An Admonition to Realistic People

I taste my dreams
I have admonitions from them to me,
A child, and I’ve wanted to lose myself in them
Wishing that when I shut my eyes
Two dark blueberries squashed together at dark,
That they bleed their blood
And out pops a dream, or a new home,
Or a country, and this is real-life, dreams are reality.

And for a while I live there.
I get lost on trains, I visit angels that pick the flesh from my armpit
I kiss clowns that bite my tongue off, stuff my face with chocolate,
I see a man I love and hide under the bed with him
I go to places wanting my parents to tug my sleeve as I cross roads
And then the sun screams and my eyes,

Two red strawberries plump with blood at day
Scarlet from every liquor shot they crushed overnight
Kiss me into paperwork,
Hug me into buses, schools, bathrooms, canteens.
And I hold myself up by the wires of my hair
Like a pylon,

And drag myself by the day’s march into dusk,
I slingshot myself over the moon,
And lose myself in reality again.


Lindsay Lohan

I want to be Lindsay Lohan
I want to turn my daddy issues into dust
And snort it up

So I don’t have to care,
If I was a childhood freak (like I’ve always been)
I’d stink up the rooms on your TVs

I’ve got a mother who hugs me relentlessly
And brushes me hair with insults
And chitter chatters “modesty”

I want to be Lindsay Lohan
With my lips wet with brandy
And my toes curled from the high

I want my brothers and sisters to die on a cross
And I’ll spoon the limelight like yoghurt
To my stomach

I’ll boil crime and I’ll take your heart
And I’ll make you laugh at mean girls
And at the end I’ll still have a boyfriend

But I’m on the turn like milk
And I want a woman as burned out
As a candle wick for a head

I want to be Lindsay Lohan
I want to blame childhood
For all my problems.

Virgin Territory

‘Virgin Territory’ is a piece I wrote last year that I really felt was speaking out to kids, particularly young girls who feel like they’ve grown up all too soon, y’know we have a bra section for girls aged 8-10 and these bras will be frilly and lacy and quite sexualised, I can’t help but feel that this is something caused by the amount of exposure girls have to the media these days which isn’t healthy, and as a consequence they have been exposed to the adult world far too soon — I made the gif image above the poem (its pretty bad, my first time at making one), and it is a scene from Eva Ionesco’s ‘My Little Princess’. I thought this theme would fit the nature of the poem pretty well, why? Because Eva Ionesco was the daughter of the photographic artist Irina Ionesco (who is by all accounts one of my all-time favourite artists), regardless of the sensitive nature of her daughter Eva’s images which caused quite a stir, she was often made to strip naked for her mother’s work, which many people felt was an exploitation of Eva as a child, even going so far as calling Irina’s images as an embodiment of “child pornography”. I’m in agreement mostly. But at the same time Eva for me was responsible for her mother’s most successful images and as a child model, she was by far the most charismatic and personal to Irina’s work. It was for that reason, simply because they were too personal and too invasive on her daughter’s life and rights, that Irina lost custody of her daughter to the Louboutin family, and Eva eventually grew up alongside the designer Christian Louboutin as their adopted daughter. ‘My Little Princess’ embodies Eva’s story, and as far as I know she was made to grow up all too soon in a world of sex, cigarettes and strange men knocking on the door at night.
This poem was going to be in a little collection that I’m still putting together, probably going to spend the next 5 years doing it, hopefully to publish, but I thought better of it and figured I’d used it for here.

Virgin Territory

I was having sex at 12.

When I’m turned on, it gets lodged in my throat,
Like crying, but I think of it as

A gentleman’s tongue.

Perceive me like a cloudless sky.
But at night know that as a child-woman, I dirty the streets,
Litter it with blowjobs, blowing

Harder than darkness.

Mother talked about my smiles,
She sounded like seashells on mattress beaches,
Wisdom knew, she whispered,

Darling, you’re only 2.

What’s in a number when you’re 12,
And you’ve got handcuffs instead of groovy chick lip gloss,
You enjoy reverse prayer, more than

Opening advent calendars.

You prefer wining and dining,
To collecting posters of boy bands, fangirling over new albums,
You’re eating the world like an oyster.

Bonfire my bed.

Like virgin territory I was spilled,
I wasn’t candid, I was unapologetically beyond “normal little girl”
I put pigtails in my hair,

So he had something to hold onto.


face mellow, skin yellow
topped with a cheese-smile
and a greasy curl of his pierced tongue
sends me running a mile

the squat’s layered with ash
look who’s in a hash, she’s smashed
off her rocker and licking God
with prayers to next door neighbour’s dog

I’m hazy, pasty,
somebody tell me did I take 3 or was it 4 rounds of nasty?
I punch a bunch o’ drama queens
for another line of squeeze n skunk

oh B’s drunk and he drinks himself into the sink
chunks of his lungs stuck in the plug
I’m gonna have to toothpick his heart out
till its sour, passes out, then finds his body in a drought

if drugs were addictive
I’d spill my secrets and crush them like pills to bits
of words and the last kiss
my first beau ever gave me

I fooled around then fell in love
and put all of me in his hands till he took
what was left of my sanity
now I’m drowning in the acidity of my vanity

fucked freely he’s overfaced with freebies
and snorts his sniff in a swish
pissing in petri-dishes

and as I’m beat up stuck and done
in something my friends said “would be fun”
I lose myself like a game
betting the chips to raise the stakes

piece of cake
I’ll win the cash and take no less than their hate
and then I remember in a bad trip
that Death came in a kiss

he got caught between my teeth and started to suck
heaving my stomach up
through my throat and out it would come
such pain couldn’t even be cured by mum

as I unlatched him off my tongue
that this was my heart being broken
I tried to heal by cocaine and people as good as

A Rottweiler Wearing Kors

Girl this kid is bipolar like burgers
Without the toppings, chips without the salt,
She’s made of two-faced fuckery
And promises blown like kisses
– They’re not the real thing.
She wears the Kors
And drags her carcass across the floor
Like its duped up, moved up
Yuppy stuff that’s bleeding like
A Slush Puppy from a sperm cup
So when I’m next to my boyfriend
I cannot stop cheesing
He makes my chest burst and my skull burn
And I stop breathing
The roll of the eyes and the twitch of her smile
Tells me she’s coked up on her own hype
And it’s wild
Like kittens to cats and nips to fat tits
It’s the switch that takes the piss,
I’m not made for fuck-ups
And duplicitous “I only will be there when I need this”
My money would be better spent
On a monkey that chews meth
And keeps me company by pulling my hair
And giving me funny stares
Like the kids did when I was in school
Wearing my hair in a baggy bun that looked
Like a fucking cocoon,
I’ll reiterate the verse again,
My money would be better spent
On putting it where my mouth is
On women who wear too short a skirt
And how her fatness sands down her efforts
– Oh she can talk like a Carrie Bradshaw
And make her life sound so great
With the fifty types of blusher she has
Makes her look like a scarlet wedding cake
I tower my opinions over her because I can
I made my bitch-verses
Sound like she went off with my man
But I’m too tired of following a Rottweiler
Like its wearing a Prada collar,
Was I ever the type to go to Leeds Festival
Take drugs and drink until I look evil
– Never,
But my mother and father shell my soul
To the purest God of them all
And I would keep any enemy of mine closer
If the pasty piece wasn’t in the way,
How much does that say?
That people I find truly abominable don’t even fit
Into the Shit List
I drew up for the same folk who for me,
Never gave a fuck,
I look like Sarah Palin on spliffs and
I’ve overdosed on meat
And lost my glasses to the ghost on speed
Like I’m Velma,
But Scooby next to me wants me to pay
Too many dollars for Scooby Snacks
Cos it’s an “occasion”
I’d rather not celebrate
But deliberate on its validity
Like an event as pretty as Good Friday
Swear it by a kiss
I’m done with “pussy”
And as for friends it’s an N/A
On the register for me,
Oh and if you see a Rottweiler wearing Kors
Tell them that they forgot to eat
That shitty carcass beside my front door.

You’re A Fuckover

I tell him time and time again
“Take a hike to a lap dance bar and hold a girl called Candy in your arms”
And sometimes his angst keeps me fizzing like a live wire
I’m all talk and no tush
The guy wants me to shush

And I feel like peeling his fingernails off like daisy petals
Be fickle with what you deeply love
And soon enough it’ll rub off
These things stand the test of certainty, and my distance from him
Is telling me things like “You miss his smell after sex”

And if push comes to shove
I can wind another heartstring around my little finger
He stains my clothes with his kisses so hard
You’d think he were the one wearing lipstick rouge
And try as I might I can’t wash it off, I’m married to him

I wear the tears of a clown and wait for him in the hotel at night
Maybe he’s taken his hike with Candy
But he’s not got much of a sweet-tooth
And I’m left to scratch the walls of my heart dry
Till my fingers scream

There’s no more blood to cry,
There’s none left of it running through me
And trying is like flogging a dead sun
I want to trees to grow leaves, and I want there to be blossoms, all that stuff
But I’m never satisfied by his efforts

And he blinks like a projector
Stunned as he crushes another shot between his teeth
And I’m actually the one holding Candy on my lap
Asking him to shush about burdens like feelings,
Those things that give you aches in places you didn’t think existed inside you

And he’s waiting for me in the hotel at night.


My head’s waterlogged with love
and I’m ringing the neck of the bottle for a droplet
I chewed on men like air
I’ve exhausted the population of them,
Sleepless, they’re in,
The next, they’re gone.

If I cooled myself down to a mere freckle on his face,
Or a partial corner of his stubble, then I could taste him like paint
Smell him like petrichor
His fleshy hand sponging away the alcohol
I’m drinking him from his spout
And all I’m tasting is mud
So I throw him out like he’s past his sell-by date.

And if I had a little more patience,
Mother always told me, then maybe I could learn to feel things
Things like sunlight, or sticky fingers from peeling oranges,
Love, or even kisses,
But try as I might humans are sickly creatures
And they either rush to things or don’t bother.

The rest don’t care.
So I became the ultimate ambusher.
And they wouldn’t understand why I live for liquor
Or why liquid grounds me better than the Earth
but I rush only to the scent of things
That take me back to the addiction I had of my dead lovers.
bourbon, bourbon, bourbon.

My Best Friend

If you could stand on the waterfall and tell my best friend about water
She’d hold a thimble of it and tell you its trust is about good as mud
And its slips out of her hand, she knows all about water.

My best friend chars the sun between eyes
And ferments it to darkness underneath her nails like sunlight is dirt
And she cross-hatches it with her lily-eyed toad lips

And roars a rhythm of lies into your heart
She whistles it into bulletproof glass and melts it away with her words
Her poison as liquid as her promises

And her skin is shed like a chameleon’s kiss, she’ll consume her old costume
She is as clean as a cumstain and sweats like a drum
When struck by the lightning of her own misfortunes

She is stained the colour of money and the smell of babies’-breath
In her mouth her eel-tongue reeks of insults
Whiplashed by her faith, it waterfalls down into her sewage-veins.

My Man

If you could stand on the mountaintop and tell my man about the world
He’s already licked all 4 corners of it
He’s held the moon between his two front teeth
And he’s grinded the soil between his fingertips like kisses

“My life would be purposeless without my man”
This kind of dependence is drug-like, and I’ve three-folded my heart
To a bird he can only uncrease my veins and lay me out like palms of dough
If he changes, I mould to his shape, and this is for sure.

I’m married to his eyes, I’m crafted and stripped of his rainforest touch
And when he leaves, my heart breaks into pieces so small
They could be threaded into a chain and laced to his collarbone
Through the eye of a needle and I’d love him longer, and then some.

Take the stresses and the wear and tear of his leather love
I’ve lashed my chest with his hands till I ache with his stains
And should he leave, then I wrap the stars around my little finger
And wait for him like sunrise.

This Finished at 2:50am

Sometimes I grab you by the neck
If you vomit your heart out I’ll know its for sure
They’ve not shaken me up off the floor

Drunk on my ex’s blood
Sometimes I have to revise my mind
This choice I took, handing over the wheel to you
I just got out of the passenger seat

Fistful of diamonds all hard and tough
And taking drags because so far I haven’t given a fuck
I know I’m smart,
I didn’t need a mark, I did an exam cos’ it was expected of me

The stress and the knots and the nightmares peeling the organs inside of me
And then the things caught inbetween,
Chunks of you in my teeth,
The sunset’s burning my wick at both ends,

Before I know it, its too late
And how could I let you and your smile leave me again
I want simple songs to sing into the whiskey bottle whilst you’re gone
There’s only so many times I can say

“You mean <this much> to me” and proceed to run off the horizon
Walk on water and thrash my heart against the sea
Take a cigarette, pretend its me, and burn it down to ashes,
You can so easily as take me down

And I’ll still be proud, you can’t dissolve me in an ashtray
And I’ll be the first to admit I previewed you as a sad and lame introvert
With nobody else to do alone with sad and lame mates
Everybody in our year fancies her, Lil’ B isn’t the most original choice you’ve made

And I’ve stayed up awake counting the times I’ve messed you about
But believe me that the feel of your voice shakes me out raw
And it trickles into my core, it soaks the sadness, it lengthens the day
It leaves me paralysed

You make me stronger
You make me weaker
If I drown I die and if you levitate me I’ll fall down
Either way its a pretty death concealed,

I just wanna know whether its genuine what you feel,
Cos say it wasn’t true I’d have to speak goodbye with my eyes and discard the rest of my face
I’d look out of place
Its one part showing you my colour’s identity

But another when the rest is pure anonymity
Guess I think this shit is clever
So was my ex-lover
I’m glad he makes you mad, what other ammunition do I have

Broken nails in my coffee, chewing your tshirts for your detergent
I’m in a losing game or so I’ve learnt
And I don’t know what else you’re supposed to do for love
You make me look like a right mug,

Buying you Beverly Hills Polo Club shirts thinking we’re a good match
I still wonder what is it about you that got me so attached
This 2:30am poem is a diss about you I’m afraid
I’m still not used to having my feelings displayed on a wordpress wall

This shit’s getting me all boiled up butt’s up shut the fuck up I’m stuck
Tough love but I’m about as hard as a baby’s face
Drunk on ex’s blood but you’re thicker I’m on your brains for soup
Chewing your body so I can retain all that nutrients

This is starting to sound like murder rather than a poem on the L word
But if I were a serial killer you’d be the victim that would get me nicked for good
So find me friend, forage and forray
You know I’m sticking around and here to stay don’t think Cornish waves’ll change me

Go love somebody
Who twists for your sunlight
Or better, take me, Little Miss Chatterbox on her pink pillows
Twisting to find you even at night.