07/05/2017 § Leave a comment

I’ve got 4 holes that you can fuck if you want to
The cure to everything is your little bitch self
You want this cunt, boy?
You want this cunt, boy
You ain’t got the money or the anger for this cunt, boy
I’ve got it all wrapped up in a tight green ribbon
I’ve got the cunt money boy you’ve got to take what you’re given
Got to count your blessings, you’ve got sugar and butter
make some cake for Christ sake bitch be the mother and lover
Something new something dark blue thank god it’s nothing I’m used to
Fuck yourself
I’m not dependable
Heading to sunshine city
Heading to sunshine valley
Don’t need your red Hyundai
Don’t need my drink and drive by
Don’t be shy don’t be shy
Or I’ll eat you alive
Inject my veins with your blood
I’ll throw it up
I’m always down to fuck
I’m always down to fuck
I’m always down to hurt

Nothing is ever broken to need fixing, everything is always whole

06/05/2017 § Leave a comment

I can relate far more than he knows and far more than I can ever tell him. How can I or the world be angry at someone who is trying so hard to be good, and is willing to make such large sacrifices so satisfy what he desperately needs to satisfy? I am lucky, in that I only have to reach out to touch what I need with my fingertips, and sometimes it hits me without reaching out at all. He has to run emotional and financial marathons to get there.

Winter feels like a bad dream because I’m living such a joyful spring. Was it really ever cold and grey?

I remember being younger and feeling that belonging anywhere, in a part of any interesting group, was all I would need in life. Now I belong in all kinds of places and it’s as good as I thought it would be. I have utter belief that I will find places to belong every year of my life till it’s over.

The doctor says if I don’t improve within 24 hours I should go to a&e. The relief it feels to get to a medical professional when you’re in pain and delirious cannot be understated. You forget when you’re well, suffering. And you forget it again, after. And most seconds of most days you forget the suffering of others.

To lie in the sun with friends, is there any greater happiness.
To play in the sun with friends, is there any greater happiness.

I feel like I’ve ran the marathon and I’m now strolling down the last leg to the finish line with a big grin on my face. So, so fucking close. When my routine changes even slightly I feel my soul crack open and sun flood in. How terrible life is when it becomes static. My soul needs motion and new experiences or else I die.

I am very good at reviving myself. I’ve never been the sort of person to wait for things to come along. I head out and grab them with both hands.

Every place is a friendly place when you open your heart. Everywhere I look there are good people.

Yeaterday Stanley and his little Terrier dog broke my heart. Today I am sewing it back together with threads I find. Here’s one, from a morning run in the cool air. Here’s one, from M saving me a seat on the train. Here’s another, from the offering of pancakes by F. Here’s another from the miracles of modern medicine.


No-one writes about happy things

13/04/2017 § Leave a comment

Sunshine, bbqs, beer, friends. Pure joy and fun. Last weekend I rejected the long term for the joys of the short term. Chose hedonism over dedication. Ate, drank and laughed for hours.

Each month is better than the last. This year is an upwards slope of happiness, and is slipping by recklessly. January was tough, but it is nearly mid April?!

Sunday morning the text came and I’m calling landlines and mobiles and finally got through and then I’m lost. That gut drop feeling I’ve not felt in years. That deja vu. That limbo. That how the hell do I fix this.

I am a fixer upper, it is my first reaction to any bad news. Calm face and how-do-I-fix-this brain.

I read it on the news, and screenshotted it. God knows what for.

We are preparing for the worst in all kinds of ways. I can’t bear to think of some of the things he must be feeling and thinking so I don’t go beneath the obvious ones. Sadness. Worry. I stop there. Mum says he hasn’t eaten in three days and managed a couple of mouthfuls finally tonight.

He doesn’t want anyone to know. He cried at work yesterday, trying to sort finances. My heart breaks a little. There really is only one pure type of love, and it’s the unconditional one that roots deep into your bones.

That’s reciprocal with me and him. And it’s worth all the gold on earth

It’s just change, I want to say. You can do this.

I went on a date Monday night and he was exactly my type, such a lovely person. I didn’t tell him what I learnt the day before, you don’t dump that on people you’ve just met. I dreamt of our future marriage and love, I let myself spiral away in harmless daydreams.

We’ve hired my replacement at work and my gut says she won’t last, but what the fuck do I know.

Comfort Eating

28/02/2017 § Leave a comment

Trip tripping through minutes
It feels gravy to get wavy
Then be pure

I like to sweat
I like to feel muddy, dirty, achey, breathless, stretched
I like to fuck
I like to get high
I like to be loved
I like to be hated, when it feels right
I like long runs and longer drives

I like morning bike rides
hungover and empty
I like hot tea
I like hot baths
I like more than just to fill my hollow insides

Summer is coming

27/02/2017 § Leave a comment

He’s a Greek god from head to toe and most of the time I want nothing to do with it.

‘Have you been promiscuous lately?’ He asks.

‘Yes and no’ I said. ‘I’ve been having amazing fucked up sex. Connections, fantasies fulfilled, kinks, perversions. But not with many people. Have you been promiscuous lately?’

‘Not really. I’ve been studying and working.’

‘Do you miss it?’

‘Well I saw five girls last Sunday, two girls this week (in his language, saw means fucked). I forget how promiscuous I am because I’m studying and working so much. You like your kink, I like the chase and rough fucking. I feel lonely sometimes, but free and alive.’

‘Both our ways have their benefits and drawbacks. I never feel lonely, but I suppose I rarely feel free. Nice work with the five girls in one day. I feel inexplicably proud of your cock.’ (Why did I say this, did I really feel proud of his accomplishments? Was I trying to show I didn’t judge his promiscuity?)

‘Thanks. I live in my NQ flat now. Let me know if you want to fuck, stay over and fuck, or just need a place to to to stay over as a friend with no sex. You’re a cool kid.’

‘I may well take you up on the first one before I go to America.’

‘When do you go? Please say next week so we can fuck soon.’

‘June, it may be a long wait.’

‘Why would you want to wait? We may not be here next week. I half jest.’

Last time I saw him he wanted me to bite him until he bled, I relied on google about that then. I message my friend now who is a doctor. I ask her about the risk of disease or infection from oral sex with this man. This men who sleeps with five
new girls a week. Quite high she says, these things are easily transferable.

I wonder how many girls he fucks in his bed before he changes the sheets. I think how in an ideal world that wouldn’t matter at all. I think about what I mean when I think of the word pure.

His face is almost too beautiful to be real, but you best believe holding him would be no comfort at all.

When I Was Young

20/01/2017 § Leave a comment

It was summer. I lay in the moonlight at the warehouse, sad because the boy I was really interested in had left a few minutes before. The other one whispered in my ear ‘I bet you’ve never had anyone hold you like this before, it must be nice to feel so loved’ and I laughed and laughed at such an obvious attempt at manipulation.

It was autumn. We hung upside down off the fifty foot drop looking at the city lights with his arm around me, and couldn’t stop laughing at all there was to be happy about, and what was happening next to us. I thought ‘this, is a very good moment’ and it seared in my mind as permanent memory, made that way through repeated recalls.

It was winter. I was walking back from a friends thinking about the flash of anger I’d felt earlier, remembering how a man had gently pushed his own flaws onto me like a mirror. I thought about how he did not realise what he’d done and felt my flash melt like an icicle. Realising that the stronger you are as a person, the more generous you can afford to be in your opinions of people.

It was spring, and he didn’t wake me when I slept through his alarm. I showered and we had a full English breakfast, no sex that morning. He was the best of the bunch. Years later he told me he tried to wake me, shook me hard by my shoulders, but literally couldn’t manage without causing pain so left it. I’m still amazed at how deep I used to sleep. My mother says she once had to stick her fingers up my nose to check I was alive.

It was winter. We were arguing. As his hand closed over my jaw and the back of my head went unhappily into the wall, I filled with fear and thought simultaneously ‘that’s not a nice way to shut someone up’ and ‘I wish you did that in bed instead’.

It was spring, and I lost a Felix Gonzalez-Torres print given to me as a gift. It’s my biggest regret of that year. Although I worship Felix, this probably says more about my priorities than it does the print.

It was summer and it was dark. The wind and rain blew insanely and the tent was not enough, a house would barely be enough in that weather. The sex was as good as it could be in the circumstances. He was lonely, I was not, it made it awkward the next day.

It was summer and I lay posed for her art project in the prickly grass with a plastic parrot. From anyone else I would have found the parrot irritating and tacky, but from her it was perfect. Everything, hers, was perfect. I thought about how much I loved her.

It was summer and with every selfless morning cup of tea given to me in sleepy kindness I thought ‘that’s a benchmark’ for how to treat a person.

It was autumn, and tripping up the steps I heard my dad echo in my head ‘be caaareful’ in his way which grinds at me with its patronising undertone, but is just another expression of how much I am loved. I felt an inner warmth that’s always there.

If It Makes You Happy

20/01/2017 § Leave a comment

*Written aged 17*

I remember the weather on our first and last meeting. It was sunny, a sticky heat which allowed me to feel comfortable in the clothes he asked me to wear. I would not have agreed to the meet if it were raining, I would not have travelled to the location, I would not have worn the outfit.

He told me he lived on a riverboat, which sounds romantic but isn’t. The way he said it meant it was the truth. He told me what he used to do before retiring but I can’t remember the words, only it was operator of something and the images conjured in my mind are of metal, smoke, grease, steam, pistons.

‘There are two types of people’ he said. ‘Those who stand on street corners and are looking for the next tenner to spend on crack. And those like yourself-’ he gestured towards me ‘-who enjoy the company of men and for who money is just a bonus’. I heard his voice jolt slightly as he mentally changed the word ‘prostitute’ into ‘people’. It was unclear whose benefit this was for. If mine, his impression of my naivety and denial to myself both amused and angered, how dare he presume such ignorance in me. If for himself, how superior, how mansplain-y.

I nodded false agreement. What a stupid thing to say, how presumptuous of him to comment on such a large group of people as if they are all the same, and as if he knows the slightest thing about young female sex-workers.

People assume you will be upset if they use the word prostitute. They dally around the word looking for an alternative. ‘This line of work’, ‘escort’. Sometimes, they don’t want to think of themselves as hiring a prostitute so try to trick themselves, avoiding the word for their own sake.

I couldn’t figure out the motive behind the things he said and did. Was he a danger to me? Should I feel fear? Pity? Anger? Often I find it much easier to analyse females than males, although males are more likely to underestimate my intelligence and fall for the surface of youth and innocence.

After our meet, himself and his family took their boat further downriver and he asked me if I would visit him in *******, but I refused to travel that far. He messaged me stupid things, as only a man could do.

Things I didn’t foresee. Where can I hide all this money? How can I subtly check my phone during a meet? Why can I never get a dick inside me when I’m on top? Why is it so difficult to find a doctor that will give me the implant? Why is it so difficult to find a clinic that will give me a full sti check? (I take precautions but nothing is foolproof). This is supposed to be traumatising, am I going to have a mental breakdown at some point?