Sitting before the Seagram Murals

grief gently sobbed from me
while I clambered through
a deep red abyss.

I asked the murals to keep my pain
but they refused

(you cannot give us what was never yours

take it back)
they said

Drowning in bruised colour, I stood


but grief held my hand as we left,
staring back into the sea,
wondering why it could not leave me.

Stay, 
I said-
You are all I have left
of what was never mine

How can I give you up?

Elastic band

Stretched to the limit

My body begs me to breathe,

and my mind screams.

I should let myself be malleable,

be open to contracting.

But I am terrified of being inside myself.

I teach myself to never 

trespass beyond the limit.

I stay in the throes of tension.

Pinging constantly.

Pain

Ping

Pain

Ping

Pain

Ping

Within this limit 

I am highly strung but I am 

intact.

I think if I saw you again I would snap in two.

Ctrl-Shift-N

After years of wondering,

I found you in the secrecy

of the incognito tab.

Your twitter feed 

offers only distant echoes of you-

I can't conjure you up from

140 characters.

Believe me, I have tried.

It only hides the sound of a voice
which I can't remember.

I see you

in the reflection of the bus window
as I'm standing at a crossing

in the elevator of Russel Square Station
on the steel panel I am a
dancing shadow

opposite me
curving into the tunnel of
the tube
as I am blustering in the humidity
of a packed out train

You are always a surprise to me
I
forget
how much
we are alike

We are hurtling through the underground
and your face blurs into
film posters and faces of the
other people on the train.

Hip students with headphones and backpacks
Old couples with 'visiting the museum today' comfy shoes
Men in suits with laptops and ominous looking folders.

You pop back every so often in the glass.

Peeking at me.

Shadows and reflections reminding me that we are
in fact
one
person.


It is always unsettling
your resemblance is always uncanny

and I am always waiting for the realisation that
you and I belong

The man opposite stands up to exit the train and
I face you.
Alone.

We are both
Alone.

I am not quite sure how to approach you.

Instead, I take out my phone and I write you and me
a poem.

Hoping that maybe here
in this space

We come to be

us

In the lonely hours.

(Are you real?)


Or
                            a
                                      figment
                                                       of
                                                                my
                                                                            imagination

Sometimes it fells like you are right here.

But most
           of
            the
                 time
                       you
                           are
                                 running
                                                             away
                                                                                away
                                                                                             away

Genes

Your father was abusive.
A violent drunk.

The four of you will often say:
"We're lucky really. We got out of that shithole"
or something along those lines.

"You're lucky really. You got out of that shit hole"

But the shit hole never left you.

It followed you the way chicken pox
attacks like wildfire
never to be satiated.
Always on to the next victim.

You got out of that "shit hole"
But you dumped us in with you
because the bullied always become bullies
and because when you left,
you took the abuse with you

It is a disease that clung.

The few times I have looked and spoken to him I
have felt sick
and uncomfortable,

He is a stranger.
The ill-gotten stories of
his grandchildren
are trump cards he plays
but i refuse to play the game.

He does not know me.

Yes, you got out of that "shit hole"
but the disease has mutated.

You probably don't think it's here anymore
but I can feel it
in the air

and it makes me sick
with anger.

Mum, you got out of that "shit hole"
but your father was never really gone
and even though I do not know the man that
other girls would call
(grandfather)

sometimes

I think I have met him through you.

Liminal spaces

There are moments when we are talking
when a bridge opens up between us

and I almost step onto it-

I can feel the firm concrete and the relief
but I always back away

the waters are too choppy and
deep.
I'd drown and I am not good at
the forward crawl.

I am back stroking
through cloudy water and
clinging oil.

The bridge offers emulsion

but

I always step back,.

Golden

When we met
I was ten.

You were a
relative stranger.

Big, bubbly and bright

You were wearing a royal blue tunic.

I remember there being sparkles but

memories lie.

You bought gold coins.

It was your way in.

It worked.

You were golden 

and treasured

just like them.

You were new to us but we

were people you already knew.

I don't remember the second or third or fourth time we met.

There was no need-

we fell in love with you instantly.

Big, bubbly, bright and in royal blue, 

you made promises

which you didn't always keep.

Nearly 12 years later

I look back on that day. 

Big, bubbly, bright and in royal blue, 

you bought our love.

We loved you so much.

You loved us back.

With heart, soul and kindness.

But you are careless. 

You don't always do right by us.

We are blindsided by you.

We wear blue-tinted glasses.

It took us time
but we started to scratch
at the blue.

We found shards of light 

but swathes of blue

lingered.

Nearly 12 years later

I am taking the glasses off.

It hurts because you are

big

bubbly

bright

but halah-

you make us blue.

Heavy

In the mirror I see me

Her eyes carry bags
drowning with the
weight
of unshed tears

I ask her for a way out

but

we refuse.

This be the verse.

I learned to take each day as it came not because each day was precious, but because the alternative was painful; looking ahead meant facing pain in the future too - the pain in the present was enough. 

When I was fifteen, I tried my hardest to tell myself things would get better. They did. Mostly. 

There would be times when my thoughts would stumble into wondering about the future. I wondered, will things change and will it stop upsetting me?

Years later, I am reminded of Larkin's poem- although I personally would switch 'parents' for 'family', in the poem.

We learn the hurt when we are young. Life numbs the pain but also remembers and re-remembers it. It doesn't ever leave us. We think it does but it creeps up like a shadow. Like an email you thought you deleted. A text you thought you didn't send. The door you left open by accident. 

Today, I remember that 15 year old girl. I want to tell her that she was right; it gets better. I am better. 

But I don't want to tell her that now, the pain she feels is different. It's another shadow that creeps behind; another email she thought she'd deleted; another text; another door. 

Another, another, another. 

What's on?

My brain is a TV screen and you
are the pixels that crackle when I'm not sure
what channel I am watching.

Sometimes, I jump
into a long running series
and forget
that I haven't
switched channels or
paused for a while.

Then I hear the crackle
and feel the dread
and see the fuzzy black
and white and grey

and I remember.

Miscommunication and Missed communication

When I tell you everything

I am telling you nothing



When I tell you nothing

That is telling you something



everything is nothing

nothing is something



what is everything anyway?

Ode to Nostalgia

You are salty tears;

Nail polish in my mouth.

A scab

I unpick again

and again.

Blood that tastes of metal.

Bitter aftertaste.

The Problem-

I don't want to tell you.

And I do.

I am close, all the time.

I begin, and then I sto-

-p. 

               mid-way

If I tell you I will regret it.

A problem shared is not a problem halved.

The greatest lie.

It only means that now two people know and 

one person is more vulnerable.

trust. the greatest lie.

I definitely don't want to tell you-

but I really do.

Please- 

do you see the problem?

I-

I-

I

.