We Better Finish That Movie (pt 1)

It tastes like summer smells.

And it’s not sweet

because summer,

summer is sunscreen,

and salt,

and sweat.

And none of those are sweet.

But it’s warm,

and it’s good,

and it’s happy.

And I think

I’d feel sick if it was sweet

Because I

was never really one for too much


And sugar just

seems to smother things

it’s like a disguise

and I think you

have always preferred

to cut to the chase.



Nothing Special, Just Gonna Get It Out

And just like that I’m sad again. It’s 7:22 and I know I’ll be okay in the morning but right now I’m not and I can’t work out why.

Yes I can. I know why.

It’s because I feel like we’re fighting even though we’re not (I don’t think?). It’s because I’m alone and my house isn’t my home and I realised I’ve failed as a big sis. It’s because I can’t find a job and I got a parking fine and I lost my best friend and I can’t afford contacts and my car’s fuel light is pretty much always on and I want to travel but I can’t and I have a secret that’s eating me alive.

I have secret. And it’s eating me alive.

And I’m going to tell you, but I really don’t want to talk about it. So now every time I see you I have a little freak out because what if this is the time I tell you? And even worse: what if it’s not?

I’ve been meaning to tell you for months and I’ve always said if you want to know, just get me drunk. But I realise this is something I’ll have to do sober, which scares me. Because that means it’s important and I don’t want it to be important, I don’t want it to have such a hold on me, on you, or on our relationship.

I don’t know where i’m going with this.

I’m scared of telling you, of your reaction, of you realising I’m probably not worth it.

I’m working myself into a state, so I’m just going to publish this and hope nobody even follows this stupid blog anymore.

I’m A Sly, Manipulative Woman

Words are said

with that stupid laughing emoji,

as though they aren’t going to impact all I do

for the next six months.

My heart is broken yet we laugh about it.

Chocolate hair has visited my dreams since

tormenting the way I treat my friends

because someone I grew up with,

decided I was no longer worth it.

I know I’m not a good person

but surely even I deserve to be told.

The last time I saw you,

you hardly said two words

then shut the door in my face.

I drove home shaking,

my best friend in the passenger seat

was afraid we were going to crash.

how dare you do that to her.

The last time we spoke, you didn’t.

I sent messages and watched

as you left me on ‘seen’.

You said I should reach out

but ignored when I did

“goes to show how much

ten years of friendship means to her”

I’m sorry you feel that way.

I’m sorry you feel the need

to burn such a reliable bridge.

I’m sorry you couldn’t realise

that you walked all over

the people who would have

made the world turn backwards,

just for you.

I’m sly? I guess I have to accept that.

And I guess I’ll warn people of it

when they make moves to be my friend.

I’m sly, whatever you mean by that..

Don’t worry, none of this was supposed to make sense, just like none of what she’s doing does.


Too Much Sadness

The numbers are piling up,

of people telling me their secrets.

Maybe one day

I’ll see them in my dreams,

the ghosts of my friends.

Maybe they’ll tell me things,

things that should not be said

by the dead.

And as they tell me,

“This is your fault,

you could not love me,”

their cold, skeleton hands

will wrap around my throat

and silence my sobs

and thicken my grief.

My mind will play

like a broken record

the life fading out of their eyes

and realisation

that I can’t save

those who have decided

they’re already gone.

I have not seen the last girl

who told me she wants to die

since we were sat on that couch

three weeks ago

and I held her as she cried.

My tears now carry

the weight of not knowing,

of wishing there was something I could do.

It’s been two days

since my fears were confirmed

and I saw those dreaded red lines

on my best friend’s arm.

I did not realise the pain

and I did nothing to prevent it.

Because a smile does so much

and I spend so long

feeling sorry for myself

that I consciously ignore the signs.

I can’t handle more phone calls,

telling me goodbye at 3am.

I can’t withstand

another boy there in front of me

with a plastic bag over his head,

begging me to save him,

only to punch my face

when I tear the bag in half.

My head feels clouded these days

and my clothes smell of alcohol

because I’d rather bathe in vodka

than other people’s second-hand sadness.

I’m not saying I don’t care,

maybe I care too much,

I think I just need a break

from things that make us all numb.

Because I can not save them

when I am only just managing to save myself.

still healing, always will be

there is a thing in my past

that has been hurting me

that no one knows about

that i don’t think i’ll ever get over

that i can’t manage to speak of.

it makes me want to cry

every second of every day

and it upsets me more

to know i was not strong enough

to willingly live knowing it happened.

there is someone i want to punish

for the way i have lived

in the past three years.

for all the pain they put me through

for all the problems that stem from it

for the normality of life they took from me.

i wish i didn’t think of it as much as i do

i wish it never became such a huge part of my life

i wish i didn’t blame myself for so long afterwards

i wish i had cut that person out of my life sooner

i wish i told someone.

i wish it never happened.

I Can’t Go Back


eating has been getting hard again.

Everything I put in my mouth feels wrong,

my tongue treats food

like a foreign object,

I don’t want food.

My teeth tell me I’m in pain

when I try to put them to work.

I’m not in pain.

My throat is overwhelmed

with act of swallowing.

It’s not that hard.


As I unwillingly consume

the things I once loved,

my mind becomes a calculator,

counting calories and thinking

of reasons I should not be eating.

I know how many extra kilometres

I will have to run

because of a single chocolate bar.

And how those three pancakes cost me,

in the form of 200 sit-ups

and a guilty conscience.

Maybe you would have flat stomach

If you cut down on the cake.


I’ve started painting my nails again,

because they might start turning yellow.

And then people ask questions,

I don’t want to answer those questions.

And I can’t seem to get warm,

I’m shivering all the time,

my toes turned blue the other day.

but I can blame that on winter.

And I’ve noticed things in hind sight

that should have been clear warnings.

Like when I started replacing meals

with stolen alcohol,

because at least that gives

the illusion of a filled stomach.

Or when I started to enjoy

the hunger I feel when I first wake up.


I’ve been terrified.

Of the things happening in the world.

And I think my stress

makes me happier chewing my cheek

rather than an apple.


I’m terrified of what i’m doing

to myself.

The way I seem to have no regard

for my health and wellbeing.

Even as I write this I shake from hunger.

And I know I should do something,

get help,


or just fucking eat.

But being back in this place is hard,

and I swear I’m fine.

I have to be fine,

there’s no other option.

Because I can’t go back.

I can’t go back to therapy.

I just can’t.