Originally I thought I would post all my poems in one post, but since there’s a pretty long gap between the poems I posted in 2023 and the poems I posted in 2024, I decided to split them up. Once again if you want to keep up with any new work that might come out in the future you can follow my mailing list here. I don’t have much public social media besides Mastodon so the mailing list is the most reliable way to hear when my work is being performed.
Content warning: First poem is a little bit sad. Second poem makes a slight reference to self-harm. Bonus story consistently mentions blood and injuries.
1st July 2024 – Walk
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Walk
After decompressing all day I pick out a nice outfit and walk to the train station for drinks with the others at work. Out of habit I check my phone to discover that drinks are happening two weeks from now. I walk back home.
22nd October 2024 – Writers
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Writers
We cut constantly and have all the best words to do so
But we always reserve the best cuts for ourselves
And we all have those little lines that just sum it all up
But the problems start when the line just doesn’t cut it anymore
7th December 2024
I hope we don’t
Recognise each other
In the street
(Bonus) Flash Fiction
This is a writing exercise that never made it online. Here it is!
Heartbreak
Her heart has been hurting for the longest time and today was supposed to be the day that the hurting was going to subside. She had patiently waited for 6 months like the doctor had said, but her heart still bled outwards and pooled in a puddle on the kitchen floor. She had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that there would be a sudden moment when the heart would mend. That there would be a point where the bleeding would simply subside and she would be able to get back on with her life, now it was clear to her that this was not going to happen, not without taking action.
She took out a large roll of bandages that she had been keeping in the drawer, and began to loop the fabric around her chest; slowly circling her abdomen and tightening the line with each loop. As she did, the bandage grew red as the fluids from her body absorbed into the white material. Four, five, six loops later she gave one last tug and, using scissors from her desk, cut the bandage and tied it into itself. It felt uncomfortable at first, but no more blood was escaping, no more red liquid was staining the carpets or furniture or any other part of her house. Grabbing a mop, she began the task of cleaning the dark pools that she had waited too long too clean. With hot water and bleach she began to run the mop back and forward, watching the dark red eyes on the floor dissolve to pink, then yellow, then white, the colour which she remembered she had picked for the kitchen when she moved in. It would be a difficult job to get through the whole house, but no-one else was going to do this for her. She carefully adjusted the bandage around her chest and got to work.