We stood up and measured ourselves against everything we could find. We measured the tips of our fingers to the points of our elbows and compared them to the panels in the wooden doors, lining them up precisely; edging palms up, straightening each ulna. We took the edges of each eye and we spun and spun until we knew exactly how many Mississippi’s it took eye to eye around the backs of our living minds. How tall are you compared to this fern? Here, let me place your finger in the crack of the wooden floorboard. It’s but a fingernail wide; the baby, that is. Where is your nose in relation to this light switch? We compared ourselves to the world and this we did every Sunday; Our only way to distinguish between life and death.
The mighty catfish sunk to the floor
It sunk so far it could go no more
And then one day it saw the light
Saw the light and decided to fight.
It raised one whisker up from the sea bed
Raised it way, way above it’s head.
It said, “Hey World, I think it’s time
To stand up and to take what’s mine!”
And sooner or later it was flying high
Flying high in the media industry up in the sky.
I wish I could draw your body,
With the tattoo on your chest
And the one on your arm.
It reminded me of everything I once wanted;
Everything I once yearned for.
It pushed me back to youth.
All that joy of Christmas lights
Took me back to last year, bounding
Around as if new to treating
My senses to your smell; fleeting
Cascading fireworks in the night sky, holding
Hands and hearts beating, bleeding
New and old you are seeing that
Somewhere in here, I to you am freeing.
Read me a bedtime story
I know you do it well
It’s called practice.
Tell me I’m your baby
I’ll suck my thumb
I’ll call you daddy.
Take me over your lap
Use your hand.
I want you to fuck me.
I want to hear you tell your wife about me.
Where did you learn to be so sure?
You could sell salt back to the sea and it’d be happy.
Don’t tell me again
You’re away home
Kisses on three foreheads
While I betray my best friend’s trust
Dear heart, you are cold now.
Alone on the stairs and smoking
I think about your room and I picture your house
And I place my objects among your walls
And I tell you about my granny;
She’d be turning.
Your name rattles round my head on the regular
I mouth the syllables in slow motion
And I pout my lips
And imagine them around your cock
And I see those soon-to-be-threaded eyebrows bobbing above my cunt in a house that’s not mine
And I worry.
A victory dance above the slow fade out,
My blue valentine.
Douse yourself in aftershave,
Mask the sex we just had
And then tell me about your wife again.
Tell me about feeling wanted
Tell me about how much you want me
Don’t want me, please.
I batten down the hatches
On my ruby red heart
As I wipe your come off my stomach
Watching it glisten and trickle
As I ache
As I tell myself to switch it off
As I tell myself to forget it all.
Return to the bedtime story baby
But skip to the bitter end.
Every day I delete you.
We don’t gravitate toward each other anymore in the middle of the bed.
It feels like rather than have sex with me sometimes you’d prefer that I were dead.
Things have gotten really strange now I know you’re watching porn.
It’s made me question everything I’ve known about women since I was born.
Instead of getting my back you’ve got your own anxieties at heart
A ‘grass is greener’ new generation relationship you’ve got down to an art.
Every need is catered for, you just have to fill the gap, but what you fill it with is the instant gratification trap.
I don’t know if I can do this anymore.
When I say I’m red sky at night,
I feel it most in the morning.
Waking up to impending doom,
I’ve forgotten what excitement feels like.