The Sun And The Streets 

We fell in love with each other And then with her. 

She gave us hope in exchange for gold, then slowly you’d given her everything you’d ever owned. 

We touched sporadically, losing our minds so rapidly. 

I took a few steps back while you fell through, and into the arms of someone who would never love you. 

She kept you warm but never fed, you looked so ill now from your toes to your head. 

You spent more time staying in bed, I couldn’t remember the last time you weren’t unkempt.

You never failed to go find her, even if it meant waiting around town till everyone bailed. 

You had given in to the vices, knowing they would quiet the noises. 

She took away the sun but showed you stars and galaxies, you spent more and more nights on the streets. 

You had no doubt and you felt free, all you had left were some faint memories that you lent to her so you could drown in her streams. 


I wanted to be touched by him, 

get down on my knees for him. 

I needed short soft kisses 

and bruises on my back. 

Our bodies merged well together,

unlike the colours in our heads. 

He needed long rough kisses 

and restless fingers in his hair. 

I needed to be violated, 

he needed me to care. 

Not Quite Yours

I light a cigarette and think about how I always wanted to spend Friday night

drunk enough to forget where I come from

with someone whose name I never learned. 
Now I only long to be snuggled up next to my window, aching to have your lazy body against mine as I listen to you talk about your day. 
I want your weekday exhaustion and your Friday night relief. 

I want your sleep drenched kisses, your saliva, and your warm breath. 
I light another. 
Strained voices and muffled laughter. 

I ask you what you’re wearing and imagine you trying to fall asleep beside me, my fingers running through your hair. 
I hear you go quiet and smile to myself, 

put out the cigarette with my fingers and shut the window. 

I then lie in my bed with all of you on my mind and fall asleep to the sound of you breathing.


How come no one has stories about stuff like trying to nick something from a stationary store or accidentally breaking a bone? Why is it always drugs, sex and alcohol? 


Today I couldn’t remember what I ate for dinner last night. It’s funny how that works. Sometimes we can’t remember things we want to and others, we can’t forget if we tried. I have all these unnecessary details about you stuck in my head. I don’t think about it a lot but sometimes it comes over me. Like the urge a dog has to chase a car. 

Alphabet Soup

As a child, I would always stare at my bowl of alphabet soup, waiting for a message. Maybe it would be some sort of secret formula or a message from the universe, I would have even settled for my initials. 
Now I just stare at my bowl of soup because I have no appetite. And also because it was repulsive. While I wasn’t the biggest fan of the canned version, it seemed like a fancy restaurant meal compared to the recipe mother had created. 
I was waiting for her to get busy with phone calls. Once she left the kitchen, I poured the soup into the trash. I don’t care much for separating wet and dry waste, mostly because I don’t know what difference it really makes. I looked at the soup again, wondering if it would look the same coming back up. Just the thought of having to taste chunks of tomatoes and parmesan twice in a day nauseated me. 
I stood in the bathroom for a while, looking at my reflection. I looked at my body very often. I did not admire it but I did not dislike it either. I liked my barely-there breasts because it made me feel closer to being a man. I felt a sense of power. I refused to look below my waist because all I saw was weakness and a discreet birthmark. I decided to shower later in the day.
Mother had already left. She usually leaves the house around 9 am but some days, out of guilt, she’d stay and cook me breakfast. I didn’t get it at first because we had a cook but over time I realised that it was the only time in the day she got to see me and felt the need to do something motherly. 

I could have saved myself from the raw fried eggs every other morning by seeing her when she got back from work at night but it seemed easier to pretend to be asleep so I wouldn’t have to endure the small talk. We never got past the small talk. 
After her father passed away, she took over his business all by herself and managed to keep it running. She had excelled in everything she had ever done. Except being a mother. It was the only thing she never got a hang of. 

Sometimes I was glad that there were so many people around all the time. We had an abundance of housekeepers who couldn’t keep it down but a part of me liked it because I would not hear conversation in this house otherwise. 
It wasn’t much of a bother when I was in school. I would leave home way before it would start and return much after but now that I had graduated, there wasn’t much to do and I no longer liked to wander.
I didn’t do much most days. I just lay in bed. I didn’t use my phone or listen to music. I just lay there and that seemed like enough. At least to me it did but Marcy (one of the housekeepers) kept insisting I go out and see my friends. 

I didn’t have any friends. I knew a lot of people though. Well, I knew some of their names. 
I was not opposed to having friends, I just couldn’t relate to the people I knew. 

They all sounded like they had it pretty bad and I didn’t. Sure, I didn’t know my father but that’s not really considered a loss. It was not like I had lost him to cancer or alcoholism. 

My siblings weren’t dickheads because they didn’t exist. And relationships; what seemed to be the topic of most lunch breaks, were foreign to me. 

I was neither looking for someone to marry nor to live with and other than that, what point did relationships have? It didn’t seem very clever to start something knowing it would certainly end. 
Mother didn’t get that. She would see a different man every 10 days and time after time it seemed like it did not go well. Some nights she wouldn’t come home. I don’t think she wanted me to know so I tried not to mention it. For a successful woman, she still seemed to be looking for her purpose. It wasn’t running a law firm, motherhood or being breathtakingly beautiful. I think it was was to be wanted. 

That’s something I did not want for myself. I had never known a strong woman who was satisfied with herself and didn’t need the attention of a man. I’d heard of it and read about it but I didn’t believe in things I hadn’t seen. Which is why I wasn’t religious and also why I don’t have an opinion about Kurt Cobain’s murder/suicide situation. 

It somehow always seemed like a lot of people, including women, believed that they were incomplete unless they had a man. When I realised this, I constantly wished I was a man, or at the least; gay. Many of my problems stem from being a girl. I was born with a feeling of inadequacy and have still not learned to live with it. The rest of my problems come from being a jaded person. 

I never had hobbies because of how easily bored I was so I never got good, let alone great at anything. My favourites changed so frequently that after a while I stopped keeping up. I didn’t read much and I didn’t like to keep up with TV shows. I tried to avoid things that would stimulate my mind because it would hardly be quiet now, it did not need new things to think about. 
I spent all of my nights on the roof outside my window. I never really learned what it was called. I would light cigarettes and smoke them until the sun would come up. Occasionally having minor anxiety attacks because I would think too much about my purpose, my future. Did I have a purpose? Did any of us? Would the fact that I recycled or how many people I’d slept with matter?

Did estranged relations and healthy eating habits make your life better or worse? There was nothing worse than not knowing what my future would be. I could end up wanting things I never did and be easily entertained for hours by books about nothing and there is nothing I can do about it. So, for now, I’ll lie here in the smoke till my thoughts ebb because the future is just that; the future.