My plans are already made
How I wish I could just fade
Into bed with you at night

But sleeping next to you is too hard
Hard for me to want to sleep
When you’re right next to me
Because there aren’t enough minutes in a day
To look at you
To listen
To hold

But waking up to you is too promising
Promises of a good day
Or a shit day
But a shit day with you…
is a good one
Because atleast I can
Look at you
Listen
Hold

So I won’t sleep alone instead
I’ll have great and shit days alone

Ill be dreaming through it all

dried up paint

Scraping dried up paint from under my fingernails
With a 2H
Writing shit with too many details
Its getting late

Lying down by my book
Kept company by my pencils
And my phone
But its only decoration right now

I love it when an addiction is just decor
I could be using it but I wouldn’t know what for
To pick you up
To start to scroll
But I don’t
To want to drink
A glass of wine
But I wont

To smoke a cigarette, to think about you...
But I do


I love it when I write
Because nothing really means anything
Apart from one word at a time
And everyone thinks it does
That theres a theme or a deeper meaning
That I thought about before I finished it
I didn’t
There isn’t
Its just me talking in my head
If my brain could talk
Its just the shit it woulda said
I find meaning in my writing
But I don’t write with meaning
I write with a pencil
And dried up paint

Woman

As a woman

Ive started to notice sexism in my social life. If I’m seen giving orders it’s “micromanaging” “okay mum” “controlling” where as if a man does these things he is listened to, its “teaching” or “helping”.

I allowed myself to be held by men in a way that made me feel uncomfortable but “was just friendly”, talked to and about hyper sexually as an object to be seen and touched.

As a woman I am starting to be scared at how much I can see is based on nothing but my gender, no matter how much I know about an area, there will always be a dumber, more stupid man being listened to by many more.

When I use my sexuality to my advantage, as a way to make money, and to gain confidence. It’s seen as easy, a waste.

machine me

My scars don’t define me

They are merely scratches on the surface of this body

This body that I hold

I am my body and my past, but it is not me

That’s how I gain my confidence

By knowing I am so much more than my physical

I’m actually not what’s visible at all

I am a mind, and a soul, that can’t be seen only felt

Can not be explained only experienced

I love the body that contains me

Even tho it has been harmed

I love the bones that keep me upright

Structures and alarmed,

with triggers and buttons that only I know best

But I am missing one button that allows me to rest

I know the procedure, but don’t have the code

My body is a machine, that I must decipher

If I want to be released from this world

I must try to figure out combinations and patterns and passwords

To fully experience myself, I must understand the key

To unlocking to door, to set me free

My body is mine, but it is not me

The world is a place that I can’t quite see

Can’t see past the glass windows mistaken for eyes

or feel past the sensors thought to be skin

or the control centre…my mind

Taylor

My purpose

And I will drown myself in water

Because they have taken away the pills

And the alcohol

I will pour everything I can down the sink

Because my blood no longer flows from my skin

They took away the blades

But they didn’t take away the pain within

I will deafen myself with music because they no longer let me scream

Because screaming is a cry for help and I don’t want it

I don’t want to get better because this is what I know

I don’t want to change because I’ve never been a better writer than right now

But even now im still shit

And I don’t know how else to deal with pain

Of the lack of it

I know I should feel upset but all I feel is inspiration

I know I should be angry, but all I see is words

And all I hear is words

That might not rhyme

But my god do they sound good to me

So I’m sorry for what I’ve caused or what feelings this ignites within you

But maybe that’s my purpose

And I’m really looking for things to keep me alive

So if that’s the one

Then I’ll take what I can get

Fingertips

Fingertips on skin

Like faulty wires

Electric sparks

But beware for flammable items

For they can clearly catch alight

But sometimes they dont look flammable

And we mistake objectifying for dirty talk

Mistaking possessiveness for lust

And controlling for in love

Like a pool of gasoline

The wire is engulfed in flames

Not possible to escape with out burns

Burns on your heart

So the next connection you make

You may be the one to break

But I hope you atleast learnt to keep yourself safe

And keep the flammables away

Taylor

A poem about toxic relationships, how the magic that love, caring, and sex has is wonderful but with bad people (flammable people) it becomes overwhelming and toxic.

Fall or fly

And I fall sometimes

I fall

Or am I just flying

It feels like Im dying

Yet weightless

Every problem off my shoulder

Am I gliding? Surviving?

Or will I hit the ground in a crash

I never know how far down I’ll go

Before my wings open up again

But Im scared that one day they wont

Taylor

Healing

My nails are growing again

Im not happy yet

But Ive lost the habit of tearing myself apart because of it

My body is healing

It wont be the same

But Ive started to love the history it has and holds

Im growing, slowly, up towards the sun

Lets hope a drought is not going to come

Because for now

Look at me

Taylor