You go to my head

The men go 

but Billie stays

Inventory part II

Rustle, muzzle, bite, grief, blade, blood, milk, turn, long, red, jump, purple, burn, thick, muzzle, cage, spit, dragon, abyss, water, burn, smoke, abyss, milk, blind, zest, mettle, trace, smell, dust, moira, puppet, mask, daze, spatter, rough, bite.

Frida Kahlo's cushions

That day you decide to message him, casually, either a “how are things”, or a “wanna hang out tonight”, and he doesn't reply, and you stare at your phone after hitting send, and the message has gone through, but the double blue tick hasn't appeared yet, and you keep checking your phone every two minutes, and you say to yourself “I could just be talking to someone else”, and then he’s online, but the double tick is still grey, and you wonder why he hasn't checked your message, and after a couple of hours you think maybe he’s got loads of messages, and yours will forever remain last in the queue, stuck in a dark hole somewhere in “the Internet” (that place...), where all the pending to read messages wait to be seen, and again you wonder, should you send another one to bring yours at the top of the list? But you don’t want to seem desperate, because honestly you aren’t that desperate, you just had no plans that night, and you kind of liked him but not really, and after a couple of hours he’s been online again, but hasn’t read the message yet, and you decide to stop checking your phone for a while, at least wait two hours until you check again, and you put your phone on silence and with the screen upside down, and you remember all those days you had to apologise to your ex-boyfriend for being too sensitive because “you were on your period”, and you go on Ebay, and type in Frida Kalho, and you first spelled Kalho wrong, but Ebay is smart enough to notice, and it asks you if you actually meant Kahlo, and you click to confirm that you actually meant Kahlo, and you sort the search by price, and you select lowest first, and you go through the results, and you end up buying a £3.99 cushion, green and red, with her face all over it, and you tell yourself that you’re a feminist, and that feminists like Frida Kahlo, and you feel good because you just got yourself a Frida Kahlo cushion, with her face all over it.

Blanca es la noche

Lo que más duele perder del otro 
es la piel,

del otro.

Prozac

Who are you 

crawling in my thoughts

lingering in my mind

Por qué

en mi cabeza 

quién eres que trepas en 

mi mente 

Electric blue and bubblegum pink

Why does everything have to be so cool all the time. 

That couple in that cafe

She bumps her head against the faulty sliding doors in the cafe. The husband, a charming Arab man in her 40s, takes her by the arm and walks with her towards the table. They sit down. She is wearing a hijab. The husband holds her hand. She tilts her shoulders slightly to the front. He whispers something to her, probably "are you ok?". She nods, timidly. Not because of him, because of the people in the cafe looking at "the Arab couple". He is the definition of the classic man, the one we all want, even radical [heterosexual] feminists, secretly. He knows where his place is as a man, takes care of her woman, respects her and is protective of her, but not in a patronising or possessive way. No, he would kill for her, but he trusts her, knows her love is real and sees her as a whole human being. He can be tough and seem unsentimental sometimes, but that's only from the outside, she knows he isn't cold hearted. She sees him and he sees her.

Ah bullshit

Yes

Canonbury station or Inventory part I

In Canonbury station
we once rented a flat
to David, David from Essex.

You told me you had had enough,
of looking around
the price was above our budget
but you had told me you had had enough,
of looking around

So we rented a flat to David,
David from Essex
in Canonbury station.

You once threw a pot at me, in Canonbury station
I once threw a chair at you, in Canonbury station
We then cried
and you held me
you held me like you hold a paper bag full of groceries,
like in 90s American TV shows we used to watch
while we were on other sides of the world

You showed me your favourite teenager songs
I showed you mine
we listened to them,
alternating one with the other
I showed you Italian Eurodance songs,
you played noisy stomping happy hardcore tracks
We found each other so exotic,
in Canonbury station

My heart pondered
recurring themes
unbearable subjects,
in Canonbury station
My heart got bored
of you throwing a pot at me
of me throwing a chair at you
in Canonbury
station

You said you would learn Spanish
only after you finish your film
but you never finished your film

I said I would write a script
I never did

In Canonbury station, we talked,
for hours,
we hoped,
for months
we tried,
for years
and
we failed

I felt lonely in Canonbury station
you grew old

I walk pass Canonbury station these days,
every morning and every evening
There’s no flat, no fights
no love
in Canonbury station anymore

But there’s loneliness
everywhere.

I once knew you, in Canonbury station,
now I don’t know you anymore.

The sea smells like the sea

I stare at the sea and cry,

you aren't there. 

I cry because I smell the water 

but I want your skin. 

And sweat 

your armpit.

Salty

We were once there 

Both staring at the sea, smelling the water. Maybe your eyes still on the horizon, you asked me why I'm cold 

You stated it. 

You are cold, you said. 

I am not cold, I. I am straightforward.  

In silence, I quote Nietzsche in my head:

I can't remember what he says about it