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.

You.

Your smile is a work of art.
But not one that I could hang above my fireplace.
No, one of incomprehensible beauty
that I could only admire from a distance
in some hipster gallery in Soho
and only dream of owning.

Your eyes hold constellations in their sparkles.
Though not ones that I could easily pick out of any night sky.
No, yours are from a whole different galaxy,
awe-inspiring yet untouchable,
ones that only exist for the privileges of NASA’s finest telescopes.

Your body is an ocean.
One so deep and enchanting,
that the idea of swimming in you is overwhelming.
For now, I will just paddle my toes in your warm, clear blue shores,
and allow your gentle waves to wash over me in indelible silence.

Your lips tell soft stories,
weave words out of thin air.
But not any that I could write down, or dare to repeat.
For their beauty is ephemeral, evanescent
in their nature
and my amateur tongue could not do them justice.

You are
all at once
magnificent and all-consuming.
Yet somehow,
still mine.

grown up.

I’ve watched my Dad being stretchered downstairs,
after hearing my Mum trying to resuscitate him on the bedroom floor.
Am I a grown up yet?

I’ve found the contents of my then boyfriend’s laptop,
which I later discovered,
when talking to the police,
would’ve landed him on a register for at least five years.
And I didn’t say a word for over a decade.
Am I a grown up yet?

I’ve scrubbed my sister’s blood from her bedroom carpet,
her bedsheets,
her clothes,
after driving an hour to take her to A&E.
Am I a grown up yet?

I travelled across continents trying to find escape,
but ended up being heartbroken at the hands of the one man I thought I could trust.
Am I a grown up yet?

I travelled back alone.
Never how it was supposed to be.
And had to pick myself up from zero.
I had nothing.
Am I a grown up yet?

I’ve had friends confess their suicide plans to me,
and have had to talk them out of it.
Am I a grown up yet?

I have a stable job,
yet feel completely replaceable.
No one would notice if I wasn’t there anymore.
Am I a grown up yet?

Every day I wonder how many days I have left with my loved ones.
I picture their deaths in vivid detail.

Is this what it means to be an adult?
Am I a grown up yet?

it’s her i love

I love the sounds of her voice over video call, when we’re both close to falling asleep on opposite ends of the line, but neither of us want to hang up just yet.

I loved that first day, when she got into my car at the train station, and I kissed her, and it was perfect.

I love making her laugh, an inappropriate joke or a silly face, the chorus of it echoing through my ears.

I love it when she says “I know how you feel” and “I understand”, and I know she means it.

I love the way she knows what I’m about to say, before I’ve even opened my mouth, just from the look on my face.

I love that in a room full of crowded people, our eyes will still find each other’s.

I love the way she holds my hand under the duvet as we’re falling asleep, like the way otters do.

I love the way her body feels pressed against mine. Skin on skin, and nose to nose; it feels like everything is falling into place.

I love the way she makes me feel safe; I forget about my worries, and the rest of the world fades away.

I love that she sees something in me worth fighting for, when I can’t see it myself.

I love her soft lips against mine; I could get lost in those kisses for days.

I love that when I feel like I’m falling apart, she shows me how to put my pieces back together again.

I love our story, how it all began, and all the adventures we’ve had, and are still yet to have.

I love that she calls me her future.

Because she’s mine.

It’s her who I love.

i’m trying

Your water is still by my bed,
your pajamas still under my pillow.
And that’s how I like it,
even though you’re gone for the moment, and it hurts,
I like the reminders you leave behind.

Which is why I am so sorry
to have ever put you through
the idea
of me not being here.

For the nights where I couldn’t see a way forward,
and I thought there was only one solution –
pills, a blade and a bath.
That was selfish of me.

Because although I still have your glass of water
and your pajamas,
and it pains me that you’re gone for now,
that’s just it – it’s just for now.

What would I have left you with?
A handful of badly written poems
some polaroids,
maybe that piece of paper with
“i love you”
scrawled on in lipstick from a drunken night out.

And that would’ve been it.
And I am so sorry that I was selfish to believe
that that would’ve been
enough for you.

But I promise you, I’m trying.
I’ll write you more poems.
I’ll be there with you under the covers,
and I won’t leave you
with a cold side of the bed.

I’m trying.

What if

What if one of us died,
And I never got the chance to tell you
I love you
Just one last time?

What if one of us died,
And the last thing we spoke about was
What we were having for dinner?

What if one of us died
And we never had the time
For one more hand hold?
Or one more hug?

What if one of us died
And I hadn’t told you how sorry I was
For every time I made you cry
And wasn’t there to hold you to make it all better?

What if one of us died,
And you didn’t know,
That sometimes you were my only reason for living?

What if one of us died,
Just peacefully in our sleep,
And the last thing the other would have to remember us by
Was the last good night text?

Well here’s my chance:
You’re it for me.
The end to all my endings,
My queen in shining vans.
I’m sorry for all the upset I’ve ever caused,
And I hope you can forgive me.
Because if we have forever together, I’m yours if you’ll have me?

What if one of us died tomorrow and our love story ended at 550 days?
Well it would never end there for me,
You are a piece of me now and I’d carry you, the way I’d hope you’d carry me,
Into our next little infinity.

Apologies that just aren’t coming

I’m sorry
I wasn’t there for you
I’m sorry
my absence
taught you that love is universally unreliable.

I’m sorry
I ridiculed you, publicly
for something that could
never have been your fault.

I’m sorry
I didn’t tell you about your Grandma
who could’ve given you some answers
before it was too late for you, too.

I’m sorry
for what I did
what you saw
I’m sorry
for what you cannot unsee.

I’m sorry
I treated your love as disposable
when it was actually irreplaceable.
I’m sorry
I took your kindness and forgiveness for granted.

I’m sorry
I let you believe I loved you
unconditionally
I’m sorry
I didn’t recognise
you were just my summer girl.

I’m sorry
I treated you like a getaway car
and only loved the good bits of you.
I’m sorry
I let you let your guard down again.

I’m sorry
I lied through my teeth when I said we had a future.
I’m sorry
I took the sweet ripe fruit of your heart
and pulverized it for all it was worth.

I’m sorry
I let you down.

Do you forgive me?

(No.)