Here I am, dried up like a fucking desert after a drought.

All I am left is with the taste of salt on my tongue and the grit of sand in my throat. 



Newborn, skull like chalk, chipped away;  
Chiselled by an unrelenting, iron fist. 
Retreat back inside your mother, child. 
She will keep you safe. 
She will take her warm hands and mould you like clay. 
She will tell you that you can be soft. 
Over the sound of her lullabies, child,  
They will drill out the multiples of three. 
Hack away at your brain,  
Leaving nothing but circuits. 
Grade your ability to memorise and retain,  
Until you’re left running on autopilot. 
Down the factory line, 
Stripped, cloned, lobotomised. 
They will carve you out of stone, with your own barcode, 
Ready to be bought and sold, 
Bought and sold, 
Bought and sold. 

Past Life

There’s a part of my soul that claws and gnaws at me,

Something trapped inside telling me I need to break free.

It aches for a time I have never known,

I feel like I am a stranger in my own bones.

I feel heavy, empty,

Searching for a missing space inside of me.

My restless soul tells me that I don’t belong, 

and my heart shreds with sadness and nostalgia so strong.

I am stuck in a life that is not my own,

I don’t feel like I can call this world my home.

Pillow Talk.

I used to have this fear that I would hear you utter someone elses name in your sleep.
The possibility that you might love another; the graveyards of old girlfriends haunting your dreams.

You always wake me in the night with your ramblings.

Last night I awoke to you stroking my cheek. You said “I love you, Sam,”
I said “I love you too, baby,”
Then you rolled over and went back to sleep.

That’s how I know it’s real.

An automatic phrase at the tip of your tongue,
Nothing to hide or conceal.
No thought behind it, no rehearsed words,
Something that escapes you even in sleep.

You may be asleep, but your love is always awake.
I’ve come to realise that love is a state of being,
Your words reminded me.

They are the best words to wake up to,
Even if you have no recollection of it,
I will dream of those words for the rest of my life.

Women of The Night.

If I am sexualised by being,
I may as well charge money for it.
Earn every pretty penny,
Undressing for a man I’ve just met.

We play the part,
Pretend we adore you,
When you’re drunk and you’re lonely,
At four in the morning.

We are submissive,
You can control us,
You own us, you own us…

You think that you own us.

You think you’ve enslaved us.
A zoo for your entertainment,
To grope and to gawk at,
A prisoner in your imagination.

But women are clever and we twist things, you see.
Earn a living from the sexualisation of society.

You call us sluts and you call us whores,
When we’re crawling towards you down on all fours.

You try to degrade us.
Act like you’re blameless,
When you throw your money,
We’ll laugh in your faces.

We’ll count it all out,
You only have yourselves to thank.
And then we’ll be laughing,
All the way to the bank.

i love you.

every time i tell you that i love you,

it unlocks a tsunami wave of emotion i never knew existed.

i choke on the words like i am drowning and i can taste salt in my mouth

from the tears that begin to fall involuntarily from my eyes.

i have never loved somebody and have them love me in return.

when you look deep into my eyes and tell me you love me,

i believe you.

that is what makes me cry.