you come into my house
and tell me what to feel
as you wipe your feet on
my furniture
and shit
on my rug

you come into my house
and call me names
like whore
and lilith

when it was HIM
who was married
when i met him

(on wednesdays we smash
the patriarchy)

you come into my house
and tell me
to take responsibility
for your feelings
like i don’t have plenty
of my own

you come into my house
and tell me i am too
much of everything

too angry
too loud
too negative
too proud

you tell me
that my dishes are dirty
and my unwashed knickers
offend you

the devil blinks first here
and still
you come into my house

Saturday Night

he has the eyes
of a puppy dog
and knows
how to use them

dark chest hair
above the collar
of his shirt
turns me on
like a house
on fire

i watched you dance

his arms
are around my hips
when lightning
makes its way
across a darkened sky
the red neon letters
of a nearby hotel
standing tall
and bloody
in the night

i watched you smoke

it is difficult
to meet someone
she says

his best friend
with the long
brown hair
lights another

i saw you smile

he is talking
to his friend
on the other side
of the balcony
but his eyes
return to me
every single time

i watched you drink

his hand is in mine
my face on his chest
as we slowly move
our tired bodies
to imaginary music
and i wonder if this
is what i had been
looking for
when i really already
know the answer

When I say ‘I love you’

when i say
i love you
i mean
i love the way
you rest your head
on my legs
in the park
i love the way
your eyes go soft
when you look at me
after we made love
i love the way
your fingers
on my spine make
my toes tingle
i see the little things
you do even though
you think i don’t notice
i love that you
figured out that netflix plot twist
a couple of seconds
before i did
i love that you take time off work
to wait for me to come home
i love the way you talk
about your mother
i love the way you smile
when you are with friends

this is what i mean
when i say
those three words

East London

it was dark
on the streets
of east london
in my dream

and death

the studio
we used to share
was gone
the walls that
shielded us
from the others
broken down
by the whispers
on your breath

i roamed for
traces of our past
but only found
of other women

there is no life here
a woman said

there is nothing left
here for you
but dead bones
gathering dust


my brother’s
pancreatic tumour
started to bleed
and that friend
i told you about
had a blood pressure of
seventy over twenty

holy shit
i say
even though
i am really tired
and had a shitty shift
and really just want
to go to bed

holy shit

and i think of the musicians
and the actors
and the models
and the influencers
talking about corona as if we are all gonna live like this forever
and their lives are over
because they thrive in the spotlights
and people don’t need them
when they are too busy
just surviving
and then i look at my workmate
and there is no spotlight
but despite the pancreatic cancer
and despite the deadly blood pressure
she is getting ready for a nightshift
at the care home
and i wonder
where her spotlight is
where the cameras are
and where the fans
are hiding

Dying Pixel Dust

i erase your existence
from my phone
by clicking
the trash icon
on each individual
image we took
not building a life
but memories
all the same

years worth
of history
in seconds

i kiss
no one

look at
no one

no one

suffer for
no one

as i rewrite
my story

this time
i am
the leading lady
i always was
without you

as i watch
your smile
to dying

The Last Poem I will ever write about You

i wish you all the best
he said
and after that
i never wrote a word
about him again
because too many words
had been spilled on him already

this man

this man that hid behind
being a tortured
daddy issues
wives with breast cancer
certain breast cancer
maybe breast cancer
not really breast cancer
at all
but just a cyst
like the ones that are sticking
to my gut
and are making
my ovaries kiss
until they
and knock me unconscious
in public places
with homeless people
telling me i look worse
than they do

this man
flirting with blond
women in a swedish
furniture store
while i was searching for
a rug and he was
pushing the trolley
because he is so goddamn
charming when you don’t know him
and no one really does
the mexican jesus with
a voice like honey

they make you sound like
a dildo dear

this man
taking pictures of women
half his age
calling it art
like that pervert
terry richardson
and why do they
always have to be

no darling
they are not naked
i just know how to make them
‘look naked’

i can see her goddamned vagina
it’s right fucking there
and do you remember
when you took my portrait
after you told me you wanted
a little piece of me
and you came in your pants
i wonder how many of them
made you come
in your pants
by folding their legs
underneath their pussies
and calling it yo-gah

i told you
i told her i wasn’t coming back
before i went away
to sit on a mountain
to ‘om’ for three months
with selfie sticks
and rumi quotes
and girls in tight leopard leggings

so how come
there’s a picture of your ‘om’
on her fucking instagram

don’t be so dramatic
she came to surprise me
for my birthday

i remind him
i spent four of my six
with him

my mother is missing
he says
is this the mother you left
twenty years ago
yes the same one
they found her
in the neighbour’s
my heart is truly breaking
and my sister keeps yelling at me
to help her out with the dementia
and you keep yelling at me
that you love me and want to be with me
my wife keeps yelling at me
for all the white lies
i told

i am ashamed to admit
i begged for his time
the time that he lavishly spent
on others

the cleaner at your workplace
sees you more than i ever did

don’t be so dramatic

it’s not you
it’s me
and that
was the only truth
he ever told