i have a very short fuse and am treading on a very thin rope, which is poor excuse for being a cunt to most people most of the time.

i think the most frightening thing about this whole situation is myself- i know that i know that's why i make predictable mistakes stumble out of control something obvious, but apparently i am quite entertaining like this, even if that's all.

but i love him i love him and i want him home.

i wrote to him when he gets out we will have a perfectly us love story to tell (i wish i didn't have to tell it)

i am predictable product//imitating photographs of who i used to be.
i am angry.
i may do many things i will regret//i choose not to regret not today i just want to feel something else.

i hate him for leaving me for making mistakes before he even had a chance to know me.

this story is different- half a year later or so, back to a different beat.
ive forgotten how to blog.

ive been writing letters every day which is different to any type of writing i know and i don't think i quite do it right because i just talk to him like i would and i tick tick tick and stutter and run off on bizarre tangents and interrupt myself and sometimes it is pretty and sad like i sometimes i am and sometimes its the day, always it is me. i never have to know how he felt when he got a letter from me. but i know they are read.

ill try again maybe with this blog-business
it feels strange like
i hope im not straining for something to say, but it feels familiar too. like an old friend.

FOR MEL

I love the way we put beautiful flowers you gave me in a blender in the laundry and China tries to have a bath in the kitchen sink. You make me so happy. The horse and carriage you took me on rode us around the city and everywhere I looked reminded me of you and even the driver; country and smelling of horse, teaching us that riding a horse was like riding a woman- it was all so perfectly you. I hope you know the pawprints on my back are not about being a kitten, or even my little China or awful Fleta but something of you too, steps of our journey. Now I have something of you on my skin- not just under my skin.I love you Mel. I love that you can still tell me new secrets, sing loud cheesy music on the train platform, dance in each other's eyes aand complain about long walks to Mcdonalds. I love that you can say you're sorry without apologising for the wonderful, complex person you are. I love that you can accept me and fall asleep next to me on the floor in front of the tv. I love that that's only one weekend of our lives.

they talk about the masculine/sublime/the feminine

you are every bit as beautiful

as the truth of your lips.

there i was searching

for some pearl of wisdom

i found between your thighs

venus,

a womans touch.

'i wonder what we look like from a birds eye view'

'perfect' i said.

someone please recreate me as sylvia plath's long dry pen, i want to be that sentence that you take a moment to breathe in, that leaves you dizzy trying to remember what it was you just read.

you are the deepest point in me
if you'd only touch me
i dont want to measure in time
i will measure in your distance

i will travel in the memory

of your breath

against my skin

in the shower

i will sneak a glance

at your reflection in the mirror.

do u think when we live together things will still be the same?

i reached my arms around her/its always something/she said/as she inched away/my arms were still airbone/like/i was waiting for something/to/lift me.

i cried in a room of boxes, fleta malting all over me. and i thought, well.i never thought id cry. i never thought id miss a pair of ballet shoes, or a text book. or my mess i never use. i never thought id wonder what to do with socks that are too small and torn for me to wear.

in two days i fly the nest.

darling, in our years together, we discover i can fit my arms around you perfectly. i can curl into you no matter how far you turn away.we write poetry on our bed and you try not to laugh when i stumble over the big words i use when i write about the way i feel about you. you sing to me your stange past that mystified me when we first layed next to each other; and i dig into you, and i learn every wink and every memory you draw on my palm. we watch movies i never thought id bring myself to watch and you look down your nose at my snobbery and i kiss your freckles and bury my face in the covers so you can't see how much im smiling. we teach our children something i could never teach myself and they are perfect, as our love, and they are happy, as we are. you cook for me and i try to cook for you, and i eat from your mouth every pure and devourable thing you have to say, and i lick from your skin something of soap and nectarines and home. we greet every predictable tear with a shoulder and embrace our firey passions as necessary, carthatic, as a means to a beginning.as a means to our forever. we are friend, lover, mother, wife. we are unknowing, we are unbroken. in our years together we discover those times when we didn't kiss, when we brushed against each other unwittingly, are as beautiful and explosive as the hours we made love in. i see that when you shower in the dark you give me more light to search for you. you become used to every bad habit i overcome becoming another for you to recognise. i get used to the idea that i can never get used to you when you are ever changing. you are ever beautiful. in our years together, we grow, we relapse, we learn, we forget, we love, we fight, we make up, we fight again, we are indescribable, we are hopelessly in need and disgustingly in love. we are always.

i sometimes think of my life as a folk song sweet with the whine of a wronged womans guitar. in each twang of each string of each glostening aiiiiiii can over relate to something of longing desire. i used to see myself in events, i used to see myself in a used tissue. i buried myself in some disjointed melody crying to the off beat, strangling myself with an overused chord.

love creeps, jumps at you from dark corners. Startling, the least expected of bumps in the night. It grabs you by the throat, pulls you around to her mouth, and holds you closer than you ever dreamt you'd know.

in this heart where things are taken heavy things are sliding sweetly lightly through my knotty hair i can feel your sweat on me or is that my own im beating quick the tapping of heels on an empty street your eyes are tired when they meet me. your eyes are a journey when you kiss me. we dream of a two story house with more bedrooms than we need it makes my stomach turning struggling to fill itself in redemption shudder clean sheets and tupperware parties singing in your studio with my mouth shut dancing in the living room with new furniture on the new sheets. leaping through i can feel something i recall my parents once told me was happiness this is where we join each others paths so wavered and nervous so unsure most decided i kiss you with open eyes treasure that smile and we're moving out. and we're moving in.

i bite my lip
and i can taste blood
on my tounge.
like when i taste you;
i savour every pearl,
press you into me
our fingers impetuous,
impending
molden in kisses
in dark places
and in holding your hand.

a single red drop in my white carebear underwear; a reminder i am woman, i am roaring in my implicant complacency to be. Men see themself in a squirt of creamy substance that trickles and dries unused. i see my future in snow white lips as red as blood on snow, life looming, life pulsating.

my stomach is growing-i can feel the skin expand as i breathe wonder if this is what its like to be pregnant, aware of every hidden movement and growth, slowly growing in my self content with the way my body can suddenly change on me.

my parents have been married for 25 years. 'and i never stopped loving her' he said. except for that time he cheated on her and told her he was leaving for another woman, i thought.

every 3 minutes and the time it takes to breathe in / the time it takes to stop myself from crying i look out the window for her. i know i shouldn't expect to hear from her but i always do anyway, and in between the depth of time where im looking out the window and when im looking at the screen im glancing at my phone, im thinking about her driving by herself in the rain, a scene near the end of the movie-just before it all gets resolved and she kisses me. any moment now, im thinking, any moment. she'll come back. 'are you ok?' my mum asked me. im ok. i don't care if we fight forever. i will spend the rest of forever fighting for her. she'll come back.

EDIT

or i'll come running.

i called someone at work whos name was Sappho-she probably didn't know who Sappho was-not some 'who am i what does it all mean' questioning- but SAPPHO. I can feel my heart lift at the thought, which shows how strange the things that excite me are, but it does make me dizzy with the thought of old poetry and all that comes with it. So gorgeously enriched-and I have to say enriched though it's long and sweet unbareable-enriched with history; with delving for some universty lecture written at high school standard, connotations that find me related, realised. It is in her writing, not that lesbian undertones, or the historical spectacle that captivates; that which surrounds each subtle phrase and circumstance, but the honest, timeless, way anyone is able to see themself in a poem. Even a poem written by a greek lesbian, thousands of years ago.

i soon realised the way i write is completely predictable and exactly like everybody else. which is a lovely metaphor for everything, really.

a man with a flashlight
apologised.
i had my skirt above my knees
crouched over her
my breasts covered
only by her mouth.

against cement
she asked me
to have a baby with her
and she promised
she would never leave.

we were drunk
and helpless
to each other,
i couldnt remember much
but yes
i couldnt remember much
but her
but forever.

messy love,
i forgot that hours earlier
id been pushed to the ground
we made love on.

her kisses were torrent
love crossed
with the burn of anger
intrepid
with everything that had happened.
it made her forget
the tense feeling
that came
with loving someone
indefinitely,
when she threw things at her lover.