new hair

can we can breathe now
with day-old cut grass tucked inside my socks
and stuck in my new hair
if you can remember how to breathe
i’ll wake up at 9.00 am to an empty house
where i learned to be hollow
loved becoming fake shallow
if you can breathe now
i’ll be a i-take-it-back drunk text
i’ll pretend to be full


seven weeks

i talk at people
and lonely people don’t talk back

i loved my laugh seven weeks before you made me laugh
and i was laughing at myself

that’s okay
there’s nothing much here anyway
no one’s missing anyone

6.00 am

i swallow fake medicine down with wine
and moments later i’m shouting from your rooftop
it’s love that makes me
sipping on champagne with your laugh around the edge of the glass
a plastic drink bottle in my backpack because i broke everything
but you woke me up in the morning,
‘did you make it?
‘did you survive?’
i swallow my good times back with flat wine
never enough, though

pretend people poetry

i used to have a green jumper
and a blue, pink, yellow …
i wish i could mourn the tasteless poetry i no longer get to read
no longer have the privilege to pretend to feel
or the wasting goodbyes i spit too frequently years too late
but i can’t step outside in my green jumper
because i’m covered in your gall to call me selfish,
ugly, worthless, i am covered in the low self-esteem gifted to me
i wish i could mourn the pretend people poetry
and the way medicine drowns its eyes in foggy late-night swims
it is more like carving a clay-like person inside this skin every day
because Greed for acceptance got me covered in hairline fractures