it's my birthday on OCTOBER 3RD. 

i will be 21. 

i've lived a little more than i ever did before.

i saw the inside of my head from a first persons perspective. 

i know who i am, but i am extremely scared to lose her. 

my sister is my soulmate and my friends are my angels.

my throat hurts more than last year from the cigarettes and the screaming. 

my heart hurts alot more than ...

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i lived inside my head for a month, 

not on purpose.

for a while i thought maybe dying would be better than living in my head. 

well the girl inside my head thought that.

because it wasn't really me in there.

it was a twisted, cataracted me. 

she had short hair but it was matted, and she had my teeth but they were rotting. 

she was sad, and she was angry, and she was scared. 

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just wrote a piece about feeling panicked. 

about my old family curse. 

but i deleted it by accident. 

maybe its for the better,

it was very pretentious. 

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everyones leaving for the summer. 

outside car doors slam and girls with long blonde hair, 

grin at their sisters and hug their brothers.

books bundled high in stricken arms. 

no tears, they're just leaving for the summer. 

open windows to air out the spring, the old. 

rucksacks bursting with new tshirts. 

i watch from an opened window on the third floor, 

i need the air to...

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right now. 

in this moment. 

right now, i love. 

i love. god i love,

everyone i have ever met. 

lying, sweating, pulsing. 

in love with myself and the world. 

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here she is! 

O great ones,

the first of our ancestors to weep!

the strikingly plain girl with blunt hair and wavering convictions.

her fathers daughter, 

firstborn, born quietly into the night,

born at midnight.

what a disappointment, our hardened labourers hands and courage,

wasted on a girl, a girl who weeps.

who's heart has been weakened by love.

a spoiling of our...

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i am wrapped in an orange towel crying in the bathroom. 

because i am scared and because i am sad. 

to lament the unlovable nature of oneself, 

yet freeze at any moment of affection is a hard life to lead. 

but i am leading it and it is hard. 

why cant i open myself to people. 

why?

who made me this way. 

who placed feelings so deep and profound in my heart,

but locked t...

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i had my first panic attack last night.

i thought it was a heart attack. 

i thought maybe i was going to die.

i didnt, 

but i was shaking, and i was cold, 

i couldnt breathe and i was sick.

and when i thought about it, 

i was scared to go

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please come over. 

we can read, or talk.

please come over and tell me your secrets. 

i can listen, you can talk.

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when i was 11, 

i wanted to be 20. 

i was too old for my own good.

sat with adults, talked like adults, ate like adults

i turn 21 in 4 months and i think there might be nothing i want more than to be 11 again.

when me and my cousins were equals. 

life has always been difficult for me, 

but it was okay at 11,

because i was 11.

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there is something in my stomach. 

there's something in my stomach. 

i scream. 

someone help get it out. 

i scream. 

they cant, obviously. 

of course they cant, i can. i can. 

it hurts. 

its hurting me. 

i scream, 

someone do something. 

a hug, a mother, a family. 

it wont stop hurting me. 

not since last week. 

or maybe a year ago is more accurate. 

or...

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theres periods 

of mourning, 

every morning. 

when the seasons change, 

when they days get longer, or shorter. 

i feel a deep dread, a doomed life ahead of me.

no matter how much i begged the maker for the days to change length, 

when they do I can see so far ahead, 

that the ends in sight.

and that end is kind, but cruel. 

so far ahead that the seasons no longer, 

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i want to give myself up, be caught red handed.

i say outloud the things that are supposed to be unspoken, 

because i need to hurry, i need to hurry up. 

when she knocks over the last paper cup and i have to clean it from the carpet.

down on my hands and knees, unashamed and angry. 

staring through my legs at the boys whilst they go on not caring about my legs, 

or the carpet. 

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i leave things in other peoples houses on purpose. 

so they remember me.

so i have reasons to return. 

i left a poster in one, 

my sunglasses in another, 

so i stay in mind.

so when they wear the glasses, or the pass the poster,

they think of Nadia. 

me. 

i leave bits of me in every place i go, 

i make sure to share too much, or shout too loud. 

so they remember me...

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there is a wanting so dreadful within me. 

and god put it there he sent me here to be hungry and alone,

with blood dripping from my mouth the mouth of babes. 

if i meet him and he smiles i swear i'll make him cry the way i do.  

i have love. I HAVE LOVE.

i have it to give, in buckets, in pails,

theyre so full of love i could hardly fill them with sand.

but where do i put them ...

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the best times come from the sun shining at a certain angle onto the sheets of my bed.

when the yoghurt tastes good and the granola doesnt need honey.

when my cousin grazed his forehead, when my sister broke her arm.

when i would stare up into tree's 

when they would stare back.

lying face down on the ground smiling,

because there was always the next day, and another.

the stra...

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i have no idea how to reconcile the fact that,

i knew people once, like i know the lines on my face.

people who now fade so far into my memories that nothing reminds me of them.

my mum says, thats the way it is.

that life is about the fading and the renewal.

the old memories being old and never present. 

but i cant stomach it!

it makes me completely sick. 

i wish i knew eve...

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there's been a tightening in my chest as of late. 

my dad says its the cigarettes ive started smoking. 

that the clouds that form around the people i talk to, 

well theyre no good for me. 

there's been a longing in my bones as of late. 

my brain tells me its the position i curl myself into, 

spine splitting in two as i gape.

there's a funny sadness in my heart as of ...

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the new year rolls in and ive learned so much and so little all at once. 

so much about myself, and so little of how to deal with it.

i know now that i can be kissed, and liked, and loved.

but now it hurts all the more that im not.

knowing i have the capacity for it, and not recieving it, 

having it hang out of reach. kills me, it kills.

i know when to stop, and how long to stop ...

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a girl like me will meet a boy she loves and instead of loving them,

she will think only of the words she will use to describe them, 

when she writes a poem that night.

i am not ashamed of my soul that i bear whenever i open it.

a girl like me will write about every person she encounters,

and hope that for some reason they stumble upon it,

and spend the rest of their life wonderi...

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i think to be unloved is to be damned. 

for a while i thought myself damned.

can you really be damned at 16?

i gave him two cigarettes this time, 

and offered another two. 

he smoked them till the tips of his fingers burned, 

i wanted to place them on my lips.

suck them, kiss them, cool them.

i sat across from him, nursing one drink, careful with my teeth and my brow.

he...

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sorry. 

SORRY.

but i cant stop grinning. smiling. laughing.

what if im actually happy this time.

and its down to the ones i hate the most.

down to them because one crossed a line.

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oh my stomach! my heart! my chest! 

oh it aches, it aches so it does!

forcing pizza down my throat at a table of my enemies and my best friends.

i hurt, i am screaming at them. 

my eyes, cant you see the pain in them!

am i not as poetic looking as i seem inside my own head?

i wasnt raised by poets, or ones that believed they were.

i always wished one day i would find an album ...

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all i know is that i love you. 

all she knows is that she loves you. 

in the dead of summer, in the heat of the summer.

resting on a grassy hill she hold her head against yours and licks away the tears.

and i watch on. i stare and stare at the screen, i stare and stare.

my jeans unbuttoned since the waist is too tight and i feel sick without a hand against my stomach. 

my legs re...

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he told me i write weird 

that i am weird. 

the posters in my highschool hallways told me weird was kool. 

its hip to be square. like that song.

im a weird girl a weird weird strange girl. 

but not strange, because strange is hot.

strange is innocent, and hot and different, and sexy.

weird is gross, and weird. 

he said im a bit odd.

am i an oddity? for his consumption. 

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"i know how to walk from here to there" 

okay, i muse back, 

"so walk through fires with me, walk through" 

i cant. i never have been able to. 

the places that i walk from are the mouths of cavernous houses. 

and from them ive only just realised i can leave.

"i will give you wings and a heart and a lust for the finer things"

good, i need an incentive.

"but you must act upon...

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i like to read the shortest love notes.

i wonder if i'll ever get to feel the things they say.

or if anyone could write one for me.

its worn to want sonnets, or poems, or letters,

everyone wants effort.

but i have so little knowledge of love.

and sometimes i wonder if i am past an age where it is sweet, naive.

a coddled, spoiled, beautiful thin princess in an arranged marrige ...

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sitting on a train with my head bowed in a quiet mourning for the couple sitting two seats in front.

or really for me.

i mourn for me, me and my love and its cramps.

im in love, im in love and once more im in love. 

not with anyone but with everyone, or anyone who'd see it through.

then each time i remember that the only thing i want to be is noticed,

someone can notice that, eve...

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i offered him the hug 

but when asked about a kiss

i burst into uncomfortable tears.

i offered him the cigarette 

and when he refused 

my insides curdled. 

because he was kind, and he laughed, and he didnt listen 

but he laughed. 

he laughed so itd be okay.

and he asked me to see a film and he paid 

and he asked me to do it again. 

me, being asked to go again. 

...

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i can cry in my mothers arms, 

lamenting my broken face. 

our crooked brow. 

the nape of my neck.

i can sweat out a feeling. 

i can sweat out the ugly. 

i was born with a predisposition for hate.

borne from man, 

borne from hate.

born with black eyes. 

im supposed to cry into my mothers neck whilst she

remembers what it was like before it all. 

she wai...

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if you show yourself to me 

i will disappear under the vastness of linen filled lines.

i will run through clouded streets until my legs give way. 

if you loan yourself to me 

the farthest hills out yonder 

arent far enough for me. 

the distance to be put 'tween us 

by me, 

must be longer than the wizened vines that grow from your mothers childhood home. 

must be wider th...

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i miss the child i was at 17. 

i miss 17, i miss missing, i miss loving nothing. 

i miss wanting to feel and not being old enough to get it yet.

i miss thinking i was emotionally literate. 

im 19. 

nineteen. 

i am still a baby, a kid, a viriginal chalice not yet ready to be drunk from.

there is no slow down, you crazy child when it comes to me. 

my onlookers wince as i choo...

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am i hungry or has the pit returned.

that stupid fucking pit.

its an eternal loop, circling in and out of itself.

floating dead centre in my gut.

particles of another girl explode and expand out of it, 

overcome by this strange girl from the strange world.

i weep on my mothers lap, 

i retch over porcelin, patterned.

seeing my sister for the first time in weeks, 

she glow...

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youre a good little girl,

he types.

youre submissive arent you, 

he moans, over text.

he expects a beguiled, 

blushing emoji in response.

what he gets is three dots and an empty silence so loud he remembers what he is.

a greasy teen (21 years of age).

a lusty manchild looking for another child. 

he tells me im a cute and submissive girl, 

with luscious milk bags. 

...

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curled on a velvet chair

in a darkening room

is a monstorous teen. 

outside the blackening,

is a fading pink sky.

the clouds within whisper to shepards, 

"Delighted I Hope"

and on the highest grassy hills,

the shepards face eternity.

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my soft soles patter over the cold slates that make up the maze of halls im scurrying through.

i am on an adventure, a treacherous journey,

to retrieve a single key for a locked door ive been trying to batter down my entire life.

there are others, winding their ways through the spiralling turrets.

sometimes we even fall in unison, 

our shoes hitting the same beats, on the same beate...

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gracefully i perch on the edge of the bus seat, 

so as to convey my feminine, my eyelashes. 

each time the doors open my posture rushes to fix itself, 

my fringe blown out by my hands running through it. 

when i'm most worn out, 

on the days when the world is dragging its feet,

when my joints tingle with pins and needles. 

to look pretty on the edge of a bus seat is a fufillin...

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floating in that acrid pool of nothingness, 

a feather kissed the tip of my nose and whispered softly over my face.

in that moment, decided. 

i watch the village of women who surround me each day, 

awash with a soft awe at their mossy eyes and woolen hands. 

i link arms with the girl i love most on a late night walk, 

running from the boy who asked me to give apart of myself.

...

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i've seen the smallest, tall creatures be eaten alive from the inside.

a quick glance to the left and under the bed will tell you all you need to know. 

the festering, rotten bed frame.

assembled by the very thing that chained me onto it for years.

but when i finally broke my own chords, vocal and the ones restraining,

another creature crawled from under the bed and took my place. 

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she died on the bathroom floor you know. 

a cut on her ribs. 

the rib borne from man, 

killed the girl on the bathroom floor. 

no one had kindness. no one had words of condolences. 

only four pictures and a note, 

only they proved someones love for her. 

the things that made her beautiful, 

an innocence lost, 

a bleach blonde tangle, 

and a vicious lover from a doomed...

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on the day i decorated one side of my wall, 

there was a statue that fell with a crash, 

and cratered the ground. 

a statue whos golden plaque was read aloud to me as a child. 

and on the day i decorated one side of my wall, 

with the movie quotes, 

and the pretty people, 

on that day my eyes bruised themselves silly. 

my pockets full of hours, and grief. 

non violent pu...

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ive been invited to a party this saturday. 

i think i will go, 

i think i will get as drunk as i can. 

to feel the painful crushing weight of the sunday hangover. 

im going to act as if i am in a french film. 

i will tell each person a different lie, 

tell them something i've made up about myself. 

these people dont know me. 

dont know me at all. 

but whats more lik...

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i'm choosing to forget the stick and poke image, 

of myself in my head. 

my likeness is one i want to be liked. 

the stick and poke is immature and elementary. 

think your high school aquaintance,

who always wanted a tattoo. 

but 15 was still too young. 

so they mutilated the innocent skin of their thighs. 

the mutliated image of my body, my face, my ugly wretched soul

b...

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its awfully strange. 

i scrapbook pieces of my soul, and mind together. 

together on the pages of a lined notebook, 

the glue i used melts into the paper and the newspapers i borrowed evaporate. 

the news dies, or fades, it disappears. 

melted together with the newest form of creative escapism ive decided upon.

there are vibrations under my papercut hands, markered with...

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when i see the girls who match my soft body,

when i see them wear the skirts, the tshirts, you know the ones.

well when i see them, i feel as though i must reach through to the other side

of the screen that seperates and give them a star shaped sticker. 

the stickers that, while they got their flowers, we coveted on our walls. 

it's awkwardly awkward trying to explain this to anothe...

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to feel as if one has emerged from a cloud of dust each time they wake, has to mean a great deal. 

it's what's on your mind, as you duet with the girl on the other side of your headphones. 

it must feel like the brightening of the day, the singing of the earliest bird, the sweat after the fight.

at least this is what you think to yourself. 

for you it means to be able to run two steps ...

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who wants the teenage girl
sitting on her rustled bedsheets. 
stained tshirt, stained tear tracks. 
smiling, cooing and ooing at the people on the tv. 
blushing when he kisses the girl she wants to be. 
or when she sits alone in the cinema, grinning. 
toothy smiles, outrageous laughs
too loud even for the rest. 
seeing the best film in the world. 
then another best film in the world. 
co...

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love feels like cold jealousy. 
sitting across from one another. 
the table could be worlds and oceans. 
i sting with furious stomach churning envy. 
snakes and beetles scurrying between my legs. 
closed and rotten now i know what i do. 
she is so much younger than i,
the times my time was always first, 
no longer exists. 
she broke a cycle as old as i, and therefor 
as old as my time. 
...

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charcoal toothpaste. 
teeth whitening strips. 
water on a bathroom floor muddied with muttered songs. 
cans of who and why on a windowsill. 
forehead sweat. made to stick fringes.
quick to anger. founded in a parent not so unlike. 
jerking awake. jolting asleep. comfort nul. 
calm mornings when the sun alarms. 
evil feelings when green and yellow lie dormant. 
stuttered uttered eye contac...

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its hard to measure a single beating heart 
to measure its clawing judgement. 
to measure the mothers beating blood while she’s
wrenching, retching and writhing. 
its hard to measure disgust, 
difficult to seethe while corps-less hearts beat inside you. 
its easy to declare a hidden hate, 
easy to let it wage a war on a world you don’t understand. 
its hard to watch, fallen sisters. 
its ...

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