I think it’s slowly hitting me
not in the way a wave hits you
washing over you
rushing up to meet your skin.
An old friend.
No, not like that.
I think it’s slowly hitting me
the way an HGV would
All of a sudden.
And in slow motion
at the same time.
I’ve been anticipating this impact
for so long now.
Bracing myself, muscles tensed,
that I almost don’t believe it’s over.
That I can relax now
drop my shoulders
unclench my jaw
when I eventually put the phone down,
I could finally
pick myself back up
from where I left myself.
Those 11 years ago.
I would prize Wildwood Kin, from your little sweaty palms,
I would eat more healthily,
I would dance more often,
and refuse to let you talk over me.
I would shake my former self
look her straight into the eyes
and say, is this what you think you’ve been searching for
all your goddamn life?
I would remove those tinted glasses
and see you for what you are,
an emotionally-stunted man-child
who just happens to play guitar.
I’d take you off your pedestal,
where you’d comfortably made your nest.
I’d tell you truths like, I’m not sure I want to have biological children
and bathe in the disgust your face expressed.
I’d stop hiding my truth to please you,
unafraid of causing upset
confidently proclaim my moral views
and calmly watch you sweat.
I’d grab my former self,
lace up my running shoes,
take her by the hand
and run far away from you.
You always said you’d eventually learn how to dance with me, but you always had an excuse. You just didn’t care for the things I was passionate about. Red flag number 10.
You never cared for, or tried to understand, my love of Taylor Swift. I know that might sound petty. But it was important to me, and you openly mocked it. Red flag number 9.
You said you didn’t like tattoos, but you would make exceptions for my small ones. Well, now I have a big one. So fuck you. Red flag number 8.
We had similar tastes in music, but only when it came to folk and country. Anything else and I felt I had to filter my music choice around you. Because it was “too mainstream”. You always took the high ground when it came to music. Red flag number 7.
Your political views were the right ones, and no amount of debating would tell you otherwise. You took the high horse there too. Red flag number 6.
I was terrified of doing my pre-flight injections by myself, so I offered to pay for your megabus and the additional cost of the flight, for you to fly from Heathrow with me. To support me. But you outright refused. Red flag number 5.
You could never have a healthy disagreement. You’d bury your head in the sand at the first sign of conflict. Sweep it under the carpet. Until it blew up in our faces. Red flag number 4.
You made empty promises. The main one being that you’d always support me, no matter what. Red flag number 3.
One night, after weeks of my mental health rapidly declining, you said you’d rather go out and get drunk with another girl than come home to me. Red flag number 2.
You cheated on your girlfriend of four years to be with me.
Red flag number 1.
Your hand in mine
Our fingers intertwined
We’re both in too deep
And we hold on tight
So we don’t drift apart
As we drift off to sleep
Lips parting soft lips
You taste like fresh morning
Like nothing could come between this
Eyes out of focus
And I dont care anymore
Soft whispers between the sheets
I’ll count the ways I love you
But we’re not keeping score
Accidentally saying i do
Has become a bit of an in-joke
But we’re not joking anymore
I think we both already know
Turned to a spark
Then a wildfire
Through the forest of my haunted heart
Palm to palm
And cheek to cheek
Tangled in bedsheets
This is us now
You and me ♥️
a profound loneliness
and chronic emptiness
a sinking feeling in your stomach
waiting for the drop
a heaviness in your chest
but of what?
an outline of a person
no one’s coloured in between the lines
every movement feels like effort
and is painfully slow
who do you turn to in these maddening times,
but to a face on a screen?
it’s no replacement for human contact
resisting the urge to desperately scream…
CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?
I AM ALONE
AND IF I WASN’T HERE
WOULD ANYBODY KNOW?
pour the whisky, pour the wine, I’m hollow anyway.
Things got very dark for me in the six months since I returned from living abroad.
I’m coming out the other side now.
I read back through the poems/pieces I wrote back then, and I feel like I’ve put some distance between how I was then, and how I feel now.
I’m healing. Slowly. But slow progress is still progress.
And I don’t want to delete those poems either. Because my feelings were valid at the time. And still are valid now.
But I’m doing better.
Touch wood. Because I still have OCD, don’t I?
(And for any of you wondering, love exists after heart break. And it’s even sweeter for it.)