Tag Archives: ache


She opens her eyes
and thinks of him,
and brushes her teeth
and thinks of him,
and forgets to eat
breakfast thinking of him,
and thinks of him in the shower
and looks at the time and wonders
if it will seem too needy
if she messages him so early
and fiddles with her phone
looking out of the window of the
cab on her way to work
wondering what he is doing now
and then gets angry at herself
and switches off her phone
and sits fuming
and vowing not to check
her messages like a addict
looking for a fix and plunges
headlong into work
all fake smile and
desperate enthusiasm.

Thankfully, there are fires to fight
and real problems to solve
and half a day goes by.

And after lunch without
thinking she checks her
phone again.


And she hates herself
for needing him so much
when he so obviously needs
her so little and gets busy
again so that she can out-busy
the busy man with no time
to love her back and when she
looks up it’s dark outside and
she’s tired and hungry and
needs a hug and she checks
her phone absolutely sure there
won’t be a message from him.

And there isn’t.

And suddenly
she’s biting back
tears of a sadness
so overwhelming
it wrecks her insides
and she hurries
home beyond exhausted
like a zombie, bathes,
eats dinner makes herself a
drink and then another and another
till she overcomes her pride
and hating herself messages him.

‘You there?’

Fifteen agonising,
humiliating minutes
later a beep.

With a thudding heart
she opens her inbox.

‘ Hey… wiped out. Talk tom?’

‘Sure’ she types ‘Good night’

the night is cold
like her heart
and dry like her eyes.


See, the problem is..

We are not one species.

We are two species –
men and women.

We may look and
sound like each other.
but we are nothing
like each other.

Not even close.

But this is the fucking thing:
we fall in love.
Or what we both call love.

With two entirely
different meanings
beyond the realms
of language.

Love is the elephant in the room.

And we are
like two blind people,
groping at it, trying to
figure out what the
fuck it could be.

All our fucking lives.

All that is unsaid

‘ You know, I am a fan of
your poems, right?’ She asked,
her bright eyes glinting.

I wanted to tell her I am a fan

of your existence,

Of your bipolar conversations,
your dyslexic plans,
your warm honey voice,
your young-boy hips.

Of  the way
you care too much
or not at all.

Of the way you kiss
and the way
you walk away.

Of your fierce gypsy spirit
and your ability to conjure
flowers and butterflies and
lush green things.

Of your love for animals and
your distaste for people,

Of your funny feet,
and your easy laughter. 

But all I managed was
‘Thank you so much’


Don’t do this.
Don’t give me hope.

Despair is the glue
that’s holding
me together.

It’s easier to breathe
when it’s routine.

Don’t talk to me
about rainbows
as I stand here
shivering in the
cold rain.

I don’t want to know
how warm it’s in your
arms and where
your smile ends.

It’s cold in here but
I am used to it now.

I don’t want to
know which songs
make you cry or
how you look

Nothing lasts.

So let’s not start


I was a train wreck.
You were a car crash.

Two disasters.

Yet it was good we met.
We were good for each other.

Like two negatives
making a positive.


The impossible
love of the damaged.

You slapped some
sense into me.

I shoved some
calm down your throat.

We fixed up each
other up as best
as we could.

Helped each
other stand.

Helped each
other walk.

And walked away
before we ruined
each other.

The final act of kindness.

Phantom pain

When we lose
a part of ourselves,
cleaved from us by
the sharp sword
of time, we never
become whole

We wander the earth
looking for something
to replace that loss.

Something that
makes us whole again.
Gives us meaning.

Nothing fits.

And the pain
Is the only proof
that we were
happy once.


Of course, I have
forgotten you.

Forgotten how
you smiled when
you caught me
looking at you.

Forgotten our lips
made raw with kissing.

Forgotten the
heat of your body
against mine.

Forgotten our
fierce arguments
and even more
fierce making up.

Forgotten your music,
your laughter,
your lilt of your sweet voice,
the brown oceans
of your eyes.

I’m brilliant at forgetting.

Practice makes perfect.