‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

sometimes, my dad and i, we lost our minds. he taught me that, my dad, always doing stuff like that him. he’d always do a bit of painting across the road at sandra’s in the summer, and when he wasn’t, he was teaching me stuff. like how to lose my mind. not on purpose. he taught me lots of things, my dad. he only ever lost it once, like fully lost it, that one time when i lost the dog, other than that, heart of gold. heart of gold my dad, and a rusty silver tooth he won down the warwick castle the year i was born. i remember being a kid and thinking it was sick, like something from the pirate movies or home alone, but then one day some of the kids at school asked if he was a drug dealer and i said ok. then yes. not on purpose. they were surrounding me. he never taught me how to lie, but i can kick a ball. he taught me that. and throw a punch. and he only got a little bit mad when i wasn’t as good as my brother. not as mad as when he sees homosexual perverts on national telly. he taught me how to be fine with calling two people mum, too, and after a while he kind of stopped teaching me stuff. not on purpose. that’s sort of just how it goes at some point isn’t it, between a father and the wrong colour gender reveal cake.

i only said he was a drug dealer because i thought it would make them like me. it was a little bit on purpose. everyone likes him, my dad. i think i only said yes because he’d never taught me how to say no. everyone else likes my dad.

lots of friends, my dad, more than me even. they must not talk much though, none of us have ever been any good at that.

“how’s that boy? what’s his name, the little one with the, you know the one”

“oh… yeah, of course, umm yeah… sad that innit…”

dad’s friends are dying too. he calls and tells me every time one of them loses their life and i’ve never once cared. it feels like less of a loss i guess, because they’re old, because there’s lots of them, and because i don’t care. he taught me that, my dad. how to lose and lose and not care. never care. throw a punch, yes, maybe, sometimes, a kick if you have to, but never care.

he loves me now, my dad.

he loves me a lot.

he loves me. not on purpose, but i don’t care.

inspired by ira, whom i could only hope to be half as good as someday. yeah!

there they are
so beautifully
sat on the banks
& backs of gods
& rivers they mispronounce
so beautifully & so blonde
converting rupees to dollars
amazed at the price of lunch.
what a steal
this package deal of promises was
$899 for all flights, hotels
& transportation
[including: 1 new life.
2 elephant rides & a free
third eye [optional]
not including: any of this
should you die
and be reborn. nor any
additional elephant rides].
once you’re there
you pick a new god
choose 8 or 9 or none
it’s no big deal
back home it’s all the same
look, there they are
so beautifully sat
on the banks
& backs of the dead
so beautiful
toes dipped so beautifully
in the river
of ash and bones
converting dollars
to a future one
a beautiful
certificate after a two
week course says you’re
Blonde
& beautiful
& beyond enough
to bend,
breathe,
teach,
anywhere
in the world
even online
at any price
to anyone
so beautifully
at the cost of
peels
in the fruit bowl.
missing pieces
of torn puzzle
orange
on the colour of glass
saying ok these are bodies now,
bodies i’ve killed and relaxing
ohhhhhh they came and
took those away already
oh okay here
hold this a
second
gender reveal cake [pink]
gender reveal cake [blue]
aww, he said
and chuckled,
growling
with a grin
under his breath
in excitement
i showed father a photo of you
and asked if we’re cousins.
auburn
nashville
buffalo
i know nana had family all over.
he shakes his head
and walks up the corridor
up and down up and down
he walks up and down all night
along i watch him drag his feet
and hit the wall
i watch him scratch his head
he grabs the phone a second time
to be sure
he sees your name
the photo
your hair
a bacon tongue
32 little milk bottles
all out of place,
cameltoe
crow’s feet
hair of the dog,
all the trimmings
of a good girl
sedated

forgive me.

rebecca from my a level history class isn’t persian and beautiful like all of her friends, the ones with pistachio eyes and strict older brothers, the ones who everyone loves. i loved all of rebecca’s closest friends in order of how persian and beautiful they were, and had kissed them all on the lips at various points in history. with mouth. she hated me for it. she hated herself too, she hated her low pistachio-to-eye ratio and she hated her strict older brother, who no one cared about. i never once thought about what he did and didn’t want me doing with her. i had no intention of kissing rebecca at any point in history. i didn’t hate rebecca because she wasn’t persian or beautiful though. i didn’t hate rebecca at all. when the history teacher touched my ass and kissed me on the lips that time and only rebecca saw, her eyes changed colour on the spot. something to something, not green to something else, also not green. i only know that because if they were, i would have had to kiss her on the lips right then and there, with mouth. sensibly. and i didn’t.

mum was home waiting on a depop parcel to arrive and said she wouldn’t be coming to the hospital when they called. even when they said it was serious, even when they said i had a dwarf, a dwarf’s video camera, and half a gobstopper i didn’t buy lodged in my chest, even when they said i might not make it. awooga NEIGHbour didn’t wait around either. she’d paid extra for the dwarf with a camera add-on and that didn’t include an eating him fee. whoresandcarriages.com had charged her card as per the t&cs and suspended her account for 8 weeks. she told me to leave the gobstopper outside her flat once they’d removed it and that we were no longer NEIGHbours with benefits. done.
me and the whorse would spend the rest of the night in the hospital together and then they’d transfer him to a vet in the morning. i wouldn’t ever ask what was wrong with him. he knew what was wrong with me and he hated me for it. sensibly.

never tried it & i never will.

The End.

Friday. 6th March 2026

the dentist he says i have a sweet smile and that my teeth are dying at an alarming yet manageable rate. 40-60% chance of survival he says, [given we take the right precautions], and this is our 3rd appointment this year. i know by now he’s picked up on my commitment to always dressing like an amateur snowboarder too. i bet everyone has. i bet their clothes are soft. i bet i’m the only adult on harley street whose clothes make a shukushuku sound. i’m turning 27 soon and none of this is ideal.

i haven’t seen the moon or even a star in what feels like forever, doubt i’d even know where to look but saying that, if i focus real hard when the dentist pulls out his little drilly drill, and let him shake it around my tiny heady head like a can of the sweetest, most crispiest cokey coke, i do get pretty close. all my serums have oatmeal in em and shit too and i know, it’s not right. it’s just not right. nothing is anything anymore and this is what i mean. this is what i was saying you guys know so too much shit. so much shit about everynothing and every week there’s more shit. i can’t won’t keep up.

i sit down in the dentist chair. my stupid trousers make the stupid sound and you’ve invented a CBK. i get up and there’s a figure skater with toothpaste hair you all know about. and love. who the fuck’s lena dunham ok i know lena dunham, but the whole world watched heated rivalry AND wuthering heights AND hamnet? seated. when? i’ve been sat. all i do is sit, and what the fuck’s a hamnet? ok and then how DON’T you know normal stuff, like 2010s benny banks or the 24 bus? or the scary shop opposite the harrow mosque with the cheap raspberries? you know cherry coke but you don’t know cherry groce and that’s the problem. at least one of them. i don’t know much but all the stuff i know is normal so where even are you? aren’t you me? aren’t you all me? i really don’t think our stars align outside of whatever this is chat, but ok i am happy i get to email you from time to time. idk. maybe i’ll start emailing you every day. that could be annoying.

pastizzi are maltese pastries filled with savoury ingredients.

jort’s adamant that i’m secretly phillip traylen. 40-60% sure he says. [redacted] thinks i’m ALUKAH too which maybe isn’t as bad, but if i’m completely honest i’m turning 27 soon and none of this is ideal.

i got two. damned. bitches. at. the. same. bad. time.

the dentist he says i really am the Best Snowboarder Ever for being so good at always remembering to use my waterpik™. i don’t say anything about me sitting back, closing my eyes and letting it squirt the soft of my throaty throat until i no longer miss her.

i don’t say that i’m dying at an alarming yet manageable rate.

feel free to add it to the list of bullshit you already know

goodbye everyonedy, until next time :)

notes from the emailer: my teeth are alive and well

hello everyonedy, this is a cry for hello. i’ve been watching so much substack tv these past few months that i forgot all about this little diary thing over here, which is sad because it actually brought me some much fun. this one here’s some bullshit though so maybe skip it and read next week’s, but yeah, if you’re not reading Girl Insides on the big screen then i dunno what to tell you twin, you’re missing out.1 don’t ask why gaddafi’s the thumbnail. idk. if i knew more stuff this would’ve been a serious post, about the world or something, the political and economic state and so on. alas. read the footnotes when they come up too, not just at the end. or just at the end. ’snot a big deal.

wednesday. 4th march 2026. 4:14pm

THE ALLEGATIONS ARE TRUE THE ALLEGATIONS ARE TRUE! I’M CLUTCH! I’M CLUTCH I’M CLUTCH I’M CLUTCH I’M CLUTCH I’M CLUTCH I’M CLUTCH I’M CLUTCH! no but for real i have a lisp now and all my shoes are made for hiking. central cee still has a monopoly over every gay bitch in mamdani’s london, and i’m deep in a gaddafi rabbit hole that no shoe on earth could climb me out of. this place is becoming harder to love and you guys are becoming harder to like. yes for now the twelve grand a month does paper over such cracks, but for how long i’m not so sure. i’m not even sure i have a lisp but whatever, someone said i did and i think that’s all i have in terms of updates. i haven’t seen marty supreme.

i still haven’t even got round to seeing anora. or making the bikini for ottessa. all should be forgiven when you have a lol2. lol.

there’s a war going on outside. some would say it’s an even bigger deal than the war going on inside my mouth. they would be wrong. gaddafi called it. i think. nice lady at the publishing house with the nice pastries didn’t share my sentiment that all books [but most importantly mine] should be free. nor that two poems, no matter how nice, are enough poems for a book of poems. whatever.

i think my tongue’s too big for my mouth and i pronounce my L’s a bit like david dobrik.

“your tongue’s too big for your mouth and you pronounce your L’s a bit like david dobrik” she said, [not the publisher lady], and though i’m not so sure what she meant by that, i’d be lying if i said it hasn’t held me hostage ever since. gaddafi called it lol.

anyway what’s new with you guys? don’t tell me, well do tell me if you can but i’m not even sure how you would. tell yourself though. i’ve been playing the old zelda games on my ipad oh and when i said you were becoming harder to like earlier i swear i didn’t mean you specifically, not any of you, definitely not you if you’re reading this, ya know?

it’s almost mango season so that’s something i guess. almost lime bike season too and hmm what else? nothing really. i’ll be doing some proper writing at some point although i’m not so sure you’ll even see it3. sorry if you’ve seen this. i hope pastry lady doesn’t see this. They’re calling me a TERF on the timeline for all the gender reveal cake stuff :(

lost lambs by madeline cash and sad tiger by neige sinno are the best books i’ve read this year. 10/10 would recommend and i’m not so sure what else i’ve even read.4

and i suppose this is where we call it a day chat.

like every single one of these, not worth writing and definitely not worth reading, again i’m so sorry.

until next time. luh u

the day after
mum invited every kid in my class to the party, and swore only a few would show up when i cried & begged her not to. to be fair she wasn’t wrong they usually don’t, but i am one of like three kids in the playground with Heelys now —that i cried & begged for too— and so my street cred has, dare i say it, skyrocketed since last year. plus i’ve heard rumblings and whispers all this week about how cute my brother is, which i think i wasn’t supposed to hear judging by how giddy and foolish their faces got every time i rolled past, but they didn’t do it quietly enough. they never do anything quietly enough. i knew something was up.

The doorbell’s rung 17 times in the last half hour and since about the fourth, mine and the dog’s sigh, eye roll, sigh, eye roll combo has been all synced up. i’ve had to greet them all too and apparently it’s rude to ask people to change out of their outside clothes in the hallway, and by the looks of it i don’t think mum told them to bring a change of clean indoor clothes like i asked her to anyway, so i think we should have a serious chat once everyone’s gone about what she thinks is and isn’t rude. besides, i personally think it’s pretty rude to wear a spider-man shirt to a sophisticated nine-year-old’s get-together but whatever, we know what they say about beggars. and even though i’m not one, you invite every kid in the class to your party and it does kinda give that impression. and no one in their right mind wears their best clothes to a beggars birthday party even i know that.

I glance over at the table in the living room usually home to mum’s shockingly bad dinners to see it’s now a mountain of shockingly bad presents. a load of crap i’d never buy for myself, and the ones that i would i already have. mum tells me to be grateful and to just go and have fun when i pull her aside to voice my concerns, but it’s not like there’s a dozen 8 and 9-year-old toddlers in her room (including scab steve) rummaging through all her stuff and eating flaky pastry on her bed without a plate.

and yeah, i am being really fucking patient right now all things considered but i don’t like this one bit. they’re here. the idiots from school are here. in my bedroom. on a sunday.

perhaps i’m not hiding it as well as i think though because dad calls me out on the balcony while he has a smoke and tells me i look like i could do with a cigarette. at first i say i don’t know what that means, and then say i don’t know when he asks whether i knew he was joking. i think he questions my intelligence sometimes but that’s ok, i question his too. i don’t have the heart to tell him that for months i’ve been tracking his eating, nap time and toilet break schedule and comparing it to the dog’s. or that my conclusion is that they’re the same exact person. i leave him to have his cigarette that i know isn’t a cigarette in peace and go and check on these little fuckers and make sure they haven’t broken anything. scab steve’s been suspiciously quiet and i saw something dodgy on his knee when he ran by earlier. he’s my first concern.

to be (maybe) continued

today. monday. 15th september 2025

hey kiddo,

i’ve written about you more in the last month or so than ever before and i think that’s good. is that good? someone told me it was. they said it’s me healing and i said i don’t know, it feels more like pent-up guilt for wasting the 20s you didn’t get to have and ok i’ve just right now decided i’m actually not going to write this.

mum made me go to your funeral, knowing every kid in our class would be there, even when i cried & begged her not to. thing is though, i’m not 9 anymore, i have something called autonomy and that means i’m allowed to do the wrong thing whenever i want. so i didn’t go. i went and got a tattoo instead. it’s a little kid’s bike, you know the ones with three wheels? yeah, on my [redacted] arm. no meaning or anything, i just remember flicking through the flash sheets and picking the first thing that kinda stood out to me whilst trying to block out the cries coming from the church at the end of the road and ok i’m not writing this either.

to be (maybe) continued

the papers all say
you’d have seen the train
and his lights
coming towards you.
did you mistake them for my eyes?
even when i cried & begged you not to.
did yours lay closed on either side of the tracks?
were your parents made to say,
“that’s my boy, those are his eyes…
and there, his feet, and there, his last breath”
in that order
even when you cried & begged them not to.

anyway.

to be (hopefully) continued

i’ve been very ill this week [quick pause whilst you’re feeling sorry for me] and unable to write. so instead here’s a bunch of words i’ve been vibing with, arranged in an order that almost works. i’m sorry. enjoy.

monday. 1st september 2025

loose. change. burdens. empty. pockets. knives. settle. burdened. exchanges. cut. through. notes. on. love. on. war. by. chance. had. yours. and. chance’s. boyfriend. still. you. blew. him. too. for. all. black. berries. born. sweeter. than. juice. either. papa. leads. the way. or. he. doesn’t. my. papa. did. not. preach. i. think. papa. thinks. he’s. bishop. in. juice. papa. breeding. whey. and. out. came. hope. with. two. horns. and. one. red. dress. and. no. shepherdess. in. time. that. ages. wine. out. grows. family. trees. miss. mother. others. missed. fajr. five. days. in. a. row. five. rotations. since. nana. six. since. alberto. you. up. ?. there. with. whom. it. may. concern. please. free. our. brothers. in. xabsi. we. were. happy. as. kids. i. see. auntie. and. lower. my. gaze. we. count. down. the. days. on. fingers. that. shovel. rice. we. were. nine. once. filled. with. good. behaviour. eighteen. do. nine. months. hope. is. free. hope. is. free. to. whom. it. doesn’t. deserve. hope. is. three. halfglassed. no. room. for. error. nun. pious. about. us. in. fact. half. black. half. dog. half. irish. birthed. on. assi. ghat. on. no. road. to. no. heaven. not. even. dogs. that. piss. against. the. walls. of. babylon. shall. escape. the. wrath. we. come. to pour. i. dream. of. one. empress. at. the. reign. of. weathering. heights. and. we. shall. burn. them. and. burn. them. for. they. never. cease. to. oppress. the. poor. on. nights. wife. cries. to. reel. me. in. days. on. end. and. don’t. i’ve. read. your. sins. i. dote. on. girls. on. my. line. and. milk. their. skin. for. dose. of. honey. one. down. who. to. go. ?. one. dal. one. dosa. last. of. my. money. still. no. closer. to. hope. but. full. of. life. this. one. and. the. next. i. blow. ALUKAH. a kiss. i. miss. i. miss. miss. i. believe. we. saw. florence. without. her. machine. that. morning. do. you. breathe. my. words. will. ai. run. a. train. on. my. words. were. they. ever. mine. ?. train. from. mine. to. richmond. less. than. twenty. five. you. were. barely. twenty. settled. for. the. boy. next. door. oh. lord. why. she. was. his. childhood. crush. and. they. moved. right. next. door. oh. lord. why. they. wed. in. the. spring. in. the. church. they. were. both. baptised. to. pretty. much. the. same. exact. guests. and. i. guess. i’ll. settle. too. for. a. partner. on. pardna. some. months. mine. next. month. his. or. hers. lines. of. love. blur. smoke. to. roach. amnesia. kills. our. people. black. birds. sing. and. end. up. dead. at. night. given. no. collar. jobs. and. told. to. fly. hopelessness. is free. hope. is. free. point. five. one. day. and. on. mondays. ?. is. where. all. unholy. words. come. to. die.

i’ve spent the summer clawing my way through mangoes twice the size of my head, often two at a time. same as that summer when i was six and unripe. i remember my no’s meant nothing to someone when no one was around back then, twice meant three times as big, and i suppose i’ve always been greedy.

i’ve spent the summer welcoming the going of flesh between my teeth —but not the kind i need— because your thighs live somewhere else completely and my mind now somewhere in between.

and so by next summer, i want [red—

dear charlie,
i know. i know i said i wouldn’t. i know i joked and said i’d ghosted the last three therapists, then said don’t worry i’ve changed, and you’re way better than them anyway once i saw the look on your face. i’m so sorry but i haven’t, and you weren’t. i know you’ve seen all the looks on my face too. that thing my eyes do when you bring up [redacted], how the sweat beads in the shape of tears when you glance over at the clock and tell me we’ve only got 5 minutes left of you being paid to love me —same time next week?— and i haven’t even brought up that summer when i was six.

i know i’ve sat in this chair for 54 weeks *apart from that one week when [redacted] gave me a [redacted] does anyone remember? do i? and i couldn’t bare the embarrassment of you bringing it up or seeing the bugs behind my eyes clawing at my mulch, or the mango i’ve got lodged in place of a brain. but yes, 54 weeks and we’re still not any closer to making me a real person, but i do think you’ve tried.

dear someone somewhere else,
let’s touch parts that were hurt or fold them into cream.

oh and charlie p.s. don’t tell anyone about the mangoes. i’m hoping no one’ll notice. i’m hoping someone will notice and the other someone won’t when i do the thing i told you i’ve been wanting to do for 54 weeks now.

[@redacted] you up?
are my shoulders soft enough to come home for? and like me, do you remember the summer when no became no longer an option?

i’ve been watching a girl and her boyfriend build their dream home on youtube and just yesterday a couple of pigeons moved into my balcony. i’m not sure what either of these mean or if they’re connected at all but i suspect it’s something to do with how my greed was born out of unworthiness.

in another life fingers crawl over flesh and pulpy tips drag only mango juice behind them, in another it bakes into pores and rids us of all unwanted touch. in another life you were my first yes, and in another we ripened on the same branch.

[@REDACTED] YOU UP?
there’s at least a piece of you in everything i write, the rest live in this phone and i really didn’t mean to scream just then. it must be the bugs, i’m having daymares in place of dreams and most nights i can barely sleep.

dear charlie,
it wasn’t you. and it wasn’t me either really. it’s just [redacted] didn’t much like you because you were kind to me, and that sort of thing doesn’t fly in the house that the pigeons live on the balcony of.

dear miss haarlem,
i miss zandvoort beach and the kind of things hands can get up to underneath the sand when two people struggle to understand each other’s accents.

i miss moscow mules from winkel 43 and gelato 41 from idk and watching long russian legs pedal bikes under canal light.

i miss being free and also i miss being one —back before i was greedy— and i think i’m sick of having two at a time.

today. monday 1st september 2025

i’ll spend what’s left of the summer out with the pigeons and beg them to teach me how to fly. i’ll write hope in big letters in red string above the clouds, so when you’re up, i’ll be easier to find.

oh and p.s. it may be upside down, the bugs have been clawing at my eyes.

[redacted] [redacted] september 2025

oh plead my cause oh jah

anything really. never have. say i do though. i say i know everything all the time. i’m a person, i’m a person adjacent person with many catchphrases, and i know everything has been slowly creeping its way up there as one of my most called upon. i think the idea is that it somehow plants the seed of well ok, you must know at least a few things, otherwise why would you say that? why would i say that? i don’t know. i could read before i could talk and again i don’t know what that does to a person adjacent person but i think something. something to do with having thoughts before having anything going on upstairs. or having your mouth and lips and throat strings all locked away in a box labelled voice, way up there in the attic next to the old gamecube we haven’t played since dad pawned the tv. next to the barbies i wouldn’t dare ask the age of, all tits and no head, no voice. and mum’s tiny wedding dress. something to do with climbing the shaky stairs and falling. having no one to shout for and no way of shouting. no voice, no head, no tits. something to do with having catchphrases in place of feelings.

years ago i read somewhere that if you jump out of a window and angle it just right, landing perfectly on your head, it’s pretty unlikely you’ll break or even fracture any limbs, and it’s an effective way for people like me who don’t have the things that i don’t have to get to the places we need to be. having use of all our limbs when we get there is just an added extra.

the kind nurse with adderall eyes and shrek jibbitz in her crocs asked me how i fell and i told her i pushed myself. i decided to tell the truth just this once because beneath the turquoise scrubs i could see her body looked tired in a way that seemed sensible. she had an oily voice and the body of a barbie i wouldn’t rip the head off of. the other lady sent down by the government from what i’m guessing’s the department for children who fall out of windows, asked me if that meant i jumped out on purpose. i said i didn’t know. i said i didn’t know i was just looking for my voice and i don’t know if she heard me.

i read through my entire medical history the other week for the first time ever because the nice people at the medical weed place needed to see it. either that or they love me, or they just really like reading. i sent one of my poems along with 26 pages of records, 1999 to idk, and a joke that i can’t remember (some sort of play on words with medical history and medical weed, and how they share a first name). i also screenshotted the part where it mentioned the circumference of my head at birth and sent it extra, just in case they missed it and couldn’t work out whether or not i had a head. i don’t know but i think now they think i do.

i also nearly died at birth. supposedly tried to push myself out the window of mother with my own umbilical cord wrapped around my neck. the weight of my big and definitely real head slinkying the rest of my limbless body onto the hospital grade linoleum. luckily someone caught me that time, and i didn’t even have to shout for help or anything, i was just new so they cared.

i also did fracture a few limbs i guess, and lost a lot more HP that time i fell out of the second, second floor window twelve years ago. ♥️♥️♡♡♡‎
apparently lots of people were concerned too so that was nice to hear, they even kept the records in a box labelled box, put them way higher up and somewhere a lot less scary than the attic this time too, some place called the cloud. i don’t know

i was also at some point diagnosed with lots of things i didn’t kn-

Based on our assessment with [redacted] which included a Clinical Interview with Ms [redacted], Mental Health Specialist, the assessment measures completed by [redacted] and our observations of [redacted] we have concluded that your child fulfils the diagnostic criteria for

i googled it and this one means i love myself.

Based on our assessment with [redacted], which included a Clinical Interview with Mr [redacted], Mental Health Specialist, the assessment measures completed by [redacted] and our observations of [redacted] we have concluded that your child fulfils the diagnostic criteria for

i googled it and this one means i hate all of you.

the kind pharmacist asked if these scary words on my mr. medical history were the reason i was willing to pay lots of money a month plus a subscription fee for its brother, dr. medical cannabis? (that’s so stupid i’m sorry). i said i didn’t know for lots of reasons. she seemed sensible too but i could tell selling me weed on a zoom call at 10 in the morning, possibly in her socks wasn’t what she used to dress her barbies up as. i think she went to school to reattach heads. ok great, 30 grams sound good?

she leans over to i think tick a box and i see the top of her head for the first time. i say haha scalp reveal but i don’t know if she heard me. any questions?
yes but not really about the weed, i know all about weed. i probably know more about weed than you, i know everything. ok so first question

• do you by any chance have shrek jibbitz in your crocs right now? crocs yeah haha the shoes yeah, oh you’re not wearing crocs? oh okay oh well what are you wearing then do you have shoes on? are you in your socks!!?? are you in your socks right now [redacted] that’s crazyyyyy. then i did a little rap about selling weed in your socks. or i didn’t. i don’t know. second question

• is your umbilical cord still attached? ok third question

• do you love me? or did you see my medical history at half 9 in the morning and now feel the same way about me that i do?

my [redacted] asked if i love her too. i said yes in place of i don’t know, because that’s just what you do when you love yourself and hate everyone else. or the other way around. i don’t know

today. monday. 25th august 2025

i am only twentysix
my cheeks are malkissed
and i write like someone who doesn’t read

and what i should have said is that if medical histories are in the business of repeating themselves, you can count on me to continue falling out of things.

xoxo

Certified Lover Person *adjacent person

p.s. i’ll jump on purpose this time but only if you’ll catch me. pinky promise?

hopeless in hampstead, house sitting and all alone. running through corridors of shit, what was that word again? the one the therapist said i must use for feelings like these (before i ghosted her) in my childhood home, reliving daymares and checking to see if i still fit in all the same hiding spots. just in case. i do not. i snoop around real careful, quiet as a family of mice treading water and make sure not to touch nothing. the jury’s still out on whether i’ll be coming back and i’ve spent years scrubbing these horrible grey walls of my existence, i don’t have time to start over. not much has changed, same old same old, the stairs still creak or shriek or something else. i stood at the top of them earlier and smashed one of the nice mugs just to see if the ghost that used to push me down them whenever i misbehaved still had it out for me. i guess not. i wonder if my room’s still the same. has it been turned into an office, or a gym, is my room now the cat’s room? have the bedsheets been washed or do they still smell of past lovers? wait, do the beDSHEETS STILL SMELL OF—

the bedsheets do not still smell of past lovers. not even one. not even the underside of the mattress or the curtains or the blanket at the end of the bed that never gets washed. i don’t quite know what this room smells of anymore but it isn’t of anyone i’ve ever known. perhaps myself.

i’ll feed the cat who i’m pretty sure likes me more than my own. this won’t last. i mean we’ve known each other two days of course we still like each other. i’ll fix myself some strawberries, what’s left of yesterday’s pistachio ice cream and watch the tiny white cat chase a fly. then i’ll bathe and do the wrong thing with my hair, i never don’t do the wrong thing with my hair. it’ll frizz and whilst it does i’ll play house in the texts of somebody’s girlfriend. she will like me more than my own, of course she will, every photo she’s seen of me has been handpicked to make it look as though i always know exactly what to do with my hair. ok i’ll text her too, and then i’ll pretend to have fallen asleep when they both ask what my plans are for tonight.

tonight i’ll be ransacking my old bedroom in search of the memories that keep me up at night, i’ll take them over the park in the morning and feed them to the ducks or burn them or do something with sage or perhaps something stupider.

i write this on the floor in the corner, opposite my bookshelf and i’ve just seen the copy of norwegian wood [redacted] gave to me, it stares back with the ghost of his or hers or no one’s eyes. i wonder if the tiny bit of acid i stashed in there 10 years ago’s still there, did one of the kids take it, did the stair ghost take it? if it’s still there i’ll probably just stare at it. i’ll ask google if 10 year old acid is bad for you and not believe anything the ai overview says. then i’ll probably stare at it some more.

whether i take the 10 year old acid that may or may not be bad for you, or not, i’ll be in the living room with the big light off and a lamp on, hotboxing with all my bits out, for the neighbours. same neighbours? i think pretty much the same neighbours yeah.

• yes, i have indeed gotten bigger since you last saw me five years ago. i was an adult then and i’m an adult now so i really shouldn’t of gotten any bigger but yes, i certainly have thank you for noticing.

• and yes, my fattest parts are on show i wasn’t expecting to see anyone. i’ve been coordinating my every move to perfection and even scouted the entire street on the ring camera in the hopes of not seeing anyone, but you’ve caught me taking my rubbish out, so thank you once more.
  avocados yeah, yeah yeah i quite like them, haha yeah they’re trendy i know, kids eh? umm no, i wouldn’t say they’re much like a potato, but i guess similar yeah i suppose. on toast usually but on their own too.

• yes i have eaten 2 tubs of pistachio ice cream since i got here, how did you kn- oh so sorry did i use your recycling bin the other day my bad i couldn’t remember which one was theirs so i just guessed. how can i make it up to you? shall i make you some avocado toast. would you like to microdose expired acid and eat avocado toast with me, kind old nosy neighbour?

• no? haha that’s ok i was mostly joking. and no, i don’t know how my parents are, i don’t know where they went on holiday or when they’ll be back, i’m here for the cat and my birth certificate.

i said some or none of this.

i left the next morning, said goodbye to the cat but no one else. well i did make peace with the doorframe i ran into that time and lost most of my teeth. and the spot in the kitchen where the doorframe’s boyfriend at the time got mad and i lost the rest of my teeth.

i left with the memories that keep me up at night and an expensive looking bottle of wine, i buried them (not the wine) along with the acid in my favourite hiding spot in what was once, what may still be my favourite park, so i hope going forward my night times are filled with dreams once more. i’ll go back to my girlfriend and the cats who i’m sure like me just fine. or i won’t. maybe i’ll pawn one of mum’s watches and buy myself a one-way ticket to anywhere. i wanna go where [redacted] is, like new york, or at least connecticut or new hampshire, live in the woods and maybe then, maybe then i don’t know.

today. monday. 18th august 2025

yeah. i had thoughts seep out of me that weren’t in the shape of poems and i didn’t wanna buy another notebook so here we are. conquering all the days. conquering my inability to write in full sentences. we’ll see where this goes but as soon as i work out how to make this thing private i may just do that, so i’ll see where this goes, you may or may not see where this goes.

and i found a 2005 iMac G5 a few weeks ago and i’ve somehow gotten it to work, it can’t really browse the internet and stuff so it’s a perfect little writing machine, i finally get to live out my fantasies of being a blogger in the 2000s, it’s great. anyway, that’s all for now, i’ll be back here next monday to tell the stories of another random monday, you may or may not be here. mwah.

cat. no one told me her name and i forgot to ask. feel free to name her.

view from me bedroom window, it’s not a gym or an office, there’s a bed in there but it isn’t mine. i used to smoke out of this window when my parents went to bed and dream of the life i have today. and now, and now i don’t know.

one day.