Oxymoron

I will be in just after twelve.
Today is not easy
Something is heavy
On me
And waiting
To leave
Need to be alone
Or healing cannot go through
Swallowed by
Someone unhealthy

Won’t be set free
Until
I help them
It’s happened before
It happens today

my mending heart reigns

over
Small shoes
On big feet
Playing pretend
soul drained through the sink
The ill one
In a suit
Gel
And fresh morning stains

You sick
Sick
Fuck
Of course
I will help
I’m just drained
Til after twelve

one of those

two’s days

where I look after both

and all is in reverse

yet into place

upgrades

integration

upgrades

i get triggered by laughter

I don’t recall

how it tastes

just after twelve

could find

my place

maybe

nought

maybe twice

a ‘yes’

 

 

gentle evolution or a nerd in the hands of the NHS

(this came out whilst my pain was a good 9/10  and my nurse was shoving crisps down her throat)

it’s real
it’s real
it’s an out of tune singalong
of a
joyous
brutal
first world drama
its petty
but I need to ruin this reality
with something stronger
realer
with rigid rules
and stamina
with sunshine
with potentiality
bliss
with the coming of the future
I will ruin now
this now is passing
this now is a tale
not worth telling
it’s so long gone
it’s almost already funny

ground is busy
shaking me off
ungrateful bitch
imagining all is up to a standard
of her own
uncompromising
shut the fuck up
your shit is not welcome
your mouth is about to be sliced off
get lost
get lost
without you
we are in awe of the emptiness
and crisp silence of the joy
of air
without you
there are no rules to obey
fuck you
disgrace

To hell with you and thy faith

untitled unedited hospital particle

this is not tragic
it’s full of life
on the inside

domestic
splendour
in the
pre-elections
NHS

room service
luxurious soup
5 teas a day
as many drugs
as wished for
come dine with me
Bukowski and Steinbeck
a bell for any of my needs

I couldn’t cry
for I am privileged
to breathe
and be assisted
by 4
gorgeous girls
each time
I pee

THE orange van man – a prequel

in the sticky sunshine
of our vibrant street
a cowboy
steps out of the gas
station.
dusty, yellow.
stations himself
where his vehicle emblem
should have been
oh he would have been
so mine
if  I could be seen
with a man

he sits comfortably
like a woman would be-
legs apart
ready
not waiting

flicks his lighter
a bit like a redneck fashion show
ridiculous
intriguing

obviously pretends
he likes sports
and downs beers
guiltily
on school nights

you could smell
the liquor with which
his skin was burned
after his first heartbreak
his strength was naive
and real

I fought my instinct to step out
of our one bed apartment
I could have stared uncomfortable
across him
until
something would
happen

I wasn’t shy to undress though
in the window frame
I love the potential attention

by the time he lost the cigarette
I had finished my guilty pleasure too
I watched him prepare
mindfully
for the drive ahead
as if his van was about to deliver
a secret weapon to mankind

my femininity was passive
today
as always
his masculinity
out to eat you all
alive
and you look prepared

THE PHOTO STORE

tiny seahorses
azure sky
one
with the horizon
thy end
is beyond

your death and smile
are easily
one
and the same
your photo is
seamless
your frame
of a macho

reflecting on emotion
and passion
sunk in
your muscle

your squinty eyes
Carry your princess
across the store
in between
your memories
and records

she gasps frequently
deeply fascinated
and comes to terms
with the end of her search

mid-ocean
the final embrace
is the first true touch
and her echo
your new skin

the depths of the sea
Adore you two
and welcome you
with a flush