t know how I want to spend my life.

I don’t know what “better” or “recovery” look like.

I don’t want their hands on my shoulders.

I don’t want pity in their voices.

I don’t want ghosts to still hold onto my little girl,

but,

nobody really gets what they want,

in the end.

Do they?

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Charlie

Charlie.
I need you.

You’re so into me,
under my skin,
so deep,
that I forget how to love you.

I just want you.
I tear myself apart,
when we’re apart.
Cut to ribbons,
wrecked,
when you arrive.
I am thrown to the thrill,
of craving,
chasing,
choosing you,
every single time.

Please choose me too.

Fuck everyone else.
I need you.
I’ve said it’s over,
every day,
since we met,
but you’ve never left my head,
even when I can’t feel you in my arms.
I’ve been tracing where you’ve been on my body,
wishing I could will you in.

I am crying.
I am sick.
I am yours.
I am yours.
There’s no room left in me,
for anything but you,
and I feel so claustrophobic.

I itch.
I scream.
I sob for you.
It’s too late,
for me to leave,
or love,
the way I remember that I did,
before you.

I adore you,
but I don’t love you.
I don’t even like you,
when I hide from daylight,
dressed in the pain of knowing you are gone.
Dressed in the shame of knowing you were here in the first place.

Again.
Again.
I am choosing you.
Please choose me too.
Let me go.
Let me go.

Charlie.
I need you.


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Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Blanket Boy

You look at me,
like you know where I’ve been,
but you don’t mind,
as long as I’m home and dry,
by the time you wake up.

It’s not like I wanted to be out so late,
but I find myself,
frequently,
fucking up,
facing up to not being who I thought I was,
who I could have been,
but,
you don’t mind,
as long as it’s your shoulders,
where I do my crying.

hug jennifer juan.jpeg

I write myself out of trouble,
while you sleep off my headaches,
under the glamour of the stars,
who know every single secret,
but swear they’ll be silent,
as they watch over us.

You look at me,
like you know what I am,
but you don’t mind,
because you’ve seen me cry,
you know I never planned to trick a man,
into taking my mistakes,
turning me from cautionary tale,
to a queen.

I just wanted to be loved,
and you just want to love me,
until I don’t cry no more.
Let’s forget who I was,
who I am.
Love me,
until I’m who I could be.


Enter The Poetry Competition here

Order “Kissing Boys, Just For The Thrill” here

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Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Murdered

I went back to the scene,

of the many times she was murdered,

canvassing Camden Town,

to find her at 18,

at 21,

at 26.

I was too late.

road-man-lights-legs.jpg

Murdered,

by the man who told her he knew best,

choked to death,

by the flimsy fabric,

of the dress he insisted she wear,

and the false hopes,

shoved down her throat,

until she stopped breathing.

pexels-photo.jpg

Murdered,

by the billion year old boy,

her corpse,

creeping into his room,

at his mother’s house,

hiding away with the beard dye,

and the other girls he broke on his travels.

police-fog-seaside-38442.jpeg

Murdered,

on her search for who she was,

on a night of nostalgia,

where nothing was the same,

but she closed her eyes,

and pretended anyway.

pexels-photo-793436.jpeg

That’s when I snuck up,

more gentle than the last,

and kissed,

with chloroform and kindness,

the girl they murdered,

finally at rest,

with the woman she became.


Enter The Monthly Poetry Competition here

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