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.

samrosey sig

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

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