Pieces of Perfections

if i were to split you up into pieces of perfections

it would go something like this:

  1. your love
  2. your angry tears
  3. the love you are given
  4. every mistake you made
  5. everything you say out loud
  6. the anxiety you feel sometimes
  7. everything you say inside yourself
  8. the piece of you that says yes when you want to say yes
  9. the piece of you that says no when you want to say no
  10. the piece of you that doesn’t say anything in case you hurt someone

(maybe in that order)


if i were to split you up into pieces of perfections, and jumble them all up, make some bigger than the other, rename a few pieces when you’re not looking

how unbelievably perfect would you be?

if i were to split you up into pieces of perfections, take you away from your form, look at you naked, no longer clothed in your hopes and dreams

would you remain perfect? or are you posing just for me?

if i were to split you up into pieces of perfections, keep one in a jar beside my bed, one to freshen the clothes in my cupboard, and one to spread the jam on my toast

how grossly imperfect would i be? holding on to you pieces of you?

showing you off and using you to survive?

if i were to split you up into pieces of perfections, i’m sorry. i should never have done it.


Pieces of Perfections

I see you sat there and I love you.

She’s sat there with her hair waving towards the grit between the kitchen tiles.

Her £15 manicure tapping against the marbled worktop.

She says she sees UFOs in the marbled pattern and watches him speak; with passion; about the flat earth.

What she really sees is the faces of ghouls that visit her dreams.

She is his.

She has dirt under her nails and they both know it,

and she wants to not care and she is his.

The grey is starting to fall beside her mouth and she wants to not care. But she is his.

As he speaks about making her the best breakfast ever

The green for her red blemishes has failed to blend into her blush.

There is nothing in the fridge,

and he wants to care but she is his.

The morning puffiness beneath her eyes has grown because he loves it and she is his.

She has tried sleeping less so it can look – puffier – she has tried sleeping more so it can look – puffier – she has tried to sleep restlessly so it can look – puffier.

Her winning result is: restless. Because he looks at her and she is his.

And he will see me sat there and he will love me.

I see you sat there and I love you.

seeking help

my dreams in no particular order:

– my man in blue.
– the hole in my back.
– the skin graft I perform on myself – from my clit to my chin.
– the empty box of Chinese that I would like to fill with my vomit, to see i am made of something. and I am rejecting some things. and I can decide what I need. and what I do not. is that you?
– the wet sock merging with my skin.
– the context: my sister had a dream of giving motivational speeches on beaches. I counter-dreamed. I saw a green monster shitting on every beach she gave a speech. a fight she didn’t know we had.
– the fireflies dying and the horrible feeling of seeing city lights instead.
– the one where your eyes droop towards the dirt.
– the possibility of me being not-all-there.
– the yellows I touch turn grey. or milk coloured. depends on my mood.
– the old boxy tv saying ‘I told you so’ while drinking fizzy orange juice. it doesn’t scare me that a tv would drink juice.
– the new plane I will never attain unless I kill myself. (I’m sorry you had to read that)
– salman rushdie hugging me. this definitely is a bad dream.
– the people missing me. and having ‘the people’ in my vocabulary.
– the missing poster.
– the reward (or just the beginning) of a complete end.

now that the list has been put forward to you all, you may tell me what is a good dream and what is a bad dream. I dream so much that I don’t sleep. I am tired, so very tired. please tell me what is good and what is bad. I would do it myself but I need to get some shut eye. I know it may seem like an optional task but I would like to emphasise that it is necessary and important. I need rest.

seeking help

Paradise Avenue

Paradise Avenue.
The angels argue who will fall
first, and they choose you.
You are quick to laugh it off,
“O Angels, must I fall. Can you not arrange a ride? With all the power God holds, can he not find someone, who with me, could die?”

Amongst the extroverted residue
I see translucent trails of you.

I see you cry by the bins of Abraham’s bakery
you are just a sphere of blue
Without blowing my cover from behind the reed flute
I somehow wish to tell you
for years I’ve watched you grow into
a light above the architectural dispute,
and since a child golden cobbles heat up as you walk beside them on your way to Gabriel’s honey pool,
I see you between God and his first Repute
and since a young age you have had your eyes wishing to dilate,
cocking your head between God and Adam
wishing you could have a love as great.

For heavenly years I have tried to build up the verses to tell you that;
I have fallen in love with watching you and
I have come to always
see you behind me, ahead of myself
I see you above me, I lower myself
my only wish is for you to be brave enough to grow form
so I may hold you and you may have, just as you wished, a love to fall for.

Paradise Avenue


We don’t know where we’re going. We’re by a canal and we innately understand that the city lights won’t let our gravity be defied. We plaster our sight across every other line, across every other line, across every other line.

– We need green.
We catch eyes.

I inwardly apologise if I’ve done this prematurely. Face on; I turn to face you. On the hill, the sky meanders until it is the only thing beside you. There’s a blur of scintillating taxi signs and 5pm fireflies behind you. I can see the line of your profile. You breathe deep and the lines of your chest become obtuse. You breathe in the ripples of the sky. The lines of your silhouette reach its peak and the city lights seep behind it. Right there, in front of my eyes, you breathed in deep; and I witnessed you taking away the disquiet.

– We need blue.                                           We we want each others’ truths.

We’ve waited months for the night to fall and now it is ours. Starting to feel more at ease we talk without taking a breath. We know that with each anecdote that passes by the sundials amends its time. It gift us with more night to watch the stars fight with sonar lights. We’re walking side by side holding onto our own shivers; but we’re not yet close enough. I want you to know I can take away the winter breeze and I need you to know I have never spoken with such wide-eyed devotion about the mundane. I tell you things I’ve never known.

– We need red.

Walking further along the canal we come across a damp dock to rest our backs on. We need to jump over fences to get to it. We came this far. We jump. To make sure we know the night is real we chose a ribbed dock to lay on. Side by side, we catch planes while I dip my feet into the water. You tell me you should never really have your chest uncovered. I take off my coat and cover us both. I dip my head underneath and you follow suit. For that moment we didn’t need the stars. For the first time, under my winter coat, I felt the density of your spectre. The sky becomes impatient and warns us the night is coming to an end. It begins to rain. We don’t want to leave but the rain gets heavier. We run towards a bridge, shivering and wet. I bury myself in your chest and without knowing we protect each other from the heavy rain.The sky is still not happy. Lightning begins to flash and we decide to take shelter under some stairs. Arching our backs slightly, we find ourselves away from the city and finally from the sky. While we wait for the rain to stop falling, you quieten all the noise as we kiss for the first time. The lightening stops and the rain fades. We wait for the noise to come back but the only thing that can be heard is a sheet of film sliced between dusk and dawn melting away.


The Two Hearts That Were Moved By Each Other

Simple face, simple speech,

only ever asked for simple things when she was asked-

“What would you like to do?” To do.

“It’s up to you.”

She sneaks out of her house to see the silent skies not knowing the night she’d chosen to glorify uncertainty was the same night the Absolute would fall into her world.

She’s wearing the silk blouse she wore that day when the man behind the counter stuttered nervously in her presence. She can taste the cold. She can feel her nipples numbing beneath the Chelsea blue. The moon lets her have this night to herself and slips behind the church roof.

The air is fresh enough to feel it fall asleep on the back of her neck.

Tiptoeing on the below-the-hip brick wall, she makes her way to the end of the street.

She halts as she starts to feel herself hollowing, the weight of the unseen falling to the bottom of her stomach. It starts off with a heavy blur in her right ear. A dulling white appears before her right eye. Her head cranes in the same direction. The absurdities are not enough of a warning for her sudden fall to the ground.  Winds rush to carry her coarse screams away so no one on the street can hear. This is a private affair. The screams keep coming for it is now her heart’s turn to shift to the right.

She lies on her stomach, breathless, biting on her gum, her left ear pressed against the ground, waiting for the heart to end its stir.

Through the dizzying pain she sees a figure standing on a street, on the right off of her own.  She blinks once very carefully to let her eyes adjust to what can be seen.  He wore a black woollen coat. The shoulders fit him perfectly; a sign that he may have searched for it. The wool between his shoulders glazes over the dip in his back and she is confused as to why this is her first point of attention. From the way he is standing she is assured that everything that touches him wants to be touched back. She confirms within herself that he did not search for it, it just fits him well.

“What would it be like to be made of wool?”

His head is tilted upwards ever so slightly, waiting- disciplining the elements to stop and quieten.  In the church yard the oak tree apologetically stops its rustling. Street lamps subdue their saturated oranges. The moon remains hidden; with ardour and embarrassment it understands one should not be witnessing such an intimate affair. The only source of light to fall upon the figure is the colour blue; the colour that was once waiting to be discovered. Now, in this very moment, Blue shows itself, unveils and sinks into each available pore in all its deepest shades. There is a silence upon every sense. Fearful of breaking that silence, a wave of wind rushes in to catch his attention. It unloads the impatient screams of the girl lying on the street.

It was if he was waiting for this very moment; for his world to start blinking heavier. For his world to just about slip into deep sleep. And for it to then be awakened by the sound of need.

She sees him move. ‘He moves,’ she thinks. He turns his head to his left walks towards the figure on the ground. The Blue crawls into the lines beneath his eyes, making his expression hard for The Girl on The Floor to see. He keeps on walking. Blue crawls further, now into his eyes and in a jealous frenzy for attention freefalls onto his right cheek. She can hear his walk. He walks quicker until he hits a glassy new air outside of his atmosphere. He can hear breaths other than his own. He can hear her breathing.

He struggles to take in air. “Don’t sigh,” she says. A laugh splutters out of his mouth as he reassures her he’s not sighing.

“I can’t breathe.”

“Neither can I.” His legs buckle and his back bends backwards until it reaches the ground where she lies. His eyes are closed and his jaw is clenched.

“This was always meant to happen, wasn’t it? This is what you were waiting for?”

“Yes. I was waiting for you.”

His stomach concaves as the first stage of the hollowing begins. As if preparing himself for this very moment, he reached out and held her hand knowing that it was his turn for his heart to fleet to the right. She moved closer to him. His hand did not feel like the hand of a stranger. His hand felt like it should have always been there. She did not question what was happening. He said he was waiting for her – and that was enough.  With his eyes closed, he yells in pain and tightens his grip around her hand. She can hear his teeth grinding against each other. Still lying on her front, she moves closer to him until they touch. Her head is now resting near his shoulder. She counts the cold breaths coming from his mouth.

“It’ll be over soon.”

Both hearts have ended their move and are now still. Both hearts have been moved. They both lay on the ground, arms by their side, one hand in each other’s, in front of the church yard at the end of her street. The moon knows it can come out now, but it still lets them have their moment in private.

The Two Hearts That Were Moved By Each Other

I Don’t Believe


I don’t believe in the first day we met
It’s all just fables and tales.
We may have bled into each others skin
unwillingly seeped into each other’s lives


we may have forgotten what we meant

maybe we never said hello right


I don’t believe in the way you look at me
Because there has never been a day
you didn’t look dead
And that’s not how it’s supposed to be


It’s supposed to be us against the world

                                      but the world burnt us alive


I don’t believe in a mother’s touch
Because sadness no longer means
find warmth from your hands
It means find shelter in any man’s plan


You didn’t even have to do anything,

I could have brought the blanket


I don’t believe in firearms since
the day you shot me in the leg
and I fumbled by your feet
close to kissing them


I’m sorry for staining your shoes

I remember trying them on as a kid

I don’t believe I saw remorse
When you froze me with your stare


I don’t believe you ever looked at me
standing still when you breathed heavily


I don’t believe humans are from one
because we’ve always been about honesty


I don’t believe we are all connected
All because you don’t believe in me