Scrambled Eggs

My life in pills. One pill, two pill, three pill. Six months’ worth please. No, I don’t smoke (obviously I do, bitch, don’t judge me). Will I die (won’t we all)? But no baby right? Will it still make me not have a baby? Wait, I want a baby. Goodbye eggs. Scrambled please. Blood pressure’s fine. Weight the same. Everything’s the same, day after day. Pill after pill. Monday, Tuesday…


Friday 13th October.
They say it’s an unlucky day.
But how can it be unlucky when she was born that day?
Even though she went too early it will always be the luckiest day ever.

I love you, Mummy.

A Big Bird on the Verandah


Tracey Emin

Last night I saw you on the verandah and everything was okay.
They say such birds don’t fly by night but along you came.
I should have known. You’d never left me alone before.

Rock of ages, Ancient of days, My Grandaddy.

Where to find you now? Amongst all of the chaos and confusion
Of endless days. Why, perched on the railings of the verandah
With Mummy and Gran chattering away about times gone past,
Spurring on my tomorrows.

I hear your laughter and I stop the crying.
There’s no need for tears when we’re all together,
Gathered like this on the verandah.

Your presence is the gift of the night, and so I dream.

My Broken Column

The Broken Column

The Broken Column by Frida Kahlo

The simultaneous love and hatred of life
The beauty of melancholy
The ownership of low self esteem because trying is too difficult
The disorientation of a passing moment
The will to begin again
The terror of depression
The quickening of time
The knowledge of the past and its shadow over tomorrow
The don’t look back
The draining of all creativity
My broken column

Mary (mother of misery)


Your miserable hanging face. Just want to hook a bag on your mouth to show how much you drain me, make me angry and disgusted with life. Like, cheer up for fuck’s sake… Can’t believe he ever loved you. Can’t imagine how distressing that climax must have been staring into your weeping eyes. How distressing it was for me even imagining it when I was forced to look at you. Looking away. Running away. Getting away from your morbidity. The stench of death. All over my whole fucking relationship. What a waste.

Blood on Me

No words. You took my first words. I remember that, can’t forget that. Blood on the leaves. Murder of the Springtime. No more nursery rhymes for me. Blood on the sheets. Wounds of history. An unnatural inheritance through your bloodline to me. Blood on the car seat. Stolen jewellery and things like that, like choice and dignity and myself. Blood from you. ‘All stabbed up’. Blood on me. I don’t want your blood on me. I don’t want your blood on me.


Alley Talk

IMG_3536 I said, ‘I walk this alley every morning amongst the dead mice and the butterflies’. And he said, ‘I walk this alley every night when the mice are skittering and the butterflies are nowhere to be found….and I’ve never seen you’.

Before I was there or wasn’t there and now I’m Everywhere

I used to wonder, late nights wondering about my children. Now I wander through your thoughts freely. I am the reunited part that was parted from you at birth. Naked as the day you were created, there is no need for hiding nor explaining. I have no ears to hear nor eyes to see; I simply am the spirit that is you. I know you’re thinking about all the things you could have said, well you couldn’t. Human lips. Human time. Human flesh. I used to think of all the things I should have said. Human lips. Human time. Human flesh. Remember when we tried to look at each other and only caught glances. Hot tears that burnt with longing and missing and misunderstanding. Remember when you held my hand and it wasn’t long enough. There will never come a time now when time is not enough. I never feared death because leaving was only returning to my beloveds. Before I was there or wasn’t there and now I’m everywhere.

Dedicated to Andre and Hayley and all the other children of eternal mothers.

For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known. 1 Corinthians 13: 12


Cold isn’t winter. Cold isn’t that freezer that holds your meat. Cold isn’t the man that had his heart chilled as a child and never melted again.

Cold is her body that they all want to fuck as she walks down the road, and her thoughts that taste bitter to the air that surrounds her.

She is the ice at the mountain point that breaks midnight. Nothing darker. Nothing colder. Nothing more relentless against the warmth of daybreak.

Give her a crown and a torch. And let her be.