Feeding the Ghosts

Feeding the Ghosts

Dear my demons,

it’s me again

just a quick note

as since we last spoke

I’ve done some more thinking

and I’ve come to see

that the one blocking

the door to your exit

is me.

See, I’ve left it wide open

but inside my head

is a maze

that I built

in the hope

to avoid your gazes

but instead

of keeping me safe

we’re both lost in here too,

stubbornly refusing to move.

And I’ve learnt

that you won’t go

if you’re asked,

I’ve tried being polite,

I’ve tried casting spells

or blasting you with a couple of good days

till I’m screaming at you to fuck off

and it’s me that’s got the headache.

Because I’m screaming at me,

your presence is me,

you come from me,

you’re the parts of me

I’ve decided are too painful

to be part of me

because I don’t want you

in here [mind] feeding this [heart].

But whilst you’re still my enemy

we’re all starving of something

so maybe it’s time I listened

to what you’ve got to say

and do something less predictable

and ask you to stay.

I’m not saying we’ll be friends here

this just isn’t worth the fight

and I might as well

get to know you

if you’re planning on popping in

through every hard time in my life.

And you’re pretty fucking persistent at that,

and maybe that’s something important,

like how I don’t give you enough credit

for still dropping by

and coming to see me

when no matter how hard you try

to pass a message onto me

all I do is my best

to ignore you,

I mean,

that’s a pretty shit job.

Look, I don’t think

I’ll get this right first time,

I’m still trying to come to terms

with the fact that you’re mine

and it’s pretty hard to face you

when all I’ve done is wanted you gone,

but in the spirit

of trying to love

every part of myself,

whilst I grab us a slice of cake

do you mind putting the kettle on?

Lexeme to Liberty

Lexeme to Liberty

The distant glow of landing lights

has always meant safety

for sneaky bedtime reading

and from terrifying bedtime monsters

turning playful dreams into crime scenes

before I had learnt enough words.

A book in my hand

titles ‘Do Not Disturb’:

I am too busy

escaping my reality

with my runaway imagination

to shape a sentence with sonancy,

learning new words

to replace those that brand me

in my attempt to make something fiction.

For every time

my words have been stripped from me

and I have forgotten

the way my tongue and teeth and lips

make a sound,

I will write them back

then I will speak them back

then watch me take them back

and knock. you. down.

The Value of a Heart

The Value of a Heart

Whoever said

‘love doesn’t cost a thing’

was lying.

Sometimes it feels love costs everything

until there is nothing

left to give.

Then is it love at all?

The higher the buzz

the further

there is to fall.

[When I’m on my deathbed,

hopefully grey, frail and old,

I’ll tell them of us,

how we might have been

the greatest love story ever told.]