Your hand rests on my knee.
You want a word so I
give you one:
The span between age and mind.
Laughing you take another
My space is large, your’s is little
and it ten days I will break up with you for this reason.
Laughing, I take a
Small breasts and thighs that touch,
short hair, thin hair and a big bum –
it gets pinched on Fridays as
I ferry pints between beards.
Flex the fingers, biro blue.
At the tipping point between seventeen and
eighteen your life
wobbles in an
You can’t cough without anxiety.
Ugly, menstruating, stressed: UMS.
But you like me
and I like you.
In that simple way
two people do.
I liked you more when your hair was long,
but that’s by the by.
But it’s cute how you still can’t undo a bra
or call me pretty in the morning,
but not so sad that I’ll be really sad in ten days.
Maybe I’ll be a little, for a night
and listen to Adele’s albums one, two, three.
You have to always be on guard for a good photo.
Be careful with your filters though.
Make sure the right people are in it.
Don’t post too often.
Don’t be a narcissist, but be pretty.
Changing your profile picture is a big deal.
Never, ever like a photo older than a week.
Not that you care about it all.
Another boat full of people drowned this morning.
every word that you’ve wrestled
into your brain.
Open the paper and they
Then you have to chase them down,
coax enough back in to string down some scribbled sentences,
and leave –
with that light feeling of inadequacy.
Mum retook biology five times,
Dad went to a polytechnic – back when they were bad.
They’ve paid off their mortgage,
have a cat,
and are going to the Maldives this summer.
They ask me why I worry
as debt looms like a demented.
And then you’ve got to question your place in the
Existential crisis on the school bus.
We’re not far from 1984:
uniforms and mark schemes,
the government controlling everything anyway.
Dog’s have it easy.
The first time you saw me naked was on my sixteenth birthday.
It had been cold in your room –
you’d forgotten to close the window.
Your parents had come home before we were done,
it’s kind of felt like that ever since.
with a sequin rim,
and satin stilettos.
ASOS, £94, mum paid.
@bryonebee has been sitting on an unconditional –
she forget she had a French exam.
@james_miller got his third choice.
@ellieeee, offer from Oxford
A* A* A.
@myself has three offers.
I want to go to Edinburgh
and wear a kilt with no pants.
I want to study philosophy,
but mainly wear the kilt.
You want to go to Bristol.
That’s a journey of six hours and thirty five minutes.
It is unfeasible, therefore, for us to stay together.
You said you would fly,
or get the train,
I smiled and gave you a kiss
wondering what my new boyfriend’s Brexit views would be –
in, I assume.
If I fail my A Levels
I will go to India
to find the self I lost in school corridors
get a tattoo
and post great photos.
Fridays, we like to eat chips on the beach.
I’m now winning in the stone-skimming Olympics.
In the summer we build a fire,
swim and shiver.
Warm ourselves with special offer Whisky,
wish we weren’t always wishing the days away.
I’ve always had a thing for Mr Nickel,
it’s come to nothing.
Dad wanted a photo on the stairs
on the doorstep
in the garden
under the blossom
getting into the limo –
most of them will be out of focus.
Tomorrow morning I will break up with you,
you who looks so hot in your suit.
I’ll miss it, this, us, here together –
but I’ll get over it.
We’re in free fall,
but the parachute doesn’t open ’till August,
then you’re caught by a backup:
a minimum wage job, a retake, nothing.
The horizon draws in
A wave spraying your fingertips
Your fist is clenched
under your jaw.
You want a reason so I give you one:
Hiccuping, you don’t understand.
‘We just had a great night’
‘I like you, I do, and won’t forget this’.
But now we’re
in wings made from the paper grades of
children, and it’s
fresh up here