i want to kiss damien rice, drink with ernest hemingway and marry f scott fitzgerald

have a nice day

my gay self

my gay poetry

im sick of poetic bullshit. the best way 2 sum me up is that im so depressed everything is funny and i think im the best fuckers

i'm the biggest faggot

fri sun tue mon thur wed sat

on mondays i drink
with silly people.
at 4 in the morning
they’re not silly at all.

and i need to feed the
child in my womb,
my mother at the door,
the homeless and the

but i don’t have enough
and i don’t have enough
to cook.

so i’m anxiously anticipating
all the kisses on my neck
and you telling me you’re
fed up of this war
and i’m anticipating an anxious
where i’m left wondering
if you’ve ever held at all.

are you sure this is what you
every tuesday and sunday
can’t we just return to
when you didn’t make me feel
such a fright
at feeling anything
at all. 

empty raindrop

i’m a virgin of love, a widow at sex;
i’ve never held someone,
that’s the least i can admit,
so you with your all screaming,
all fucking- who gives a damn?
i’ll screw any man!- attitude gives me
quite a scare

and a pitiless
at the bottom of my stomach. 


i never imagined sharing my morning toast with you.

we’ve shared dinners and wine,
said hello to your friends and bye
to mine…
what ever happened to Thomas?
or Elisa? Sophie and Peter?
your mother and father? 
is your sister still married, oh damn, i should
just ask you,
but now at breakfast
not dinner nor lunch.

but now i awaken and your arm
is slung across me,
your hands scratching through my
kiss curls,
and i’ll kiss you until i miss you
and then kiss you some more

just tell me when you’re going to be
heading out the door,
maybe i can give you a lift,
just make it before 4.


oh god, oh god, it’s really, really you,
opening the door and letting me


oh goodness, oh my, this is such
a heavenly sweet and ugly

oh boy, oh boy, please don’t tell her-
she mustn’t know,
she’ll care too much,
and i do not dare upset her so

i’m in love with her, you see

but oh boy, pull at my hair and
pull me up and push me down,
and oh boy

oh goodness

oh good god

you’ve got me wrapped and smitten,
my eyes are dead and gone,
my head pathetic and filled with your
voice, your voice

oh goodness

oh no

i can’t even attempt to dress myself

and i’m not quite sure if i’m waiting for you
or if your hands have turned me lazy
but i’m sure, i’m sure
i can’t do anything anymore

so please,
i’m using manners and niceness
just as you are,

but please,
darling boy please,
fasten my shoelaces and cover my eyes
and drive me to a cliff and push me off
so i die

because this headache
this trauma
this lavish crush
is expensive and tiresome 
and i’m a bore with love. 


don’t tell me things you could not repeat
to your father
and we should be safe
and live happily ever after. 

playing cards

i haven’t thought of you
in a very long time
but i saw that you’ve been watching
the news and reading up on atoms and
displacement, and door handles
for your new house
not far from mine.

you haven’t thought of me
at all
throughout the last summer and
but is your room still a mess?
the painting on the wall?
do you still speak french to your dead
sisters and wives?

you’ve lost your glasses,
i heard from daisy who heard from
megan from louise from matilda from
who from that bunch have you not fucked?

i’m waiting, waiting for a letter through the post
a sign from a merchant
just a call at the most
telling me you’ve been thinking of me endlessly
for the past 5 years
because i’ve been thinking of you endlessly
for the past 15. 

in the sunlight
in your shorts
or your favourite yellow summer dress
i imagine
cheap wine and cheese to dine;
plastic forks and
bouncing off every tree

i imagine dogs barking at me
and you
oh you
smirking at the
stupid boys i’ve kissed before and the
sound of water and the snatch of my
breath at 2am when your hands slide
between my

honeyed hair, and do you care to dare
to tell me what you said last night
(do you even remember)
and do you dare to hold my hand
with care and dare to dare and care
and be fair

because in the sun, mixing letters
and money i’ll always wonder
who you’ll next think of
when you miss someone


5am Droolings

your door is red and the handle
airbrushed out by an old lover
who never saw fit to wear
your hats or jumpers or
shoes purchased on a sunny

you’ve had no friends since may,
only pretty girls to kiss your
veins and pretty boys to
dismember your fame.

what’s a lovely boy (like you) doing with a
silly girl (like me)?

you spent a while
forgetting me
and now you’re back
rougher than a detainee.

leave me alone
i’m saying
leave me alone



he latched onto the sleeve of
my shirt and hurt my skin
with his jagged fingertips

i realised then
that i was in trouble,

and all night i’ve been
turning inside out and all
about his words by the
tides on the sea

about a girl
he once
and how he knew now
i was happier with another.

but i can still feel his
rough fingertips and bitten nails 
swiping my shoulders and
ruffling my hair
before he left

i’m now a mess. 

she didn’t know you for the most 
important 12 days of your entire

my covers are creased in worry
and i still lie in that bed sometimes
and remind myself of when you
were mine.

i haven’t blocked you from my
windows or walls

when are you going to pick up
my calls? 

she was stolen by the moon last
sunday night
                    knowing i’d never see her
                    again gave me quite a

darling dear, my most treasured
times are spent with your hand
in mine and some pathetically
cliche message inked onto my

may i kiss anything inscribed
with your name,
the covers of your notebooks,
the old school essays;

                                                                may i kiss you
                                                                even if i bore
                                                                you soon? 

my first born child carved
from my womb may not
bloom as beautiful as you.

thank you, sweetheart,
for letting me use you in my art. 

you’re making me dizzy you silly
little boy, but i’m glad your
left you
because now i can continue to
draw you on my canvas.

may i say
it’ll be a masterpiece. 

you were



you were there when i realised
i could not walk in tall shoes.
on my mind is

and my favourite pair of heels
that have a stain of your scent
on them. 

jack my darling boy,
she’s doing it again
and i’ve fooled myself as i was a fool
with you;
what should i do?

i don’t know, i don’t know, i don’t know
i only hear that she doesn’t know and
neither did you

i suppose.

(yet i love you more than the handle to my room).