prayer.

for you I wish

the feeling of soft cotton against your cheek

the quiet warmth moments before you go to sleep.

 

for you I wish

the gentlest kind of oblivion

I hope you can forget everything

I know that’s what you need.

 

for you I wish

the lazy progress of the clouds

the harmony of birdsong

and the rustle of the trees.

 

anything you need.

please tear my bloody organs out of me.

 

I will concede

in years past with you

I never knew

how to be

 

and I’m sorry

so sorry

for that.

 

for you I wish

the galaxy.

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baby don’t leave me in november

baby don’t leave me in november 
when my bones are growing soft, skin like polyester
i know that it’s selfish

i tried to let you know i was here for you
but i think you liked it better when i wasn’t
(you’ve got to go ‘way, but baby it’s cold outside)

and i don’t want those candlelight years
to start before i’m twenty
and you’re not answering your emails

and i’m sorry i can’t be there to hide your pills
and i’m sorry i can’t help that i’m miles away
and i’m sorry, and i’m sorry, and i’m sorry.

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hysteria

This is an entry for the FEMFLASH 2013 writing competition from Mookychick Online. Enter now.

YOU WANT TO KEEP THINGS CIVILISED & ANTISEPTIC
YOU WANT TO KEEP YOUR HANDS CLEAN
DETACHED, PRECISE, CLINICAL & ORDERLY
A POLITICS LIKE A PRODUCTION LINE
A TOURNIQUET THAT SUFFOCATES THE WOUND

YOU WANT TO KEEP THINGS STIFF & DEAD
AN IDEA PRESERVED IN A GLASS CASE
UNMOVING, UNTOUCHED
YOU ASK FOR CHARTS & DIAGRAMS
BUT FLINCH FROM THE EVIDENCE WE GIVE YOU
IN OUR TEARS, OUR ANGER, OUR SHAKING HANDS

YOU DON’T WANT TO HEAR OUR STORIES
KNOW OUR TRUTHS, LEARN YOUR DAMAGE
YOU BLEACH THEM FROM THE DISCOURSE
BLEACH MY SISTERS’ HISTORY
AND BLEACH MY SISTERS’ SKIN

YOU WANT TO KEEP US SLENDER & BARELY-THERE
EACH BODY A SINGLE WHITE ANEMONE
AND YOU, THE CUTWORMS, FEED SO HELPLESSLY
YOU MAKE US STAMP EACH OTHER OUT
FOR A BREATH OF AIR
AND YOU TAKE EVERYTHING BUT RESPONSIBIILITY

YOU WANT TO KEEP THINGS CIVILISED
YOU WANT TO KEEP THINGS
YOU WANT TO KEEP US
YOU WANT

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to our dear oppressors

trigger warning: gore/violence

This is an entry for the FEMFLASH 2013 writing competition from Mookychick Online. Enter now.

the best part is you know you deserve it.

the ones you tortured glide in and out of your present:
those shadowy, taunting ghosts
who know just what you did.

maybe you wronged us, or dream of wronging us. you can’t tell
if you are fascinated or repelled by us, and that is why
you try so hard to ignore us.

we are the vampires and the succubi
and the sirens and the mermaids. we are your hell.
we are here to castrate you.

we are here, plunging our fists
into each and every one of your gaping chests, ripping out
that bloody, pulsating organ.

we sink our teeth in as we once did
to that sweet forbidden fruit, sucking the juices from our fingers.
you may only watch and whimper.

what was once a murmur carrying on a breeze
has risen to the pitch of a banshee’s tormented scream
and whose death, do you think, could it mean?

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sorry

back then,
i mistook the happiness you brought me
for the kind that could be obtained
from a sunny morning,
a strong espresso,
the smell of freshly baked bread.

back then,
i was happy a lot.

back then,
i was scared a lot.

you would call it collateral damage:
the scars and stained teeth,
the unpaid bills and unanswered calls,
the empty bottles on the window sill.

i would call it art:
evidence of a life well-lived.

the thing about me is my heart is made of diamond.

the thing about me is that when you touch me,
you’re touching an idea of me.

the thing about me is i’m only here for the story.
that flutter of your eyelids—i’m writing it.
that curve of your spine, that old way you laugh.

otherwise you know i’d do better.

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past lives

Stay alive for lip gloss
Bubblegum and peach schnapps
Lemonade picnics and pocket money
Tell everyone your secrets
Dye your hair
Sleep with someone in a band
Read Cosmo not Kerouac
Scream and slam your bedroom door
Smirnoff Ice and stolen lipstick
McDonald’s on a Friday night
Holding hands with your best friend
Choking on a cigarette

Black nail polish
Maybelline dreams
Learn kissing from the movies
Tears and music that
Rolls like thunder
Glitter hormones and
Rage in shimmering tangerine

Young love murder
Is the heel of a black stiletto
Piercing your chest

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quilting

That was the sound of the sea sending you to sleep.
That was the day you shared a bag of chips with your friends,
Sucking salt off your fingertips.
That was the great gulps of icy wind.
That was the fabric into which you were sewn.
That was the burn of hot tea on your tongue.
That was the fuzz of radio on winter mornings.
That was the fiddle music drifting down school corridors.
That was years.
A warm shoulder to nestle into.
A hand squeezing yours.
You unpick the threads of self from your geography
And you fray, uncertain.
Tell yourself the stars above
Will always be the same.

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