“don’t you miss having a penis inside you?”

my housemate is stirring his cup a soup
and i am wearing my skin inside out on the sofa
thinking no one has noticed how naked i am
yet thinking i don’t care thinking that if i draw attention to myself
my penniless heart will speak again

and it could be the fact that i am getting kicked out of spoons’ with you
and it could be the fact that i am puffing on cigs with you

but i was never ready for the way your eyes
would pinch my cheeks mid-conversation
as your lips smack together weeping inbetween
croaking stuff like
“chomsky, unfair, obligatory, yes, no”

and whenever i light a vanilla scented candle in my room
i think about the way it hurts to be in love with a fantasy
and the way you were like a disappointing subway sandwich
and she put pickles on it instead of cucumber

I am never in the mood for rain these days
I used to love it because i wanted to be more like bella swan
and be complicated n interesting
but now it is changing,
i am wearing clothes like my mother’s

and i have been happy eating birthday cake alone in my room in the afternoon
and listening to magpies beat their tails on my windowsill

and i have enjoyed not having a penis inside me every day
i have enjoyed being held by a man that does not want me
and kissing his cheek as though we were two daisies nodding at each other
i have enjoyed not being sat on the sofa crying over kfc waiting for a phone call.

i have enjoyed fucking a stage to pieces and putting tears in peoples’ eyes
you ask me to tell you what to do
and i could cry
because i don’t know

i just wanna go home take my bra off
sit topless in bed and put season 1 of gavin and Stacey on

and not tell you how utterly utterly broken my ex has left me
and that i am incapable of loving anyone but the sun
and a long walk along the beach
i don’t miss having a lopsided penis inside me
with words like “baby baby” in my ear

i was a change in season and a lick of the wind
and suddenly i am love with myself again.


don’t you know my love

my love

i have peeled words for centuries
fetched fistfuls of bruises looking for you

my love
my blood crawls across my lips in relief now
don’t you know i have smeared strawberry hearts across my knees in pain

i have been thrown over
and thrown out
i have stitched the sun into my eyes
and been blinded

my love

you have been gone all my life
you have been here all my life
and my love

god gave me every hand of every human in the world
and in them, i have searched the lines of every palm for you
i have searched every wrinkle of the fire
i have searched all the twitches of the soil
and i have searched through the smiles of empty air
for your noise

my love
don’t you know that you are the blow that hunted me out of the universe
and my love

i have dried out every raindrop on my tongue
i have squeezed sunset after sunset like juice into skyscraper glasses
i have screamed at the moon
i have wet the entirety of night with my tears
i have cried feathers of myself
i have plucked hairs out of the ocean
i have made nebulae underneath my fingernails
don’t you know i have killed myself wearing wounds inside out

but i have found you forever.

mura masa//dating school boys

N.B. for all the lads driving audi a3s or volkswagen golfs (i know a man that’ll come to your house and pop — president t & jme)

the banter was always on point.
gel-up, suit up, dig another kid on the coach for being sat too far at the back.
where is the respect these days?
— how tragic.

piss ourselves with excitement at sankeys
and pills we’d only take to seem edgy,
so we could sit on certain kinds of chairs in the middle of the sixth form centre
— do you hear mummy and daddy’s divorce papers rattle?

“i was a mura masa listener before any of you guys were”
step back, twist it out,
my ex still uses the porn blog on tumblr i made for him
— just to seem okay with the fact he’ll look at other naked women

and i forever a bitter bitch,
sew up the love bites he gave me which scarred a bit.
you couldn’t drink me, lemons like me too sour
— kinda like yonce’s last album.

except i can’t make money out of my heartbreak.
i just ain’t desperate or famous enough.
and i just ain’t ’normal’ enough to wear skorts
— you tell me if dad’ll let me wear em.

together we were the bitches’ and the bastards’ division.
and we can feed off a kind of hatred on each other
so dark that it dissolves your blood til’ you’re a whole other colour
— unless you’re born that way

because napa is where it’s at
and rock climbing is where it’s not
and if you’re wearing tweed i can promise you you’re a dick
— god forbid you remember me forever

yeah spin that MK or something
if you can afford acid for all your mates then sit with us
be the kind of girl i could break like a cracker
— then you can date me, you say, then you can date me.


he hit me right over the head
bled and bled and bled
he sucker punched me to the sky
when i came back down

he kicked and kicked and kicked
the bruises defiled me, disfigured my face
and the blood dried in my hair
fingernails burned away

he dragged his axe
through me

all of this done smiling
and i remember the last strike
blinding me in the eyes
and i was gone.

i dragged my carcass to the hospital
my fingers trembling
i fixed my own drip
filled up bags with the blood of friends

which they’d donated with complimentary kisses
i lay there deader than pluto
when i checked myself in
and people i loved watched me sleep

they watched me breathe weakly
my ribs raise
the anchors of my heart sewing themselves slowly
back into the cavity

none of us expected him to give me a real beating
but who does?
we all lay there and waited for me
and one morning my eyes flew up like the sun.

we stuck some gauze onto my wounds
and sterilising them
the pain meant acknowledging how bad it was

we cleaned my hair
had it smelling of rosehip and jojoba
we threaded our needles and started stitching
we soaked up the blood from the floors of my house

with paper towels
they went and bleached it
he’d done a runner
long gone

we filled in the paperwork
we filled in the holes
filtered blood into my veins
filtered life back into my eyes

he left like a bruise
in some amazing way
the black and blue
become purple and yellow

and the yellow to cream and skin
we watched me breathe harder
and when it was time

i stood up
and made the bed
i let the drip fall to my feet
i removed the gown i’d worn like a disease

i discharged myself of a broken heart
the stitches still dissolving
the scabs swallowed by my own kiss
i opened the door

went home
stared at my kitchen floor
cleaner than a baby’s two eyes
and warmer than a mother’s hands

bleached bare
no pain in the crevices of the tiles
banking the walls

no we all came home to my house
and we all watched the moon pass our faces
we all smiled
the past disbanded as memories often do

then i was whole and free.

I Want To Understand You

N.B. To a young boy I used to know very well, wherever he is. And to the old version of me who used to love him, because she would know where he is.
it’s hard
turning a shade whiter
trying to swallow the oceans
and wearing myself like the pages of a book
or speak like the rain

but i would’ve done it
if you’d let me break you in
like new shoes
because you might’ve thrown your old heart out
like wasted meat

and i preferred it’s chewiness
compared to the suppleness of it’s new skin now
silkiness is what you wanted
i wanted to understand you
and i would’ve done my best

i would’ve stained the whites of my eyes with sunlight
i would’ve sipped the sweat of your lungs
i want to understand you
but you are a foreign war in some ways
how can i understand if i couldn’t watch my world change?

That Sun

N.B. “Because you’re your problem Annie, and you’re also your solution.”

You put the glow to your lips,
Here’s looking at you, (kid),
Putting that sun to your face
And being your own solution for once.

You remember when you hated the light?
Me too.
I remember that shit well. That darkness.
I remember it transcending, curling, kissing.

That Sun
It has to touch you when you’re on the tube,
Or closed off in some bus somewhere.
You’re sweeter. You’re happier.

Well done for being yourself,
Well done for coming out of your shell,
Well done for saying goodbye to people who don’t love you
Well done for solving your own equations, you.

Hello Everyone

Hey everybody, I thought some of the people who follow me on here quite regularly and like a lot of the posts might be interested in following my Twitter, I realise on WordPress I tend to have this mysterious “Who is this Lymh/Lydia” persona who writes this very depressing poetry about failures with other people in my life, but I figured if you’d like to read more honesty and more self-pity then you can follow my Twitter page and learn more about my work and how often I tend to think about pain and hardships humans experience throughout their, in perspective, very short but equally just as meaningful lives. Here’s the link below to my page and thanks again for reading my stuff, my small readership here means a lot to me.



do you remember the time I held my face in the sunset’s water?
I looked pretty.
do you remember how your tears fell
and from then on we were unstoppable,

there were kisses knotted in my hair,
your aftershave and stubble stained across my jaw
as though you’d crushed raspberries all over my neck
do you remember the time we were in the car

and we’d had an argument till 2 am?
and when I’d walked the surface of St Annes Square and chinese lanterns
bruised the new year
and I had no idea I was leaving home?

sometimes love’s unstoppable,
sometimes trust’s the cap on the bottle,
and I’d held that liquor and her bra unfolded and you were in awe
well this is where I come from

and Manchester’s my bricks and mortar,
but whatever,
sometimes we’re unstoppable,
sometimes you’re drunk and I’m in tears

sometimes I’m kissed by strangers and your belly’s brimming with fear
but just flick back to the drives and the horses we stroked
and the lunch time one off trips to McDonalds
and how you gathered me in your arms like I were a lamb

and held me,
happiness like that is worthy enough of dying
and I remind myself from time to time
that this version of you

is the student that wants to be grown, with beers in his hand
and welsh women of the land
but do you remember the night it burst
and I was torn between being a mother and being the baby?

sometimes maybe I should’ve lived elsewhere
where I come from the traffic’s unstoppable,
where I come from loneliness is walking alone in a sea of humans
and I have to think

you put that ocean between us
and I’m sea sick
I put the liquor to my lips now and go to bed with women
I brush my hair through of the knotted kisses

do you remember when I held the knife to your neck
and told you to pick
and Falmouth just wasn’t it?
and I held the moon between my teeth

and said kiss me now, bitch.
do you remember when I said that Peru’s going to set me up for hurt
and those two weeks spent
were the longest 3 am hours of my life

I’m green now,
so green,
70s gaudy, the green in oil lamps
of your new life

and its a memory of palm trees scattering the beach
that I was somewhere other than here,
dear am I momentary to you?
let this be forever,

do not mock me for loving others
i have unstitched my walls for you
I have bled worms and poison and secured you
but when rubies and emeralds collide

the anger and the jealousy
I am unstoppable
and sometimes the chest pain and the stomach ache
is so cruel

that it feels kinder to bludgeon oneself
like a pie,
like a bird,
to bludgeon myself as though I were a little girl killing Barbie again

do you remember when you held me in the water
when we stood in the Atlantic on that quiet beach in Maenporth
and the coastal walk was worth every second
just to feel our wet skin stick together in a hug

smothered by beach towels and sand grains
do you remember the way we first kissed in the car on that private land in a field
do you remember how I make you feel
or how I touch you

i believe we’re unstoppable
i believe we’re the pictures in the photo booth in the arcade
and bumper cars and drinks in the woodside
i believe we are november fireworks and mud and in love,

cupped in the warmth of each other’s arms
i believe that we are rain and Paddington Bear on the sofa
and candy, and blankets, sofa forts that we can’t make very well
i believe in showers shared, and legs locked together in bed

do love me forever,
do not be that student
do not forget me, forever friend,
swing with me in the sunset to our final breaths

there are nights I have watched you sleep and held your torso to mine
and believed in fairy tales
those nights now, replaced by Skype conversations
I believe that writing Unstoppable makes us Unstoppable

and that if it uppercuts and bruises me
as my legs are
that I believe in the Sun on my face in twilight
and I believe in your eyes on cloudy days

sitting in that graveyard outside school on the grass
staring into each other’s souls
honey I love you,
more than the world will ever come to know.

Personal Problems: 3rd Account

(NB.  To my Mother, who held my hand when I was admitted).

Oof I’ve got a lot of these, haven’t I?
3 accounts already?! Well slap me Mama!
So I talked to all these ‘important’ people so far,
They’re all failures, really, if I could,
I would’ve given up on them the minute I first said
“Hi” to them, but back then I was just a gawky kid looking for friends.

Just like them.
Just kidding.

But now I really couldn’t care less.
And I think I must’ve been trying to be something I’m not,
Along with my other friends… I use this term ‘friends’ loosely.
And you know who you are.
You know who you are.
You know who you are.
And then there were strangers.
You know you are, drug dealers, Putting your heads in the sand.
My claws are hot, sisters, and this might hurt just a bit.
You’ll get your letters any day now.
And the list hasn’t even ended yet.

Tonight I am sobbing on the phone to my Mother. I am making a deal with her as we speak.

Come rub your ugly faces into my business.
This is how Cinderella loses her rags and marries nobody.
This is how Dorothy finds Toto and all is restored in Kansas. Goodbye Emerald City!

Mother, tell me something so innately personal
That it pains you just as hard as when you gave birth to me.
That it crumples your body up like a washcloth,
And I shall wring you out to dry with my words. Believe me.
I have been here on this planet for much longer than 18 years.
And I want answers.
So whilst you think of your personal problem, and I want a searing hot one too,
Let me discard these shards of my glass heart for luncheon,
And any leftovers you can’t quite fit into your mouth,
Give em’ to the dog.

I was born with a left-eye ptosis
To all the Non-Medics or School Kids or Poets or Adults I have to be friends with,
That means muscle damage on my left eye.
And that was because the delivery guy was the father of my future husband,
Who will beat me to a pulp. Beat me till I’m a soggy squashed orange.
He’ll drain me and drink me at breakfast.
I can already hear my blood hissing in his gravy dinner.
I was born with a defect, and bullies yelled ‘UGH’ at it like muddy snow,
I was hammered by a Qualified Young Man,
A man I’d like to call my best friend. He ruined my face.

Forgive me Mother, I am lazy, it shows in my eye, or does it?
I did not have a lazy eye. I had an eye smaller than the other.
And it talked at photos,
It chittered and it stuck out like a big scarlet birthmark on my face,
And I held onto it for years, and my teardrops glided over the top,
Weighing it down. Closed. Like confidential medical records.
Mother I could have had it fixed much earlier.
But I needed him to tell me I was deformed and not funny, to know that this,
Yes, this,
This was my heavy disappointment.
I can taste the bones of those bad remarks
And truthfully, I spit my blood at them.
God moves in my veins and it was something Mr L,

That hurricane of a man who checked me over like a mistake a decade ago,
Had to fix. Twice over.
And when I wore an eye-guard after my operation,
People said I had pink-eye. I can’t wait to see those people perform their comical sets
On Live At The Apollo at the Hammersmith London.
They knocked me off the little wooden chair laughing, didn’t they Mother?

And because I had crocodile skin when I was little,
(really dry skin in the sun, I had to have olive oil rubbed all over me, that was all that worked)
Dry-bone, dry like sand, dry and scaly like volcanic rock,
I had tough skin, so I could take the insults and suck on them like lemon sweets.
Those children didn’t bother me, those people didn’t bother me.

I could have had my little disappointed eye, my tired weepy eye sorted out,
If only the doctor had followed the yellow brick road,
If only he hadn’t grabbed my face unexpectedly and assumed when I was shocked as he did it,
That I wouldn’t be able to stand a LA (Local anaesthetic, to you and me)
But I have that crocodile skin, remember, Mama? Tough skin.
I have the pain threshold of a lion tooth, and a shark’s fin.

So I was made to wait. “Come back when you can handle it baby!”
I could handle anything at 2, 3, 4 years old. I pulled a TV on me once as a baby.
Took Dad to save my life.
Turns out I had a general anaesthetic anyway. Could’ve had the operation when I was a toddler and saved myself the bullying,
But that’s the price you pay for being grabbed by doctors unexpectedly when you’re a baby.

I didn’t have to wait till 15 to come back and be fixed. My warranty had already passed by then.
I had been bullied. I had been hurt.
I had people, with their waxy skin and acne screaming ‘Clean Me’
With their hairy monobrows and their beady eyes and distasteful personalities tell me
That I had a lazy eye and looked ‘deformed’. Yes, ‘deformed’.
Too bad you’re good looking. I had no ammo to fight back with either.
And just because you’re Italian and I was laughing well,
I’m annoying, I know. But I’m also human.

That damage was done Mama, and I fear that the words made my eye look good, in comparison,
To my soaked salt-water pillows at night.
I was just a little girl.
I am just a little girl.

Mother, your personal problem is extremely dear to me,
I respect you because you kissed me better and you changed my water
And I looked better than a bunch of daisies, and you understood why I didn’t want my pictures taken,
To me a camera was like the Wicked Witch of the West.
Well, I knocked the house of insults down on the Wicked Witch of the East in that tornado of bullies,
And I wore my red shoes and clapped my size 8 feet together,
And got my munchkin friends to love me harder.
But you waved your wand like a Fairy Godmother and I,
Forever having a look of royalty in me, as grandmother used to say,
and even a girl at school said at one point actually,

I went to the ball.

So Mother, I’ve sobbed enough. Thank you for the gown. I’ll stop feeling sorry for myself shall I?
It’s not like I’m starving in Africa.
It is past midnight and the spell hasn’t broken yet.
I think I get to keep my cosmetic surgery for keeps, and not commit suicide because I hate myself
In the process.

I will read my old book of Fairy Tales.
But you made me a promise.
A promise so perfect, it sparkled like a gem,
And it fluttered like a butterfly on your lips.

Tell me your personal problem, Mother,
Whisper it like a jewel through the air,
Tell me what’s niggling in that brain of yours,
That it glows from your curly hair.

I have laid out my eyeballs and the surgeon’s knives,
And the forceps that damaged me to begin with,
I have washed and powdered my hands clean and dry of medics, of him, of horrible humans,
I have told you my personal problem,

Now its your turn.