fuck him;

you miss him sometimes but
he isn’t worth it. remember,

sometimes you missed him
when he was here too.

you know, I never cried over
the boy that broke my heart,

I think I was too surprised.

you have a room of ghosts and
a wardrobe of skeletons that
convince you that you’re scared
of the dark, until one night

you wake up and it’s 4am
and there’s a storm
outside the window, but your
heart is steady.

your heart is calm.


‘you’re late. again.’
I smile in acknowledgement of my
chemists worry, of the time he took
wondering when I was coming to
collect my medication this month.

‘you can’t starve your body like
this, what if something happened?’

we bonded over his mother and I
having the same name and now
he worries when I don’t come
on time (every month). ‘I’m really sorry’

people are always moving in or
out of my building, the stairs
rumble with the effort of keeping
this four storey building together,

like lovers that know they should
leave, this building attracts the
hopeless and the hopeful together.

‘I have feelings that are in your
direction’, I tell the boy with
blonde hair and kind eyes.

tomorrow maybe we will hold
hands and I’ll put my head in his
lap, or maybe we will stop this
journey before it gains any momentum.

the world is moving so fast,
and yet, I feel so small,

so insignificant.


it’s been a year darling,
what are you doing here?

he has kind eyes and a gait that
is unsure, uncertain but fills me
with a steady reassurance.

i am finished with feeling wounded,
it is time for the scars to heal and
the sun to shine bright on me

because i deserve it. i deserve a
love that is unfaltering, unwavering,
full of earnest and true intentions.

life is complicated, our hearts cannot
always conquer, our hearts cannot always
go on.

what did you expect darling, that i would
be waiting? it’s been a year now,
leave me be.

dear jacque; 28/09/2013

dear jacque,

i visited your mother today, walking down deptford high street with the wind and the rain. new cross smelt like it was on fire, and i remembered the way you drew your fears in burnt orange crayons.

it’s almost october and the air has turned blue with cold and the leaves are losing their golden edges as they fall to sludge. i met you in autumn on the swings in a park in south east london, you were waiting for your life to end before it had even started.

it’s been over a year since you left, and i’m still surprised.

i’m sorry that i can’t write any more, that i can’t sleep and i can’t even dream, when that’s all you have left. i’m sorry that you were invaded by the mutation that calls in the night and leaves you dying for breath in the daylight. i’m still so sorry that i could’t take away your pain like the moon calls away the tide. i’m full of so many apologies that my throat is swollen and i’m gasping, gasping for something.

i gave up telling stories to sick children when you died. i couldn’t take away the pain and the hurt; but most of all, i couldn’t deal with my failures. i could sing you all to sleep, but i couldn’t make sure you always woke up.

je me souviendrai toujours que vous aimez.




remember when we thought we were
going to conquer the stars? do you
remember, we were going to be stunning
but we couldn’t remember the journey

from mouth to plate, hand to feet.
we chose the way our elbows, knees and
hips felt under our clothes like a secret
over the strength it took to fight the world.

there was going to be a day that came, when
we wouldn’t care what heaven brought down upon
us because we believed, but there were demons
darker than night with hands around our throats.

before the cliffs crumbled and the oceans broke
all of the dams, we were going to bring down the
stars; we were going to bleed black and blue for
the right for our voices to be heard.

(remember when we thought we were going to
conquer the stars?)


What will have changed in the morning? You’ll be older, taller, stronger, but you’ll still be the same, it’ll still hurt that he touched you in places he shouldn’t have. it’ll still hurt that there was that one person you loved, left you when you needed them and you can’t even recall their face. but i’ll still love you he whispers. stating it proudly as if i can’t remember the feel of his fingerprints against my eyelids and back of my knees. 

my hair shall be longer, the date will have changed and the sun, moon and stars will rise and fall. but otherwise, nothing will have changed. nothing. and that is fine, everything is just fine. 

21-06-13; iv.

i could dream, but i wouldn’t.

breathing against your shores
of ice and the howling of the rain
against my eyelashes.

i could scream against the silence,
i could beat my fists against an
ocean that would keep on drowning
as the world kept on spinning.

i could draw in the whims of the birds,
bees and angels of a neverland that
i’ve never visited. i could breathe, but
i would choke on the weightlessness.

i could die, soak my skin in the wishes
and lies, breaking in my skin like leather
shoes. but i wouldn’t, in case i left a scar
battering against the hearts of the world.

i could live, but instead i’ll move slowly on.