blue ldn

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Somewhere at the top of the city, lost in the comfort of the chaos, I found a me I could fall in love with.
The kind of me who stares at herself in the window reflection of a pop up shop, and isn’t surprised by the person looking back.
The kind of me who writes poems about her day, blue aching poetry lines running up and down the windy London streets and back.
Back to a full hearted girl, a silly girl with cracks, breaking cracks wide open on the ground.
The kind of girl who wallows in the puddle of broken promises, the kind of me who steps out into rain because it’s romantic don’t you know, don’t you see me.

The kind of me who writes poems about her day, blue aching poetry lines running up and down the windy London streets and back.
The kind of me realising it doesn’t matter what you see because I see myself, my loving self, my fat body beautiful self, with emotions erratic, life fantastic in the big city living me.

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STRANDS: Pink Most Days

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I wrote a thing for the Good Dye Young blog STRANDS

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I remember running around town with my 35mm camera as a teen, thinking I was so misunderstood, the first person to feel the kind of feelings I was feeling for the first time ever. But it wasn’t true, I just couldn’t see it yet.

On the weekends, my friends and I would pile into our local town hall where rock bands played music to the feel of our bodies beating together in the dark. Each of us hoping that one day we could find a way to harness what we felt inside there, back out in the hectic world that somehow always felt against us, even when I was sure it wasn’t. There was a kind of quiet safety in the loud numbers of people, all different yet the same, studded boots, ripped tights, wild neon hair, dye running down the backs of necks of the brave ones, sweaty tears, and pure elated joy from the shy ones.

Continue reading over at STRANDS

 

the strangers

Dying in the face of insolence, and abuse is easy. The words crash into me familiar. The sounds and faces of my makers, all the same.

Remembering that I am better than that, remembering what I am is harder.

Ten faces, ten different ways to tell me I’m nothing. I believe them all.

One stranger, one way to bring me back to life, means everything. And I’m only now beginning to believe he might be real.

He was tall, and wore big boots. He seemed foreign, a different kind of species. His hair was messy and wild like an animal. His eyes piercing blue like ice. Like rules they must abide by.

He held his hand out, pronouncing words that meant things would be okay, this day would be alright.

He helped me to my feet, and we walked across the grass. He didn’t speak, not until he could form the words without the anger.

“I like your hair.” He said.

I touched my hair, the black flower sticking out to the side, now crumpled, and pulled it out. I took his hand and dropped it into his palm.

“Thank you.”

We sat in the sun, under the tree, not really saying anything. He read a book, and I tried not to cry.

“I won’t hurt you.” He said.

 

samrosey fic

forever home

He is brooding, silently mixing through his emotions like steps leading to the end of a mission. There will be a prize, triumphant. His fingers play his beard in thought, long fingers, gathering loot as though his smiles are dependant on it.

I’ve had those fingers, just as I’ve seen those prizes.

Shaking me awake this afternoon because he feared a nightmare had come.
Twitching in a deep sleep, hoping to escape out of it, hoping to escape once and for all.

Putting me to bed with a stroke of my hair, and a kiss on my cheek, and I realise… I have escaped. I am free. I am home.

Sunday rain makes lovely for peace.

 

samrosey fic

welcome to london

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Call-collecting memories of the first rain,
of the first time waiting for you, for classes running late, rain running down, around us, in London Town is, where we were made.

We were there.

 

samrosey fic

polaroids (1)

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The video tape got jammed in the player again, second time this week. Every time I look at you, I think I see two spiders run across the wall behind your head. I keep looking, thinking one time it won’t happen, but it always does.
I made tea for you but it was too strong, so I said I’d make another and couldn’t find any clean spoons. Why aren’t there any clean spoons?

I’m not sure where you’re going, but you ask me to help you get ready. I like the way your hair smells as I comb it through, and you tell me how you cut it yourself but it’s curly so who would know.
Curly. You signed all of my birthday cards Love Curly.

You’re being nice, and I’m wishing I spent every single day here.

The movie begins to play even though we know it got broken a while ago.

It’s June now, and there are still Christmas lights around the window frame, but you’re really here and not gone away like maybe I thought. Like maybe I know you are.

We watch the movie, there’s dancing, and singing, we turn it up way too loud, and cry when it gets sad. It always gets sad.

After a while, the spiders reappear. The spiders always reappear even though I concentrate really hard, and hope they don’t but they do, and they begin to multiply, like the days and years that you don’t show up like this. They scatter and run, so I close my eyes, and lose you.
The tea’s gone cold now, and the fairy lights flicker in sequence. On, off, on, off.
I think it’s time to wake up soon. On, off, on, off.
The movie’s over, it needs rewinding, and I’m waking up. On off, on, off.

 

samrosey fic

ldn

 

I miss you elevator, mirrored walls and empty stalls, drunk on the city.

I miss you rainy greetings, and the seating, and the boxes full of pretty things.

I miss the silent screams, as they all walk too quickly, I get so lost in your camouflage, loudly, slowly.

I miss the lights, a thousand sights, brighter than new eyes.
I miss the crashing coffee sounds, clanking cups aloud on cold mornings, and finding shade with you in the sun.
I miss the emotional scribbling, picture-making and the click click capturing, I can’t find you now.
But I can still feel you now.

I miss your smoke, and your glamour.
I miss your grit, and your fire.
I miss the tears in the church
and the time we stood on the corner in the middle of the night, waiting.
I miss my…self, I knew who I was then.
I miss you now, I found who I was then.

 

samrosey fic

trigger (un)happy

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The empty black hole in the ceiling where the spotlight used to be, stares at me like it knows. It knows this song, this story of a girl who can’t possibly exist in this purgatory bath time, telling stories into the reflection of the pink smeared cheeks, my hair, my heart hurts. I’m so deeply hurt, I don’t know how to be…anything.

Writing hurts too, telling you, hurts too, my fingertips have never been so bare, full of blood waiting to be pumped out of me like the tears I shed, I can’t breathe, thinking about sleep, my dreams are more black holes of past times I had a strong tolerance for, I never knew I was strong enough to survive pain after pain, tearing through my skin and years like glass ripping through the sky on a snow day.

 

samrosey fic

supermarket ghosts (1)

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death, is the smell of soap in the supermarket aisle.
gone, are the vhs tapes of 80s movies re-running in my mind.
you are, the tears in my mouth on a windy day.
i am, bruised by this wave of sadness.

 

samrosey fic

nightmares

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Create me, building. Heal me, fractured. Beat, beat, my eyes are tired.
Make more sense. Make yourself.

My days are wasting, my dreams are torture.
You were never true, fire burning, I couldn’t believe you.
You lie, you lie, spiders cry.

 

samrosey fic