Tag Archives: love


After ten days apart will I still
will my heart leap into my throat
will my eyes search you for clues
as you glance up, as you would
to anyone. As we talk as you would
with anyone. As you notice details and
it doesn’t matter if you would
because ultimately, I wouldn’t
but I’m dying without the attention
I’m dying thinking of time she gets
and it’s that you’re just representative
of obsessions, success, shared pasts
and who were you at twenty-three?
Might you have fucked me then?
and I won’t regret a misstep
until June
when you are dead


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Filed under Personal


Can you believe I am not a monster
that the screaming admissions of guilt
that attention-seeking, blameless, hateful
are only the result of imbalance, of upbringing

And can you learn to love
the person I think I might be
that in moments of calm, I still am

And I know you love me
in my party dress
with my feet bleeding on the floor
with my wine in hand, I am such a mess
but I am the mess you fell for

And sadness and bruises aren’t cute
when you reach twenty-four
so give me nine years, just nine more years
and I can be whole, I can be yours


Filed under Poetry


It’s easy enough to say: what’s the point?
when I feel nothing in the interim

Between ecstasy and success, when I have ceased to exist outside of perfunctory actions, moving only to stay alive – but when I stop, and I do stop – I die. I sit mindlessly playing with hearts and wasting my own time. Not that it matters.

I don’t care about you beyond what you can do for me

My love:

Doubtless when we break, either through your sickness or through mine, you will find another love. She will be kind where I was harsh and soft where I am rough; and where I whipped you, she’ll nurse you back to health. It’ll hurt me and it’ll ruin my heart, but it’s true – she will get you up and running out of love.

Or I could always make myself softer

Stop asking what’s next, who else there is, where I can climb – just be, just be, who can we be –

I want nothing more than to stop carrying this
I want nothing more than to be a person

If you offered me success / or that / I know still what I would say
and, well, you know too
and that’s what tends to scare you

Look after yourself when I burn this house down
when I drown my heart just for anything
when I wear out all the clichés
and she – nameless, nice, soft, sweet
can pick you up, can cure the sickness
that I instilled inside you


Filed under Poetry, Writing


Don’t tell me it’s pathetic
as if I don’t already know it
that this staying up nights
fretting, enjoying, reading
all too much into all too little
is below me; I know it isn’t
It’s familiar, my desperation
is palpable, if a stranger
isn’t in love with me
then who am I; if I can’t
attach someone’s broken heart
to my undoing; am I alive

I want more than I am owed, again
I will sleep until he calls, again

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Filed under Poetry


Who am I to say what makes a family?
Who is anyone – and to tell me
that I just have to love you, to thank you
for blood, for drowning, for unhappy holidays
for days spent wishing I
were dead, alone, with friends

Blood is useless; blood is weak

Who can tell me that
laughter, car rides, charity
meals and wine and up-til-dawn
cannot make a family
that the love between myself and others
is not what ties them to me


Filed under Poetry


I hear some other girls have lovers who leave
who kiss them sweetly, who lie and deceive
I don’t have a lover, I’ve an entire family
one who fights, one who shouts for me
when I do not ask him to

I’ve a best friend who loves the way I think
who spends Christmas, vacations, weekends
talking to me, whose laughter echoes
as he tells me, again, that I deserve a friend
a mother and a father, but he knows he is all

I’ve a lover who is so much more
and in a hundred shows, in ten winters
for every screamed out evening
and every brutal hangover
he has stayed, he has loved, he has defended

I wouldn’t have it any other way
and knowing me, if anyone else knew me wholly
they would not be able to stay
as he has so completely


Filed under Poetry


I have apologised and I have
in some part attempted to vocalise
to would-be suitors, to friends, to you
the bond, how truly you are embedded
how every second has built and accumulated
to create this

I have had trouble accepting
that I could be loved
that I am good
and you are the first to love me

No-one has ever known me wholly

Every unwanted glance
and every city-lit evening
every beach afternoon
every Pacific Highway drive
every sweaty concert hall
every single family fight
only serves to reinforce what I know:

There is nothing more


Filed under Poetry