I don’t no I don’t no I don’t no I don’t want anybody else

When the phone was enough, I took your calls at the office, on the bus, when I climbed the stairs a la Year 4 gym sessions trying to rigging rope climb, closer than Ally, faster than John, who I had a crush on the month before I left, before I knew what crushes were, what love is. I wanted to talk to him more than another person, about nothing, and I was 11. And this meant something, so Charlotte dated him.

I wasn’t astute at first, knowing when a person liked me. And I don’t know when you did, from, until, or I, you, but I log the little increments like it’s important: the first day at the edge of the Travel Section or the moment you said who you lived with.

When phones were enough, we had each other’s numbers and said, “Phone whenever you want to,” like we were family, eventually, at the craziest time to try that. But that’s what it felt like, feels like, and although my school, that first school, where we faced front for the bloodied crucifix, morning and afternoon prayer, said, “Change how you feel so you’re better,” I don’t think that’s a thing, is it? And really, like, listen when your feelings say something, or what’s the fucking point?

A few years back I found John on Facebook, but that was a pointless add, a “Remember me?” 3 message breakdown. But of course you don’t, he doesn’t. I’m mousey. Which has advantages. I eke myself out of it, trying to find that buried layer of what I am, like a pudding penny breaking teeth on its way out; not a prize at all. Screen Shot 2014-04-08 at 21.14.11


I read books until my 18th birthday. After that, the “have to”-ness, made the process attractive as anchovy pizza.

There are opinions. Trustable ones, solid like second hand furniture checked for furrowing woodworm. And the ideal is ingrained like Corinthians and the Fresh Prince theme or the yellow M. Mouthwatering down to each tooth root.

I undercut myself completely from 12 and the damage is not reversible. But ours is, which is a fuck-up luck advent calendar second life shot jumble. Rare as Impossible Princess.

No matter what happens, there’s no banter like it. And that’s a compartmentalised important sort of novel detail that mattered pre-diagnosis, before any off-switch, was theatre director fact. She said, “Is he coming? Can he see it? Will it be a bit fucking weird?”

And I can’t change all opinions, of the part I family play to each of my well-worn peoples. But updating operating systems is time-wise lengthy, and maybe we won’t blame others for changing our minds on this one, for how were they to know? How were we?

Screen Shot 2014-04-04 at 01.35.58

-ity Fair (NaPoWriMo #28)

Jack says that you’re weird not because you’re weird but because his undecorated flat is a forgotten empire and his family were company-erased before he got here and his last mirror rusted then mould and he couldn’t bleach it or scrape so put it in the shed and when he over-hears you message leaving he recognises a trait, his or Jones’, which is what he calls the people he knew, that he forgets or was made to, that swim between Tom Hanks films, red velvet cake and Jupiter at 4.55am when no-one’s asleep, not even next door, when the Night Nurse lull lurches like vertical drop rollercoasters or falling from a tree accidentally or when Brad left Jen for Angelina Jolie and every year since the untrue article about them getting back, un-divorcing, is a promise, is your mantra, is a prayer, and you give up god, but not that.



Proverbs 9:9 (NaPoWriMo #27)

Does every man instruct you? Press hard to gauge the fibre count?
Offer re-stitch
and spin dry?
If George, Jerry, Jim
chinese burned
spat, hot-iron flat-
tened you
would you stress yes
or rehearse staple comebacks
to fly sockets?
Would you rule out
meander mulch
every article offal
Escher enzyme insides out
melon scoop
or Botox bleed under?

without you

Secure Line (NaPoWriMo #23)

Date with glass screen unlike hip dip stretch mark toe thickness stagnate since and 18 years rug burn underarm detergent stains on dark tops trousers.

Biology no tell second skin cocoon shed sick coming come and 18 years bus route apply I apply rejections read acceptances similar same words in.

I am a smuge-cicle smudge circle the telephone terrorist and 18 the even people in call centre question intentions when usual they ring ring ring.

secure line

Can’t Always Get What You Thousand (NaPoWriMo #19)

Wife is like no
don’t wanna go tonight now
though party planned it.
President like
can’t always get what you
want, dear
get what you always.

Tonight is like
daytime TV
since mistress cut
your phone from ring.
Wife Jeremy Kyle
wax ears, ear buds
tissue stuff drum damage
least of problems.

Once, you’d join
something for you
learn to take care of the pocket gap
where liver used to be.
But tonight wife
is right
tonight wife says no
but you go, anyway
because she cottage cheese
sell-by date 2006
astrology predictions
Matt LeBlanc beg
holding all the vibrators

We’re Moving On (NaPoWriMo #15)

It precipitates

he TV declares it’s over via foreign policy, kissing wife and off-camera looking

He’s impossible

to get over on six TVs playing simultaneously in your bedroom/office/house

You scrapbook

the tour bus start and the White House end and restaurant cleared security

Battery-less remote

moving on

Why I Fired You (NaPoWriMo #13)

No list of tardy slips
toilet trysts
CCTV alerts
locker swaps
sick texts
staff night out
faux pas.

Didn’t shop floor skive
slag managers off
short customer change
steal stock
sleep out back
take trash
leave early
unapproved holiday
aid robbery.

Just, every sense word
thick lip spoken
when I could see tongue
was my downfall, pitfall, penance
defined my Father’s purgatory
Minister’s limbo
siphoned my blood
and sieved all the gold bits out.

Now, oxygen deprived
iron low and over.