girl boy

i was born into a pattern:
a perfect order
of girl-boy-girl-boy,
all two years apart,
patterns of colours, clothes, talk, and toys,
a neat system of clits and cocks,
spread out between my siblings and i.

/ tell me, do you see my clit? do you see my cock? /

i grew into patterns
of fights, football, bikes and trees,
of primary school boy-gangs and girl-gangs,
of all-year-round shorts and t-shirts,
bare feet on the grass and stones,
and stony silence when there was anger
and violence in the kitchen, on the stairs,
and closing inside to find small spaces of safety,
where there was quiet.

/ tell me, do you hear my quiet? /

i grew into patterns
of girl-boy-girl-boy,
now here, now there,
now short-long hair,
now boy-talk about girls
and menstrual blood and masturbation,
with six-pack competitions and
making fun of each other,
proving our place;
now girl-talk about boys
and bras, shaving and lotion,
me desperately trying to work out their rules,
and taking showers together after high-school sport,
where we all kept our underwear on,
because this was England.

i grew into dancing with my hips
for the constant male gaze,
into skating and breakdance in baggy pants,
taking on the male gaze,
into jumps and splits in a growing maze
of inside-outside, this side, that side,
not sure where i belong,
trying to decide,
and a tendency to drift
into corners and distance
when i wasn't sure.

/ tell me, do you see my gaze? /

i grew into other peoples' patterns,
their rules, their desires, my second guesses,
falling
into their ways
of girl-boy-girl-boy:
now 'masculine' and proud of it,
but not too much, not too butch,
stay soft around the edges;
now 'feminine': just try it on,
this side that's been neglected.
so despite trying to dare, trying not to care,
falling
from one person to another,
never landing in between,
shifting out of myself
to fit something safe,
falling into social patterns
that keep the genders clean.
you see, the idea of rejection or disapproval
still made those small parts of me afraid.

/ but tell me, is falling safe? /

i grew into falling,
until i couldn't stand
the twists and splits in my only me,
couldn't think or feel or breathe:
lost in other people's space.

i grew into my clit-cock-muscles-tits,
my butch-fem, sub-dom,
to and from the other side,
where there is no other, no side,
no pride, no shame,
just a human, being, moving, breathing,
with short-long hair on my head
with hair in my pits and on my legs
with the muscles i always wanted,
arms packed, abs tight,
not trying to be nice,
with a wide stance, leaning back as i talk,
and a definite swagger, eyes high as i walk,
with men's underwear and shower gel -
which after all is just a smell -
and with clothing picked from both sides
of your precious gender divide.
and since i embraced what people might read
as my masculinity,
since i stopped trying to prove it
and just let it shine through,
well my feminine sits more easily,
as if maybe i'm just quite a camp guy
or maybe it's different every day.

and sometimes people call me sir
or sir and then madam
or stop halfway through
don't know what to say at all
and sometimes it's funny
like the whole thing's a game
and sometimes the confusion on their faces
is like a quietly creeping shame
that crawls under my skin
and I want to explain
that some boxes are too limiting
that none of it has to matter
it's all up for grabs

see, i grew out of your patterns,
a silent blaze of fuck your rules, i don't want to play.
this girl-boy split doesn't fit my skin,
doesn't fit the subtlety of a human, being,
who isn't a computer code, a set of binaries,
of ones and zeros, zero, one, zero, one, out to infinity. please.
the one is the zero, is neither, and both.
the patterns are see-though and solid, are split and whole.

i'll keep growing, into a human: being, doing, dreaming,
with my own desires, my own daring,
my own calm, and caring,
my ideas and energy,
my perception, imagination,
my own power on my own two feet.

/ i see your patterns, but don't put them on me. /

snow fall

snow falls and lands but doesn't stay
leaves dirty, wet streets.
no pristine, quiet, white landscape
the ground was not ready

a mirror held in front of a face
you cannot see
the person behind easy to replace
the eyes were not ready

the endless lure of the chase
where you don't believe
you'll ever get there anyway
but you like to dream

the curtains remain closed today
bright patterns gleam
hide a room that's full of shame
the room seems empty

the choice, the choice is yours to make
stop look breathe
it's happening now, this is not fake
don't try to leave

the present moment, the present moment, the present moment, don't escape
the grass is green
imagined futures might seem safe
but this image is 3D

let go of always trying to shape
yourself to someone's needs
this is exactly how you are, this is exactly who you are
every last thread

no one needs to stamp it with
approval's great seal
the fault lines are exactly what make
the rock beautiful

show all of it, all of it, all of it, it's the only way to take
the chance of vulnerability
the only way to come close
to what you've always dreamed

mirrors

bonny was in their regular cafe
liked to come here and read and dream
or meet with some mates but not today
it was a quick gap in between
a moment's pause to contemplate
outside of the daily routine

and in bonny's dream they saw a face
they coulda sworn they'd already seen
framed by the window, in her regular place
lost in thought, or coulda been

but just then she looked up and met bonny's gaze
and why is it that just then it seemed
to reach down to bonny's guts
twist, wrench, drop, fuck
something in bonny was waking up
that they usually kept at bay

and they meet like mirrors, crossing eyes
each asking what they see
tell me honest, tell me lies
I'm just how you want me to be
but when you meet like mirrors it's no surprise
that you don't see what's underneath
it's much harder to look inside
but love is vulnerability

bonny wasn't really looking for someone
kinda given up hope
tried it before and ended up stung
and now that door is closed
and though it's many years since she's been gone
that love holds bonny like yards of rope
that ties in knots to understand
how she coulda just let go

and when bonny looks back through time's sands
all the memories turn cold
she never wanted me how I am
so I might as well be alone
but now bonny's looked up and
a door closed so long
grabs bonny and pulls on bonny's hand
and opens like a light switch turning on

they meet like mirrors, crossing eyes
each asking what they see
tell me honest, tell me lies
I'm just how you want me to be
but when you meet like mirrors it's no surprise
that you don't see what's underneath
it's much harder to look inside
but love is vulnerability

and deep down bonny doesn't really believe
anyone would want the whole thing
I won't be enough, I'll be way too much
she'll want me to change and then she'll leave
but as bonny looks at her a spark flicks:
what if she just likes me
bonny's mind starts playing tricks
could this be different finally?

and that's how it all begins
bonny will try to heal and fix
their own insecurity
by asking someone else to give
reassurance constantly

small talk

everybody's talking,
gotta get your words in,
you'll never guess what happened to me -
I'll tell you what I think
and have you heard the latest,
I can't believe they did it again

small talk, big talk,
everything I did talk
gotta keep it moving on

well I never was much of a listener,
watch how I twist your
words right bacķ to me
and I know just what you mean,
it reminds me of something I've been through
and I'll tell you exactly what to do

small talk, big talk
everything I've thought talk
gotta tell it to someone

but when the silence comes,
and everybody's gone
I'm not sure where I belong.
and when the silence comes
and I'm all alone
I wonder if I did something wrong.

small talk, big talk
everything I did talk
gotta keep it moving on

and if I don't tell someone
of nobody has seen me
it might as well not have been.
and did it happen to me
did it mean anything
or was it all just dust on the ground?

small talk, big talk
anything at all talk
gotta tell it to someone.

everybody's talking
can't get a word in
edgeways sometimes
and I don't know what I think
and I don't know the latest
and sometimes I find

small talk, big talk
don't know how I got talk
got to move myself along

well I never was much of a drinker
more of a thinker
ain't got much to say
and if you ask me I'll tell ya
but i can't really tell ya
just what's on my mind.

small talk, big talk
someone make them stop talk,
just sit with me a while

cos when the silence comes
but i'm not alone
I'm just sitting with someone.
and when the silence comes
but we don't need to run
then i know that I belong.

and I don't wanna talk
there's more than words
to say sometimes.

short pause, long pause
don't know what comes next pause,
don't care what's behind

short pause, long pause
pieces that connect pause
more than a thousand words

and when the silence comes
and we don't need to run
then i know that I belong.
when the silence comes
but i'm not alone,
I'm just sitting with someone,
I'm just sitting with someone
I'm just sitting with someone,
then I know that I belong

candle

my day's been full of random thoughts,
the strangest things come when you pause
long enough
to feel
the cracks in the air that peel
away like bark from an old tree
like the oil of an old painting
as if the air is pale and thin
and when you stop to stare it pulls you in
to a place
where time flows back and forth,
circles you
in swirls of thought

knocks the wind right out your sails
pulling teeth like pulling nails
catches your breath right up in your throat
like a heartbeat choked up by the cold
stings in your eyes like rings of salt
what you talking about?
a place where time flows back and forth?

if you want you can call them memories
when they come, they come silently
creep up on you in a razor breeze
a slice of time that slowly bleeds
into your present
tense
time's in loops
does that make sense?

look, your past is hypothetical
your future is conditional
all those things that happened to you
like water drawn up from a well
that slowly drips down again
and round and round the bucket goes
water pouring from the holes

and you end up saying what you did back then
and you end up doing what you did back then
even though we're in back then's future tense
time goes round in loops
you've thought this before, haven't you?
or did you think that this time it was new?
did you turn a leaf, a page, a few
or are you turning round but standing still?

time goes round in loops

and deep down you know that you expect
the past to happen next

the strangest things come when you
pause
it might seem like random thought
but isn't that just your point of view
point blank
i'll tell you straight
blank face
don't play it down
face up
to the awkward truth
that you don't half of half of you
dear ego
i'm unconscious
thought

if you want you can call them memories
like cracks in the air that thaw and freeze
and buckets falling in the breeze
to dreams of skies in full pale
and candles lit on salt tales

what are you talking about?
time goes round in loops

but the candle's all burnt down to waste
let the land slide in earthquake
it's time to change, time to shake

you're drawing water up from a well
only to let it fall again
and round and round the bucket goes
water pouring from the holes

until one day you just jump in
face it you gotta learn to swim
there's moonlight and it's not so deep
the fear down here is yours to keep
look it straight in the face
your deepest fear
underneath
lurking at the bottom of the well
the thing that tugs on heart strings
keeps you moving half-pinned
that drives your unconscious thought --
your deepest fear
is not
what could happen to you;
it's what's already been

you'll never
get what you missed back then
but you'll never
make time undone
you'll never
make them stay back then
you never
were enough back then
you'll never
get their love back then
but you'll never
make time undone

it hurt
i know it did
it hurt
you know it did

but deep down you know you expect
the past to happen next
time goes round in loops
only if you want it to
the past is gone
it's over now
let it go
somehow
it hurt
i know it did
but how long
do you want it to go on?

Samhain

all souls, all souls are out tonight
the harvest's gone
the time is ripe
for sinking down to winter quiet
for slipping to the other side
where darkness drapes it's heavy cloak
to press on shoulders hunched from cold.

samhain, samhain
i'm standing here in razor breeze
all edges and corners
all eyes aglazed
all lost abroad in vacant stare
all motion held in static freeze
all driftwood washed
ashore somewhere
old souls and old memories
when they come, they come silently
creep up on you on days like these

samhain, samhain
there's cracks in the air today
they shimmer like those rippled waves
of heat on a summer's day
but summer's gone
and the air is thin
a paler blue
a softer sun
and gaps you can fit your fingers through
to reach and curl and grip onto
like curtains that you draw apart
like opening the window panes
and there they are, old souls, old hearts
like beams of light shining in
memories so clear you could almost cry
never thought you'd be there again
samhain, samhain.

maze of shoulders

A woman walks across the street,
feels feet on pavement,
presence of eyes that would meet
her gaze up only she'd lift it up
for a second look:
where are we going?
her feet don't touch the ground today
she's lost in thought, miles away.
bodies, bodies, everywhere
a maze of shoulders,
made to brush, to block:
keep to yourself.
where are they going?
she's been here before
so have you
haven't you seen the way we move?
trails in sand, spider webs
spun in circles, stranded threads
crossing, crossing, endlessly
deserts made of rolling dunes
where every grain touches many more
but wherever you stand
you're hidden from view.

we make our trails, we cross our paths
i've seen you before
we've never met
but I've been breathing your air,
been wearing your frown,
been side-stepping and looking down.
I've held your money at the bakery
I think it was you in line before me
I've drunk from the same glass as you,
your favourite bar, I've sat in your chair
I've borrowed your lighter
you didn't care
didn't even notice, I think
face forgotten in just a blink.
bodies, bodies, everywhere:
where are we standing?
we're where we've always been, she said
and slowly turned her head away
she's somewhere else today
minds, minds, anywhere but here
she asks if she can disappear
into the crowd
and the crowd calls softly back out
yes, you can
we, all of us, can spin our circles
stranded threads
deserts crossed in spider webs
I've seen you before
we've never met

pocket stones

what happens if you stop before the day you stop?
i've got people in my pockets, little stones
the only people i've ever known
all these people have been using my name
they say they're all me but they're not the same
i've got chalk and marble, granite fine
got sandstone worn away by time
got fragments broken from age old cliffs 
they catch on fingers fumbling round
pebbled weights that hold me down
fragments

my pockets are all full of stones
there's more of us in here than i care to count
there's a fork in my tongue, a great crossroads
there's barbed wire stuffed inside our mouth
whose words are they?
i don't know them and they don't know me
and yet they're all i've ever been
stop
there’s photos and scars
but they're waterproof
all surface and who knows what’s behind
i’m not sure who that was anymore
whose words are they?
catch them in the air
like a taste that’s hard to identify
swirl it in my mouth like an ageing wine
til all i've got is the urge to swallow it down

stop
i've shed my skin,

bled them out
i've been slowly replacing all of my cells

but there’s people in my pockets, little stones

sometimes i throw them out on the ground
stones like stars brought out to shine
i stand there, looking for joining lines
a thread to stitch some meaning in
like how things came from there to then
but my thread is bare
i cannot sew
line
fragment
bare
stop

i thought i'd turned my back on you
i've been red-orange-yellow-green-two-toned-blue
i thought i'd made myself anew
but there's traces stuck like hardened glue,
running between my muscles and bones
fragments
and i don't know if i should shake them loose
or if they’re what's been holding me through

well i've glued myself together so many times
i stumbled and climbed after them, blind
i've tried to be you and you and you
i tried to do what you wanted me to
like folded paper,
covered in lines
that are half out-of-sight,
but paper won't break

and i'm sitting here,
folding paper planes
filling them up with stones again
stop

Reunification Day

Letter to an ex.

Dear G.

It was nice to talk again last week, after so long, but there's been a few things on my mind, and I thought I'd just write them down in a letter. You know how you and I are with mixed communication lines.

You said that you want to get back together again, that you want to - what did you call it? reunify? Weren't you always the romantic.

You know, we're not the same as we were back then,
So I don't know what that "re" is doing there.
Reunify.
As if we could rewind. Is that what you want?
Well I'm not a tape, and you can't turn back time.
If we're going to get together, there'll be no "re":
We'll have to redefine what the real situation is between yours and mine,
Cos I'm really not sure I can read your mind,
And I don't want to repeat the same mistakes as last time.
We're going to have to get to know each other again,
Like right from the start.

You know, I've been getting by just fine on my own -
I've been going out again, been meeting my friends,
And they get me like I'm not sure you ever did,
After all that you said,
All those times we stood there, head to head,
Not knowing who was going to make the first move,
But sure as hell ready to fire back when push came to shove.
I was so surprised how we could get
So cut off from each other in so little time.
And I was never one to go breaking down walls
When they've been put there for a reason.

I've heard that you've been doing okay.
Sometimes I see you on the news,
And I wont say that sometimes I don't miss you,
But I don't know if I want all the drama again.
I don't know if we really want the same things
Out of life.
We spent so much time together,
But maybe now we've just grown apart,
And I don't know if you've really dealt with our past
In a way that I can admire.
If we're going to start over,
There's some old stuff we really need to talk through,
And to be honest, it's going to be a while
Til I can really trust you.

You say you want to reunify,
But I think I'd rather just date for a while.
And I don't know if I'll ever want to move in together again.
I think we just like to organise ourselves in different ways.
And they say love's all about compromise,
But I say this is your shit, and this is mine,
And you can deal with yours however you like,
But i'm not going to tidy up after you.
Really, i've got better things to do.
And if I catch you judging me for how I keep my things,
You can just pack your bags right up.

All this time we've been separate,
I've been using to find myself,
And all this talk about unification makes me nervous -
You might think it sounds silly, but I just don't want to lose myself.

Anyway, these are just some of my thoughts. I'd be willing to talk again if you want.

Yours, G.

Maz

it's a clear october night, one of the first
where the darkness sinks a cloak over your shoulders
before you were ready to go.
the air is cool on the skin, marks out your edges,
like holding you in.
maz is sitting at home --
been busy all week, like days in a spin of doors & chairs,
where barely in when bed-shower-coffee-clothes,
don't know where the time goes,
stare out the window as long as it takes for your eyes to catch up.
some face in the mirror, barely glimpsed and then gone in a flash --
got friends to meet, some bar to be,
got work & work & hit the gym,
got nights out with stories & tales
as big as you'll ever see.
maz hasn't stopped in weeks.

but tonight, as maz gets home,
the energy's gone.
sinks down to the couch.
nothing's wrong,
but maz sits back
& finally breathes out,
sips on a beer
that's been sitting here since last night,
picked up somewhere,
and maz thinks --

what happens if you stop before the day you stop?
all i can feel is a heavy cloth, pressing down
like weights upon my chest,
a draining kind of emptiness.

my pockets are all full of stones.
the only people i've ever known.
all jumbled, could never get them all in line.
i've got photos & scars but they're waterproof,
all surface & there's no getting in,
& there's shells in here & pieces of string,
that someone's been quietly collecting.

i've got people in my pockets, like little stones.
got heavy legs but can't go slow,
got marble & chalk & granite fine,
got to put them somewhere out of time.
can't stop to look, wish they weren't mine.

i've got people in my pockets, like little stones.
all these people have been using my name.
there's a fork in my tongue, a great crossroads.
somebody just tell me where to go.
there's more of us in here than i care to count,
there's barbed wire stuffed inside our mouth,
i've no idea what they would've said back then.
i've shed my skin,
i've bled them out,
i'm slowly replacing all of my cells.
i've watched the moon almost every night,
with what feel like almost the very same eyes,
but i don't know them & they don't know me,
& yet they're all i've ever been.

i've got people in my pockets, little stones
i've got too many people under my skin --
i've got to stop letting them in.
i thought i'd turned my back on you,
i thought i'd made myself anew,
i've been red-orange-yellow-green-two-toned-blue --
but there's traces stuck like hardened glue,
running between my muscles & bones
& i don't know if i should try to let them go,
or if they're part of what's holding me through.

i've glued myself together so many times --
i've stumbled & climbed after you, blind,
like folds of paper, fit to a shape,
that's half out-of-sight
but never will break.
well i wasn't born just yesterday.
i'm sitting here folding paper planes,
filling them up with little stones.
wish i could take them out & throw
them scattered somewhere
like leave me alone,
i'm tired of carrying you around,
i'm shattered, but when i stop running
is when i see you the most,
when you creep on out like little ghosts.

i've been red-orange-yellow-green-two-toned-blue.
i thought i'd turned my back on you.
i've got people in my pockets, little stones.
sometimes there's nowhere else to go.
sometimes i hold them up to the light,
as if up there they could testify
to what that life was like back then.
sometimes i spread them down on the ground,
stones like stars brought here to shine.
i stand there looking for joining lines,
a thread to stitch some meaning in,
like how things came from there to then,
but my thread is bare & i cannot sow.
i breathe in & taste something i know,
but taste is so hard to identify.
swirl it in my mouth like an ageing wine
til all i've got is the urge to swallow it down.
what happens if you stop before the day you stop?

dusk fall

there was never a time quite like this.
jamie was walking down an alley way, blind.
it was night time, pitch black,
right through her mind.
not a soul in sight.
walking slow,
the only sound a dull foot fall.
fingers, trailing against the wall
feel crumbling bricks, damp from the rain
that came tumbling down for days on end.
and then she hears that rustle again;
a leaf, bird, it's all the same,
when the bright lights have left you alone
and no, she's not frightened at all.
i wish i'd known.
you could call her foolish
for coming down here,
but the night time dark is almost a relief.
dusk had been hanging around her for years,
like a day not sure if it should come or go,
all purple-blue-brown tones of grey,
as if the colours had faded, seeped away.

jamie'd been walking with her head in a cloud:
not a cloud of dreams,
i'm talking about a head gone numb, that's leaking out,
like swelling up to the air around,
and drags in slow motion like liquid lead,
filtering anything anyone said.

jamie was never one to complain,
but she could feel her throat was tight again.
sometimes that was all she could feel,
like it pulled on strings, her whole body in,
shoulders, drawn right up to protect,
as if somewhere outside could be lurking a threat,
and you never know who'll hurt you next.
they call it anxiety but that doesn't help.
"just pull it together, yeah, sort yourself out",
she'd tell herself, through a dried-out mouth.
and sometimes it worked,
and she'd gaze at the trees and look at the birds,
from her favorite seat on her balcony.
but going out was hard.

and jamie had been trying her best:
never off sick,
never missed a shift.
been working this cafe like mechanical slick:
details, meticulous.
quick hands, quiet smile, rigorous.
but somewhere, down in the depths of the cloud,
jamie was sure someone would find out,
that she hadn't tried quite hard enough,
that she'd done something wrong,
and the ground beneath that was holding her up
would rumble and shake her stumbling down.
"don't be silly, everything's fine".

fuck it, she didn't even want this job,
been trying for years to think something else up.
and each idea would look great at first:
museum, gallery, books, a course.
and she'd plan it all out: meticulous.
but then doubts would come in bouts and bursts:
"what if people think you’re ridiclous?
you'll fail and that'll be much worse".

and the plans'd be dropped like broken eggs.
a cloud not like dreams, but like lead.
a dusk that made time drag its legs.
and time off was worse than anything else,
seconds ticking, one by one,
slicing up the quiet room:
"what are you going do?"
mind blank, throat tight, hands damp,
and slowly, dusk turned into night.

jamie was walking down an alleyway, blind.
and you really shouldn't walk alone at night,
when there's not even moonlight to keep you right.
just fingertips along the wall,
the muffled echoes of your own foot fall.
and you're not even sure why you came this way,
if it'll really take you home at all.
but jamie didn't even care that much.
mumbled to herself and stumbled on.
fumbled in a pocket for chewing gum.
couldn't find it.
stopped still.
no hurry tonight,
got time to kill.

her legs seemed absent,
far from the ground.
she sat down on the curb,
knees to the chest,
and at least here she could rest
her head comfortably.
there was never a time quite like this.
the first time quiet since she was a kid.
and there it was,
all fresh as new,
memories, old, breaking through.
and time could've stopped there dead,
but carried her round and round instead.
they say time will heal but they don't know shit,
and now jamie's sat in the thick of it.
and the storm comes on full blown.
i wish i'd known.

Just

i didn't think i'd have time for this.
i didn't time i'd have think for --
this is just in time.
time is justice
when you've been waiting so long.
justice is --
wait a minute.
mind your own business.
busy is all you've got time for.
i don't mind.
i'll sing you a song.
you'll song me a sing-a-long,
slip me in your pocket with the volume down
& keep moving on.

i've been longing for someone.
i've been a mind full of minute detail
& all tales of times not yet spent
until you came along.
this is just in time.

how many heroes of old told tales
could trip up & fall before you hear them call out their truth -
which is not for sale -
that they only survived because someone bailed them out
at just the right time.
because all of the courage & passion & wit is not enough
to keep you afloat.
jump off the boat.
how many heroes stood on their own til the end?
wasn't there always a hand leant, an ear bent, some precious time spent on another boat,
that got them through?

well i've been a hero all of my life.
i've tasted the cool air of standing on top
of a knife-edged ridge,
don't look down, don't fall, stand tall.
i've gazed a cool stare to the distance far.
i've been striding bridges in driving rain,
& haven't you all wondered,
if there was going to be a blunder,
that'd bring me under.
like a slap of thunder.
but i've had courage & passion & wit in bounds.
you can say i'm arrogant; i just know my own sound,
& it's a sound that echoes on walls.
you can't hurt me if i don't open the door.

but lately i've found a hand lent, an ear bent, some precious time spent.
& if busy's all you've got time for
then i do mind.
i've been longing for someone, for some two, some three, some four, some other boats
to get to the shore.
this is just in time.
justice is made of vulnerability.
of opening doors
of seeing if other hands will catch your fall.
that's what friends & lovers are for.
i didn't think i'd have time for this.
wait a minute.

name

i've been breathing names: inhale, exhale
when you call me that name
enveloping cloud
i suck it right down
to the bottom of my lungs
can't help it.
& it slips through alveolal sacs, leaks into my blood,
makes pulmonary tracks to my heart,
& valves slam shut: BUM-BUM & it's in.
pushed round the rest of my body,
a name like so much oxygen
bound up in heamoglobin shapes
& then given away inside each of my cells
where cycles of tricarboxylates
transform it into energy that powers everything i need:
a name absorbed into all of me.

i've been breathing names but you know each name has a smell,
olfactory traces that attract or repel,
shoot up to your brain & spread right out
like coloured landscapes of what to expect
as if a name gives clues about what comes next
& this name of mine has always itched
like the colour's wrong
the tones don't fit
like proteins stuck in backwards spin
like oxygen glued & bound too tight
like something about this is not quite right.

i've been breathing that name that i always had,
that they gave me so many years ago
& i've been finding myself turning up my nose
like lips curled up almost in disgust,
i can taste it on the roof of my mouth
it sticks in my throat like spit that out.
& maybe people will think i exaggerate:
stop making a fuss, it's just a name
how much difference can it really make?

so-phi-a
i know names are just letters & sounds & syllables
that help you refer to me
but these letters seem to trace in the air
the lines that i should move along.
& these syllables carry too much weight
i've been dragging her around too long.
& these sounds are all layers of
people past & future & idealised:
the kind of woman i've never been,
a kind of woman i'll never be.

so-phi-a
she sits like sheets of paper on skin
lightly, gently pressing me in
name on skin, as if i breathe her through there:
air thick like thunder, pressured and close
air like bristles that scratch as i move
air like i don't know who you're talking to.

well i've been wearing my history on my skin
& i'm all eyes but most of me, you can't see at all
i'm all limbs in space & words falling out
all nerves, & blood & cavities
all hormones & biochemistry
& none of it the sum of it all
& half i can sense
& half i can call things that language permits
& half of it slips out of category fit.

i've been breathing that name in all my life
but i didn't choose it
& it didn't choose me
& to be honest i'd rather have something more slippery
something more boy-girl, more he-she.

so i've folded the lines and syllables new,
new letters that i've been answer to:
sam
& now i've been breathing in air like fresh after rain,
air warm like honey & i sink right in
air light like i move more easily
air like i don't have to try so hard
air that seems to laugh in my blood
that lands in my cells like telling a joke
where all our ideas of woman & man
seem like a badly written comedy show.
sam
air like breathing is a relief
air that i want to absorb into me.

& something in me still feels guilty
that i just dropped her like an old towel to the ground
but i suppose she'll always be somewhere inside
& maybe she'll like this new freedom i found
maybe it's even better for her as well:
inhale, exhale.

blue_green

B was talking, and looking somewhere.
G followed B's eyes, but couldn't be sure where they landed, and how far away, and if they even landed at all, or just briefly, and if it was even relevant, if they were connected to what B was saying.
G asked: where do the words stop and the silence begin?

B was wondering what G's silence meant, but carried on talking, noticing -- with something that wasn't exactly B's eyes -- that G was somehow tense, as if G's edges were slightly too tight for the insides.
B asked: which were my words and what did G just hear? -- but carried on talking, slightly quicker.

G followed the movements of B's hands, flowing fingers, as if there might be clues in the streams they made through the air, as if it might unravel the meaning of what B was saying.
G was wondering: where do your words stop and mine begin? how do i know i'm hearing you and not me?
G was listening very hard to the rhythm, the tone of voice, the pauses, the cadence, the phrases -- listening for clues, trying to understand -- listening and looking so hard that it was more like pushing -- pushing the air against B -- air that G seemed to have frozen into a solid block, that was rocked by sound waves and hands and eyes.

B was still speaking, trying harder to explain, as if that might smooth out G's skin, which seemed to have crystalized, making an echo of B's words, bouncing them back in two parts.
B said: i've been practicing saying this, but now i can't remember which version to tell you. i need to make sure you understand the things that happened to me, that i've done, and how it all fits, and the significance of each thing related to another. last week, last year, and before. there needs to be a clear narrative. but there are so many versions. i've been practicing this. 
B said: i want you to hear, so that the words will have landed, anchored: so that i can land in them. i need you to understand how i came to this point, otherwise i don't know how all of it can fit together in one being, and i will be hundreds of glass shards drifting through the air. i want to feel like you see me so that i can sense my edges, and then i'll know how i feel inside them, otherwise i'll float away, you will lose interest, and i'll slide between the floorboards. it won't become real until you've heard it. i've been practicing this, but which version. i don't know my narrative. and if you don't hear it, how can i relax? how would you know what to do?
B asked: is G even listening?
exasperated, B trailed off, a sentence run out of steam, bent sideways to corner.

G moved without moving, contracting their skin into tiny, prickled pockets.
something inside G fell down as if knocked off balance, crumpling on the floor.
G said: i just want to see you. i want you to know i'm listening, that i won't let you slip, that i'm holding the air. i'm worried that you'll think i don't care, that i don't understand. i'm afraid i really won't understand, and i'm trying so hard to listen -- so hard i'm paralysed. and now you're disappointed and i'm afraid you'll be annoyed and leave.
G said: i don't know what to say. how could there even be any answer to you -- how could any words match?
G was locked in silence.
B was watching G look from leaf to leaf, as if the trees contained a not-quite-discernible answer to a not-quite-formed question.

G said: i don't know what i could tell you that you don't already know. anything i could say would be so obvious. it would be either too trivial or utterly inadequate. there are no clear lines. where do the trees end and my words begin? how can a feeling be a word? how could i possibly tell you how i feel? how would i know where to start?
G said: i just want to see_hear you, and then i'll know what to do, then i can relax. but your edges are not clear. and i don't want you to see me. if i show you, who knows what you'd do. let's just talk in parallel. let's not talk at all.

and then, G asked B a question.
and B was silent.
after some time, B said: i really want to be boring. i don't want to make a narrative. you can see whatever you like. i hear you
G said: look at me. listen to the trees. you can hear whatever you like. i see you.

rain

today i woke up with rain in my face.
so many words we said to each other
but now i don't know how they connect.
as if no order / forms / no sense.
all that you said, like rain.
made of so many individual droplets,
each one seems almost exactly the same,
hanging on its own in the air.
raindrops, that once were joined in your mouth,
but out here are just fragments,
falling down in sheets.
and i'm standing here staring,
searching for patterns,
but they change with the light,
and i'm tired of trying.

i stood in your rain
and you stood in mine.
now i'm soaked to the bone,
and i don't know where to move.
it's falling too thick,
there's no way through.
and i'm drenched, but still
it slides right off my skin,
puddles at my feet,
and i don't know what it means:
a blank of slate, a tree of fields,
a star of skies, a skin of peels.
a puddled lake on the floor distorting the light,
all surface and ripples,
and it would seem crude to move
a foot through there,
to stir up a muddy swirl of unclear.
so i'm standing here still and i cannot cross.

you said so many words,
and others you didn’t say at all.
and between gaps, fleeting, not quite caught,
i'm searching for the insides, the feelings behind,
but all i can see are these singular droplets:
tilt back my head and let them stream down my cheeks.
behind the rain is just fresh air.

the truth is --
the truth is, there are so many words, but none of them --
the truth is, there are no words to describe what you --
the truth is, you could have any of my words, but none of them --

all is silent now.
as if a great wave rolled through.
heaved me up and sunk me back down,
shifted me into something unrecognisable
that on the surface still looks the same.
and my body aches to move forwards
but i don't know how to navigate.
and my body aches to move towards,
but there is no sense left.

all is still,
after.
clear light,
full of scent.
the water's gone
and there's air inside air,
ground upon ground.
there's a softness here that has no sound.
cool skin marks out my body's edge.
full breath marks out the space of a chest.
and i'm sitting, trying to let it go.
and i'm going to try to let it sit.
i'm sitting, trying to let it go.

lake

i'm standing alone, and it hurts a bit
to realise there's nothing behind, ahead.
it hurts a bit, but that's just the start.
when i let it sink in, it wakes something else.
there's a quietness here, a softer place.
there's an emptiness i normally push away.
and the walls of my chest have become paper thin,
like some giant leaf,
with only delicate veins for the lines of my ribs.
a leaf that moves out so far as i breathe
that my insides feel too big to bear,
as if an enormous lake opens up in there,
washes up against every cell
so that each one glows with a sadness so clear
it could almost be joy.
whose pain is this?
this is much more than mine.
to this great empty lake the world floods in,
and now inside my chest is building a scream
that i'm not sure will ever come out,
a scream that's already three thousand years old,
that's seen everything broken that could have been whole.
and i'm old and tired, i've seen empires fall,
i've seen greed, inequality, mindless war.
the world is bleeding all over -
it has been so long.
i'm too soft in here
and the world rushes in.
it's bleeding all over
and i'm covered in scars,
and you started this somehow,
but now it's nothing to do with you.
it's something bigger i'm connecting to.
and i don't quite know how to navigate.

eyes

i am all eyes, all eyes,
my very being condensed into two orbs,
too large and heavy for the rest,
and you can't even see the half of them.
two great orbs that hang and swing in the air,
unwieldy, hesitant, not quite supported by their frame,
a bag of clothes not sure how to arrange themselves in form,
knees and shoulders poking out further than expected.
nothing sure.
two great orbs, like so many tea cups,
into which the outside pours in great sloshes that swirl
in a turbulence of unidentifiable forms,
as the orbs swing from person to object to person.
two great cups that don't ever fill up,
but suck the outside right through
and know nothing of where it goes.
how could a cup know.
and the orbs swing and the cups drink in surfaces,
endless surfaces:
shapes and forms that divide into separate units
when the light allows.
divisions and surfaces, units and continuities,
intentions and coincidences,
and how should i know where to draw the line
between one and another?
where does a hand begin and a finger end?

Things that don't suck

Doorsteps. Windows. Balconies. Bare feet. Feet on wood floor, feet on grass, feet on sand. Zu viele Bäume zu zählen. Hängematte. Langsam gehen. Rennen, so schnell wie ich kann. Waiting. Red lights. Green lights. Gemischte signale. Nicht genau wissen, was du willst. Pepper mills. Packing. Unpacking. Making an old home new. Making homes of bodies. Haut. Old scars. Haare. Die eigene Haare schneiden. Nakt schlafen. Zufälle. Zu Hause alleine tanzen. Seeing you dancing. Land so flat the sky pulls me miles away. Long breakfasts. Broad shoulders. Friends on my sofa. Mit dir auf der friends-Ebene bleiben. Streaks of rain falling in the distance. Listening. Croissant. Croissant dipped in coffee. Biscuits dipped in tea. Waking up. Waking up alone. Waking up alone after dreaming I wasn't. Überhaupt träumen. Haut. Hände. Hemden. Loose collars. The space between your neck, your shoulder, your collarbone. Grenzen. Singend fahrradfahren. Making a mess. Words. The sound of your voice, whatever the words. Comfortable silences. Leaves on trees. Leaves on the ground. Leaving someone I love. Blossom. Soil between my fingers. Wind on my face at the sea. Warmth on my back. Air on my legs. My parents. When you're talking about something you really care about. Touch. Coffee cups. Sun beams splitting the air. High fives. Telling friends how much I appreciate them. Telling siblings I love them. Peanut butter. Underpants. Spontaneous gifts. Seeing you laughing. Waves crashing on rocks. Holes in my pockets. Clouds, sweeping, rolling, drifting, feathering. All my little hopes and fears. Mountains that can be climbed. Mountains that can't. Abstand. Nähe. Doorsteps. Windows.

seven sins

they say there's seven sins, but i lost count:
sins soak into my skin and spill out through my mouth,
drip into my saliva, and trickle down my throat,
filling every last inch of me up until i choke.
like tar in the air, blistering my lungs,
clogging up my arteries til i can't run, or even walk anymore,
just sit down and stare, and shake my head at all we've done.

see, we've been here before; we never really left.
humans and war, forever best friends,
destined to stick right together til the end,
walking the earth, hand in hand.
so hold my hand tight, sink down to your knees,
and bury your head in the sand with me.
they say there's seven sins, but i lost count.

see, you and me are different; that'll never change.
the problem's your religion - our god ain't the same.
the problem's in your pigment - our skin doesn't match.
the problem's in your short skirt, that begged me to snatch
at whatever i could get even though you said no.
the problem with equality is: everybody knows that
you and me are different, and i'm gonna show you
that my way is better, that you are below me,
my people are stronger, we're the ones who belong here,
my words are the bombs here, so watch as they fall down,
and bury us in endlessly repeating history.

they say there's seven sins, but i lost count.
as i walk the streets, sins lying all around,
like fallen leaves, cushioning my feet,
softly beckoning me to sleep:
"come, lay your head down, now, close your eyes.
forget what you saw, go back to your life.
coffee, bar, romance, clothes: sleep tight.
yeah, you and your friends are gonna be alright."

but we've been here before; we never really left.
always building walls up to protect us,
walls around only the ones we select,
walls that keep our hearts bereft
of empathy for the ones we're not,
for the ones who weren't born with our lot.
and we tell ourselves that they didn't earn it,
that it's their fault, and we turn.

cos you and me are different; don't tell me we're not.
there's no room here for immigrants - we're full right up.
we're too busy consuming, consume, don't stop
to think about who made it all, and what they got paid,
and how much oil and coal were burnt on the way,
and the countries that they're from, and the part we played
in centuries past, to make it this way.
they say there's seven sins...

yeah you and me are different; don't tell me we're not.
the problem's who you're sleeping with - see, sex has got to be
a man with a women, and while we're on the point,
you're the sex that you're born with; you've got no choice.
your body should conform, and so should your voice,
your size, your shape, your ability.
the problem with you is, you're different from me.

they say there's seven sins, but all i wanna count
is the small things i can do something about,
and the people that i love, who are different from me,
and the people they love, who i ain't never seen.
and i'll keep my eyes open to the shitstorm around,
but somehow i can't let it hold me down.
y'see, we've been here before, but there's cracks in these walls
that i can reach my fingers through,
there's still a chance to connect beyond the individual,
it's a myth that we are separate; their pain is yours too.
so don't just sit there and stare, don't bury your head,
don't close your eyes and sleep, don't turn away.
their difference is just a chance for you to learn.
their difference
is just a chance
for you to learn.

worlds spin

it was just a coincidence that we met that day.
two points in one time, two times in space.
worlds spin towards each other, and spin away.
and as you spin and turn,
shadows creep over the contours of your skin,
shadows that leave no trace at all of those moments,
where such strong light seemed to shine
on what i thought i saw,
but almost so much light as to blind,
before each time you spin away.

and slowly my gravity distorts,
axis spins, quivers and shifts,
and i did not choose this but can't resist
the pull towards,
that twists my orbit a bit
too much,
chasing the fading light behind
curves of absence,
not really wanting but unable to stop,
as if my spin isn't stable enough,
pulled in like towards a small black hole
to plummet and drag in
everything else that matters,
all matter sucked in,
indiscriminately,
until i know i can't see you anymore down here,
can't see anyone else,
can only see what i think you must be,
how you must fit exactly to me,
fill up my shadows
with something that will finally hold me in place,
like gravity given a slap in the face.

and i know this spin isn't good for me.
worlds spin together, and spin away.
i think i can't see you for a few days.

the days go by,
and the shadows fade,
and the gravitational pull
slips away.
this is not
an orbit
around you;
it's just a beat i'm moving to -
two hands, two feet, two shoulder blades,
two eyes, two knees, two sides of my own symmetry,
one spine running down between,
a clean cut right through my own breadth,
my very own axis, around which i spin,
two halves, planted firmly on the ground,
one rhythm, split to many sounds.
this is not an orbit around you;
it's just a beat i'm moving to.
two worlds spin to their own beats,
but just so happen to chance to meet.
it was just a coincidence that we met that day.
worlds spin together, and spin away.
and i can only see you, if i spin this way.

waiting for / explosion

it must be coming soon.
there's been announcements everywhere, on screens,
and you can read it in people's tight faces,
jerky movements,
   too sharp,
       hands tense,
           eyes checking.
all these people are making you nervous.

you should've stayed at home, inside.
but who knows if that would've been better -
the air thick like honey,
eyes to the window,
ears so compressed by the silence
that you'd have tried to push music inside to cover it up,
but none of it would fit.
and what if you'd get trapped in there?
what if it would hit your building?
no, being inside would be no good.

but being out here isn't so easy either.
anxious bodies, everywhere, moving too quickly.
eyes meet and then flick away.
where are they all going?
your body, charged, but not sure where to move -
over here, follow them, err, no, sit down, stand up, go,
listen:
the explosions are coming.

the explosions are coming.
you don't know what kind, what to expect.
you don't know when, but it must be today.
you don't know where, but not far away.
you don't know how many, but it could be a few.
your body, charged,
ready to flinch, wince, crunch, crouch, crash, shield,
don't
    look
        away.
it could happen
                   any
                     moment.
you know,
     you have to say it at some point.

you know you have to say it,
at some point.
it's been building for weeks,
at first a murky paste stuck to the bottom of your feet,
and then slowly spreading like jelly,
up through your legs, your belly, your chest, your head,
until gradually everything was shaking,
uncertain if would stay together, in one piece.

you know you have to say it,
the truth that crept up through your shoes,
and shook
          right
              through.
you know you have to say it,
and you know what will happen when you do.
you know, the explosions are coming.

aftermath

i cannot speak.
i cannot mouth
                            the words
cannot fit to you now,
or me,
          after
the mean face of sleep,
when a fierce slap of daylight
fights back the echoes of the night.
i cannot rest.
you cannot know,
but when you come in here,
to hear you is to dream,
drums that beat a heart to fright,
the bate to catch a mouth to choke,
to squeeze around a bruised throat,
to tighten breath to stop a chest.
you must go.
i cannot keep it in.
i cannot be
                  where
                            i want to be.
i cannot want you
                            to wear yourself down.
i must wear another face.
you cannot see me
                              like this.
i cannot look at you,
not knowing when the sudden flash of
arms feet flying past too fast
twisting, flaying, body braced, colour streams,
gone.
i cannot feel.
you cannot know
the numbness down here.
i cannot move.
you can.
your little movements, jigsaw fitting
with everyone else's little movements.
i cannot make
                       sense
                                 of you all.
you can make,
you cannot leave me
                                like this.
leave me alone.

beats and feet

the high-pitched drift-haze falls to slumber.
you didn't know you could try so hard so long,
only to find that this was the blunder.
this was the trap that held you snared,
that kept you small and scared
of doing something terribly wrong,
of losing your place in other people's hearts,
as if that's all you centered around,
your own beats made of other hearts' sounds,
your own feet on other people's ground.

you didn't know, but how could you,
when you went through what you went through,
when trying hard was all you knew,
the only way to navigate
the steps and stones, the steeplechase,
where love was both dangerous and safe.

you didn't know that if you stopped,
your beats would grow far up and wide,
would reach through air and ocean's tide,
where waves are only surface breaks
in what the eye can't penetrate,
where skin bleeds into fins and wings
that swoop and soar
without the need for conscious thought,
where feet stretch miles underground,
where a single breath is all you need
to take you back to unity.

you didn't know, and that's okay.
and tomorrow you'll be trying again,
trying to get the buzz, the fix,
of someone else's beats and feet,
and when you do, that's okay too.
remember, it's an old part of you.

the well

Today, i'm going down a well. i just found it, lying there. probably it's been there for quite some time; i mean, i never saw it being dug out, so either it's always been there, or they dug it when i was very small. but i just found it recently.

i'd been rummaging around in the the long grass, you see, busying myself with the brambles and the weeds, tidying, clearing... busy.
i had to come out here, because i just couldn't be in the house anymore.
i don't know exactly what happened, but the walls were suddenly not so comforting: not so much protecting me from the outside, creating a cosy, warm place; but suddenly closing in on me, and getting in the way of my movements. and also, in a certain way, the walls seemed empty. the house seemed empty, unfamiliar, as if i didn't know how i got to be there at all: as if it was someone else's house. so i came out here, and now i'm going to have to go down the well.

to be honest, i'm a bit nervous. i don't know what's down there. i mean, it's been there a long time. and it sounds strange, but it seems to be pulling me in, like when you're a bit afraid of heights, and as you look over the edge of a high place, something seems to draw you down, your mind unstoppably imagining falling, as if, when you wouldn't keep very attentive, you would probably just slide over the edge. that's how it feels like by the well. it sucks me in, and i'm a little dizzy, my head spinning, as if control is slipping away. but i won't jump down. i'm going to climb down slowly.

i've got this rope, you see, which i wove myself, actually. for years, i've been weaving threads. i thought i'd use it for climbing high, up trees, and i did do a bit of that. so, you know, i'm alright at using it: knotting and climbing it. i didn't think i'd use it to go down, though. i'm going to tie it to my favorite tree, there - the huge apple tree, that's been there as long as i can remember - so that it, you know, holds me.

i'm a little nervous in case i can't climb back out again, but i have to go down, now that i've seen it. as preparation, i'm trying to remember the opposites: you know, how movements always contain their opposite, so that a push contains a pull, and the idea of lifting up is contained within the idea of moving down, since all movements come from the inside, rather than the outside. i'm trying to hold on to that idea: to hold on and to let go.

-

I'm part-way down the well, now. it's dark here. really dark. i did bring a little head torch, but it just makes a thin stripe-spot of light. it's dark and i don't know why, but i feel kind-of defenceless, and it's making a small panic prickle across my skin and catch in my throat.
it's dark, and it's very, very quiet, and i don't know why, but it makes me feel very small, as if i need to curl-crouch inside myself, as if there could be nothing else to do.
and, i know i came here myself, but it feels all of a sudden as if someone left me here. i can almost feel their absence, as if they bleed out of the air, drain the warmth of it away from my skin.
it's cold down here.
i know i chose to come down here, but for some reason this feeling of being left alone is making all the energy sink down in a slow collapse: a prickly, panicked collapse.
and, i don't know why, but my skin is becoming paper-thin, vanishing into the dark, empty quietness: no defences. and suddenly, it's as if my chest is too soft and open, as if something is flowing out of me from there, and as if things could too easily come in from the outside. painful things. it's too open. it's not normally like this. it's too soft, and it's spreading, and overwhelming sadness washing all over me, sadness so sharp it cuts from my chest down into my belly, and suddenly i'm crying in the well, unseen tears, that seem to spill out from long ago.

i'm not sure whether to go up or down. i shine my little torch light on the rope, look at the fine, strong threads. they'll hold me here, right? the answer flashes into my mind without any thought: of course they will. i made it well. as conscious thought catches up, i realise i must have some kind of instinctive trust in myself. and this gives me courage.
then i think further up the rope, to the tree and the knot securing it there. will they hold? i go through the actions of the knot in my memory, testing it out. i think of how i learned those knots, and times i've used them before. i think of the tree that i've known so long, how the apples taste, always slightly different each year, it seems. some minutes go by in a dazed swirl of thoughts and memories, until i realise that the soft-pain-fear feeling has gone.
i had thought it away. distracted it. reburied it.

but i came down this well, and the soft-pain-fear was what i met, so i should go on.
i climb down further, looping my feet around the rope. and soon it comes again: panic, defenceless, small, left alone, sad. i don't think this time. i know i have to keep climbing down.
the waves keep coming. sometimes the thoughts jump in and take me away, but always i come back, and keep climbing down.

down, until my feet meet the firm rungs of a ladder. why is there a ladder only half-way down the well?! why was there no ladder before? while my mind twists itself around the new information, my feet settle themselves down, and accept my weight, gladly letting my tired arms-shoulders-back have a rest. the weight through my feet sends a kind of calm through my body, and the panic-alone-pain begins to feel less threatening. the feeling seems to be circling round my body now, a light buzzing just under and just above the skin. it makes me feel bigger, more whole, less defenceless, and less afraid. it makes me feel fuller, and so not so crushed at being alone. and the sadness seems to become a kind of glow.

i continue down the ladder, moving slower, my whole body more at ease now, until, at some point, there is solid ground beneath my feet. i don't know how, but it's dry. i sit down and rest. the darkness holds me in place, presses gently on my edges so that they don't fall out. the quietness pulls my ears far into the space above me, as if i stretch much further than before, beams reaching to, or from, my head. i fall asleep for a little while.

air

Today, i'm the air,
clear and fresh,
empty to your eyes,
but full of particles
that you can't see,
but perhaps that you feel
through my light caress
of your face, your arms, your legs,
as i brush the hairs on your skin,
your outermost edge.

Perhaps i look empty to you,
but consider:
you're sitting, standing
at the bottom of an ocean of me,
held down there only by
the unseen tug of gravity,
and, unseen, my little particles and i
refract the light
that bleeds from the sun,
allowing you those blue hues
that you love,
that close your world in from above.

water

Today, i'm the ocean,
ebbs and flows,
against the shore
of what you know,
but reaching much further away
than your eyes can take,
much deeper than those ripples
and waves that break on the edge
of your little boat,
with unimaginable things
moving in the dark depths
where light can't penetrate.

a thousand lovers

( note: to be read in a broad, yorkshire (northern english) accent )

i've loved you all, she said.
with some of you, i've been to bed;
with others, we barely touched at all,
but those were sometimes more intense,
the way you did enthrall me.
we touched in ways beyond the sense.

i've loved you all, she said:
the days and nights we spent;
or others, just coffee and a stroll,
but oh, how i remember when,
that thing you said, i'll never forget,
and the way you tilted back your head,
that look you'd sometimes give me when,
and how you'd stand, and sit, and then.

i've loved you all, she said.
a thousand lovers strewn across
a life of curiosity,
of learning how you think-feel-see
the world in ways i'd never have known,
if you hadn't come along and shown
the contents of your heart and head,
and all that lies between.

you asked me questions so direct
they shocked me into seeing clear
what was before so out of reach.
you jumped right off your chair that time,
angry, where i couldn't be,
at things that i'd let happen to me,
and finally, i got it.
you taught me how to meditate,
and you, i love your logic.
you taught me how to fantasize,
explore what lies beyond closed eyes.
you taught me vulnerability,
with your insecure, sheer brilliance:
you taught me to unravel a text,
it's layers of significance.

from you, i learned history,
of sufis and prophets: your family.
you showed me the power of tradition,
which you couldn't pass-over so lightly.
you showed me what it is to sense
with such penetrating empathy.
and you, i love your openness
to explore, continually.
in you, i loved your unbound, enthusiastic energy.
and you, i loved how much of you
was hidden from me.
you taught me how to skate and play
creatively with the streets.
you taught me how to dominate you
oh so lustfully.

i've loved you all, she said.
i've been in love so many times,
filled me with fascination,
letting your life brush against mine,
standing, tip-toed on the edge,
leaning as close as i could get,
sparked with inspiration.

i've loved you all, she said.
the days and nights we spent.
something touched between us:
we didn't have to go to bed,
although, sometimes we did.
maybe i wasn't there so long.
maybe you weren't either.

i don't know who i am today,
apart from every one of you.
i don't know who'll be coming next,
but i know i'll give them oh so much,
like i always do.
i'll give them everything of me,
and, i guess, by logical extent: every one of you.
so at least you can relax and know
that they will love you too.

waiting place

this is a place where you can wait.
put down your phone, just put it away.
put out your smoke, you don't need it today.
this is a place where you can wait.
you don't know what for,
of course you don't.
you haven't stopped in weeks or months.
you haven't looked up, you've tumbled and spun,
you know what i mean, that stumbling run from
point to point blank space, always moving on
quick shift to the next face, walking like a car chase,
stop for a minute:
this is a place where you can wait.

this is the time that it takes.
a moment so long you could hold it in your hand,
take it to the river and dream as you stand there,
counting the ripples and shifts in the air.
this is the time that it takes.
you don't know how long,
of course you don't.
this isn't gonna be an instantaneous fix for you,
a quick-step, shuffle-up, shake it and mix it new
no, not this time.
this is the time that it takes.

this is a place where you can wait.
you can stay here, breathe here, face up to your own fear,
you've no fucking clue what's coming round the corner,
you don't know what to do,
there's a brewing storm here,
chaos, unknown, where should you turn?
you've so many questions, you're so confused,
you're lost and it's making you so ashamed,
but this is a time when you will change.
this is a place where you can wait.
stay in this place and it's unclear shapes.
you have to get lost to find your way.

this is the time that it takes.
a moment so fine it could crumble and break
if you take it by the hand,
so handle it with care,
you could take it anywhere,
stop and stare,
count the moving shifts in the air,
listen to the layers of sense unfold,
listen to your heart, its tales untold.
give it some time, the time that it takes.
don't be afraid to stay in this place.
this chaos is your only safe.

this is a place where you can wait.
this is the time that it takes.

neither and both: boyed_girl, girled_boy

i was born into a pattern:
a perfect order
of girl-boy-girl-boy,
all two years apart,
patterns of colours, clothes, talk, and toys,
a neat system of clits and cocks,
spread out between my siblings and i.

/ tell me, do you see my clit? do you see my cock? /

i grew into patterns
of fights, football, bikes and trees,
of primary school boy-gangs and girl-gangs,
of all-year-round shorts and t-shirts,
bare feet on the grass and stones,
and stony silence when there was anger
and violence in the kitchen, on the stairs,
and closing inside to find small spaces of safety,
where there was quiet.

/ tell me, do you hear my quiet? /

i grew into patterns
of girl-boy-girl-boy,
now here, now there,
now short-long hair,
now boy-talk about girls
and menstrual blood and masturbation,
with six-pack competitions and
making fun of each other,
proving our place;
now girl-talk about boys
and bras, shaving and lotion,
me desperately trying to work out their rules,
and taking showers together after high-school sport,
where we all kept our underwear on,
because this was England.

i grew into dancing with my hips
for the constant male gaze,
into skating and breakdance in baggy pants,
taking on the male gaze,
into jumps and splits in a growing maze
of inside-outside, this side, that side,
not sure where i belong,
trying to decide,
and a tendency to drift
into corners and distance
when i wasn't sure.

/ tell me, do you see my gaze? /

i grew into other peoples' patterns,
their rules, their desires, my second guesses,
falling
into their ways
of girl-boy-girl-boy:
now 'masculine' and proud of it,
but not too much, not too butch,
stay soft around the edges;
now 'feminine': just try it on,
this side that's been neglected.
so despite trying to dare, trying not to care,
falling
from one person to another,
never landing in between,
shifting out of myself
to fit something safe,
falling into social patterns
that keep the genders clean.
you see, the idea of rejection or disapproval
still made those small parts of me afraid.

/ but tell me, is falling safe? /

i grew into falling,
until i couldn't stand
the twists and splits in my only me,
couldn't think or feel or breathe:
lost in other people's space.

i grew into my clit-cock-muscles-tits,
my butch-fem, sub-dom,
to and from the other side,
where there is no other, no side,
no pride, no shame,
just a human, being, moving, breathing,
with words on my lips and unsaid,
with short-long hair on my head,
with hair in my pits and on my legs,
with the muscles i always wanted,
arms packed, abs tight,
not trying to be nice,
with my deeper, relaxed voice,
not trying to be liked,
with a wide stance, leaning back as i talk,
and a definite swagger, eyes high as i walk,
without any bra confusing my chest,
with men's underwear and shower gel -
which after all is just a smell -
and with clothing picked from both sides
of your precious gender divide.

/ and you can say: these acts are just surface,
just a redefining of femininity.
and i can say: no; that's not what i mean. /

i grew out of your patterns,
a silent blaze of fuck your rules, i don't want to play.
this girl-boy split doesn't fit my skin,
doesn't fit the subtlety of a human, being,
who isn't a computer code, a set of binaries,
of ones and zeros, zero, one, zero, one, out to infinity. please.
the one is the zero, is neither, and both.
the patterns are see-though and solid, are split and whole.
i know, it might be unsettling for you,
but just drop this he-she shit: you can call me my name.

i'll keep growing, into a human: being, doing, dreaming,
with my own desires, my own calm,
my ideas, perception, imagination,
my own power on my own fucking feet.

/ i tell you, i see your patterns, but don't put them on me. /

voices, circling

so you're here again.
you seem to be here all the time these days,
hovering just out of sight
with your perfect presence,
drawing me out of whatever present moment
i find myself in.
you're here and i wish i could dive into you,
soak into your skin, submerge myself
in your thoughts, your movements,
your words, your pauses, your world.
i wish you'd fall into me,
that i could you suck you in,
drown us both
in a flood of wonder.
-
i don't want any of this,
get out of my head.
i wish i could just exist on my own,
without the nose-dive, arms out, tail high, full flight
into someone else's life.
-
but in the old parts of me that you cover up,
there's a roaring, thunderous gush
of free-floating nothingness,
a deafening, crushing no place in the world to hold onto,
where all my feelings count for shit,
all my ideas cease to exist,
where i'm left alone and small,
curled into a terrified ball,
lest my insides spill outside
and slip through gaps in the air,
and there's no knowing what someone
might do with them there.
-
i want to sink into that loud silence,
to float
on the nothingness,
find myself
new
in every moment,
never holding on,
made only through each act, each word, each touch,
made of endless space and possibility.
and you can't give that to me.
i don't want to need you and your love.
i don't want to dive, to drown,
and then have to explode out later,
when it's suddenly too much to bear.
-
but you're here again.
you seem to be here all the time these days.