Little Miss

Why is it always Mister Men and Little Miss?
Why little?

You
misled me, made me little miss
misery. I was
misguided and
mistook my
misfortune for good luck.

I was
miserable, under your tyranny of poorly disguised
misogyny.

I
misread the signs, and had the
misfortune to
misunderstand your indifference for love countless times.

And yet, your biggest
mistake, was to
misunderestimate
me?

Little Miss?

Lasts

There are some lasts we don’t remember.
They pass us by in their seeming insignificance.

The last time your dad made your lunch.
The last time your mum read you a bedtime story.
The last time you were tucked in goodnight.
The last time you were picked up at the school gates.

But there are some lasts we’ll never forget.
That last exam before graduating.
The last time you spoke to your gran on the phone.
That last goodbye at the airport.
The last time you squeezed their hand and they squeezed it back.

I don’t know which lasts are more important. The ones that slip past us, unnoticed, or the ones etched into our memories forever.

But, if you had known at the time, that those insignificant lasts would never happen again, would you have behaved differently? Hugged them for longer? Held onto the moment for just a fraction more? Said thank you, and I love you?

Take care.

Water yourself. Like a plant. Give yourself sunshine. Breathe fresh air. Touch something green. Run. Don’t run. Walk when you cross the road. Treat yourself. Wear the nice clothes you were saving for a special occasion. Do a full face of make up and take it all off again. Hug your friends. Hug your family. Hug yourself. Embrace your soft spots. Physically and mentally. Wear that expensive perfume. Take a long bath. Light a candle. Write letters. Read good books. Binge watch crap telly. Eat your vegetables. Order that take-out. Get an early night. Stay up all night with your nearest and dearest. Laugh often. Cry when you need to. Lie in. Get up early and watch the sunrise. Paint your nails for no reason. Find new music. Listen to old songs that remind you of people and places you love. Dance badly. Dance naked. Dance often. Allow yourself space. Say yes more. Say no when you want to. Speak up. Listen carefully.

Breathe deeply.
and take care.

girls

do other girls think about it too?
this isn’t a game,
or a coming-of-age,
i think i’m in love with you.

it’s all consuming, this dizzying head rush
i think about most girls
and that i haven’t explored this world,
i just want to know how it feels, to feel your touch.

soft lips, freckles, soft skin,
twirling your fingers through your hair,
you act like you don’t care
that other people think it’s a sin.

i fantasize about you all the time,
and does it make it less true
that i haven’t yet kissed you,
would that make it less of a crime?

but we have kissed
a performative dance,
the lights dimmed, the room swayed, and i took my chance.
“it didn’t count, you were joking, you were pissed”.

and so it went on for years
a party trick, or a self-deprecating joke.
i’ll keep it a secret, all mirrors and smoke.
my heart already hers.

but from 13 i knew,
it wasn’t a strong jaw or strong arms
that could keep my heart,
but a colour the warmest of blues.

Badges.

Do you think you broke me first?
Do you not think I’ve been through this before?
At the hands of another man.
(If we can call him that)

Do you think you broke me the hardest?
Do you think this is the worst pain I’ve ever been put through?
No, I was 18 and three quarters.
Naïve heartbreak is always the worst,
the one you don’t see coming.

Do you think you cut the deepest?
Have you not seen my scars?
From those before you
who plunged the knife further than you’d ever go,
down to the bone.

Do you think you hold that badge for me?
First? Hardest? Deepest?
No.
There were others before.

And the worst thing about it? Is that you knew that already.
And you didn’t think to handle my heart more carefully?

Of course not.

But you were the one I expected more from.
That badge?
It’s always been yours.

black list

i could name you all,
you know?

i could write your names out right now
for the whole world to see
to shame
i could do it
you know?

so why don’t i?

why do i sit here carrying the shame of you,
and you
and you
and you?

you, who knew i’d said no, twice, and continued.

you, who knew what i’d seen, and that i should’ve gone to the police.

you, who gaslit me for years, taught me i was crazy, losing my mind.

you, who emotionally blackmailed me into thinking it was my fault for your wrong doings.

so why don’t i?

why don’t i make a list?
a black list.
of names.
to warn other women.
so maybe they don’t have to go through what i went through.

and the fact that i don’t?
does that make me complicit?
does it make me a coward?

or have i learnt that nobody will believe me either way?

because –
no, not him, he wouldn’t do that.
no, you’re lying.
no, you’re exaggerating.
no, that’s not what i heard.

i don’t make a list, because it puts me back in the firing line.
and it’ll be me that’s scrutinised.

well, what were you wearing?
were you drunk?
weren’t you just playing hard to get?
are you sure you saw what you did, because that’s pretty dark?
nobody would do that.
you’re lying.

but the list still exists.
in my head.
i know who you are.

and
in my head
you don’t get away with it
not anymore.

for us;

I’m okay, really, I promise.
I promised you I’d never do anything.
And I won’t.
I don’t break promises,
especially not to you.

I’ll keep going.
No matter how much it hurts.
No matter how much I cry,
and I go to bed feeling the weight of the world on my chest.
I’ll keep going.
I’ll stay.

For us.

Because I promised us a life together.
And I’ve learnt you don’t lie about that.
I don’t. And I didn’t.
I meant it.
It’s us now.

You won’t find a note.
You won’t have unanswered messages or concerned calls from my family.
You won’t find me in the bath.

Unless it’s a bubble bath that you’ve ran me.
And you’re sat on the floor next to me
(because it’s too hot for you)
and I’m stealing chips off your plate,
and you’re blowing bubbles in my face
and we’re both laughing at where they land.

I made you a promise.
And I love you.

That thing that I don’t talk about, but need to talk about, even though I won’t say what it was.

You know…

the night when…
that happened…

You know, the thing I don’t talk about?

When that thing that happened to me…
happened…

You know? The one with my old gym coach…

I don’t call it by it’s name.

That night when I was shaking and powerless…

That night, back in that phase of my life.

And you know it bothers me still…

because now I think he’s getting married to…

the girl he said he was over, the night that that happened.

The girl who was my best friend at the time.

I want to go up to her, ask her…

“If a woman says no

twice

and a man continues anyway…

what does that sound like to you?”

Okay, good. I’m glad we’re on the same page.