Ametisto

the stone
in his hand
is pure
purple
magic

he tells me stories
of its birthplace
spanish flowers
in the mountains
women dancing
in folk dress

and i can feel
something
growing
as the purple
rests on
my chest
for the first time

because a necklace
is never just a necklace
but a whisper
of a promise
planted softly
on bare skin


This poem was written about a piece of jewelery created by Joyeria Ramos.

Eindhoven in the Summertime

he asked me
if i would go analy
she said
while crossing
the zebra

there are three
of them
all blond and giggly
and i probably
wasn’t supposed
to hear that

i’m walking around
his city
which used to be mine
long before he
arrived
all hopes
and ambition
and with an accent
that makes my knees
shake

it looks like it is about to rain

i pass a striped top
with big tits
under the bridge
she reminds me
of that girl
who told me
my ex was still
living
with his wife

i text you
that i’m horny

the sun reflects
on the pavement
and the statue
of a maiden
pouring oil
for all eternity
catches my eye

i will sort you out
when we i get home
you say

home

i listen to the tapping
of a blind man’s cane
against the curb

the uber eats biker
pulls a face
and i give him
the finger

home
you said
and that’s exactly
what it feels like

Lilith

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
medusa
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

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

anarchy
and death

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

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

there is no life here
a woman said

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

Spotlight

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
together
but memories
all the same

years worth
of history
destroyed
in seconds

i kiss
no one

look at
no one

love
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
reduced
to dying
pixel
dust

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
individual
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
burst
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
naked

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
birthdays
with him
alone

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
house
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