Menstruation, a fucking curse.

Ha ha I just found this in draft on my phone, clearly, I was not having a good day when I wrote it. :-).

If you don’t do, gross, then i highly recommend you hit the back button, now. This is a poem about menstruation, yep. :-). It’s a subject that is not written about often enough, not in its true form.

I hate you, i actually fucking hate you,
a myth created centuries ago,
To smooth the transition,
Into the crimson flow.
It ain’t a fucking blessing,
Or mother nature caressing,
You, are, a, fucking curse,
You are, fucking, worse.

A gift straight from Eve,
Can you believe?
Here my dear child,
Go fucking wild.

The crimson flows
Like nobody knows,
A torrent of clot filled blood,
ripping through you,
Filthy like mud,
Too dirty to screw.
As you soak right through.

Tauntingly painful as you prickle,
The scar,
Pushing me out into the dark.
Taunting reminder,
Of the loss not the gain,
Of the darkness and evil that sometimes reign.
It’s not enough to cause me pain,
Or wash my iron stores down the drain,
You constantly remind,
The pain i did find,
The tears that once fell,
The story i don’t tell.

Vodka, my dear and oldest friend.

Dear Vodka,
We haven’t spoken much just lately.
I’m sorry, I know you understand that me and you share a deep connection.
I still remember the very first time that I met you.
I was fourteen and sat with friends,
they wern’t freinds,
i just didn’t know it at that point.
We were in CC a chinese restuarant
closed down and fully stocked
whilst some guy waited for his family to come over.
The first glass burned at my young throat,
three quaters you and a splash of coke,
the second,
third,
fourth glass tasted like laughter,
but what came after,
as you danced through my blood,
posioning me you fuck!
That night our friendship was forged.
You’ve stuck with me through the bad,
helped me with the sad,
i’ve pissed you out in the grimiest places,
puked you up in the worst places (yeah thanks Mr Vodka, the steps outside the pub whilst a band sings my fave song, much appreciated)
But through it all,
We had a ball.
Walking hand in hand,
Through this fucked up land.
I hope you can forgive me,
I hope that you can see,
This time,
You can’t help me.

Alternative reality.

Have you ever thought that perhaps the internet does not exist?
Perhaps we are actually sitting row after row in a room without walls, tapping away on a sheet of paper, letters crudely scribbled in blood across the white sheet, staring at a blank wall. Laughing, crying, masturbating as doctors walk past, clipboard in hand taking notes. A fantasy to escape reality, that becomes reality and then, fantasy.

Eclipse of monumental realisation.

image

Sometimes,
you simply have to trust,
to follow your instinct,
and do what you must.

Be selfish,
And think about you,
When others don’t,
you must stay true.

Follow the steps,
Forget about the path,
Look to the skies,
Remove the scarf.

Don’t look back,
That’s the unchangeable past,
Look forward,
Walk out from the dark.

Trust in yourself,
One step at a time,
The mountain is so tall,
But you will be fine.

Long forgotten twinkling sky.

Give me dark.
Take away the light,
The noise,
Let me sit
Beneath a black sky,
As dying stars
twinkle,
Above.
As moon light
Dances in my eyes.
Look then,
at me,
And in that moment,
As the darkness
Swarms around me
Look deep into the blues,
Past her reflective glare
Past the stars that are no longer there,
But please,
look only if you dare.
Because it’s there,
That you will find me,
Entirely.