It's just a broken heart

Can I ask

I was wondering

I didn't want to

I'd assumed

Have you

OMG are you two

We just heard

They were asking

Long time! It seems

It's so sad

I was so sorry to

We suspected

But you guys were

I just heard

How are you

Perhaps if you

Maybe after

One day you will

You always were

What if he

I didn't mean to intrude

The Kid

"Do you remember how old I am"

"I remember a number"

"What is it"

"I'm just going to say it so don't be insulted"

"So what did your friends say about women my age?"

"I'm not coping. I need a distraction from this. Can I contact The Kid"

"I'm surprised you haven't already"

"Are you working for the next several nights"

"I just knocked off still wanna catch up for that drink"

"Hey darling how has your day gone"

"Your texts never have text in them"

"No I'm Bad At texting"

"That much I've worked out. Can you just return my cigarettes"

"You have this smell about you I don't know what it is"

"I hope it's a good thing"

"I associate it with very good things"

"I'm standing metres away from my Ex's Other Woman. I need to leave. Can I come meet you"

"You know he's just using you for sex"

"He knows my situation"

"Hey darling just knocked off been working way too much lately but I have the next couple of days off whatcha up to"

"Thanks for an amusing night. I could use some more sex though"

"The feeling is mutual :)"

"Can we just put it down to a night of miscommunication"

"What are you talking about it was a fantastic night"

"I did nothing wrong to be propositioned by your friend. I'm not attracted to him. I am/was attracted to you"

"One day I'll walk back into your life. You'll be some top fancy chef"

"And you'll bring along our 3 kids!"

"I'm having your kids?"

"3 of the 9"

"I like you"

"Ditto"

"What drugs did you take now"

"What do ya mean"

"Your nose is bleeding"

"I think you're a top lady and I'm sad to say I don't think I'll be seeing you again"

"You couldn't text to say bye to a friend? All I've asked from you is honesty and I'm not sure if you have been."

*very experimental. Don't think it worked but still wanted to try so publishing it

Rebound

You Cannot Just Move On.

You can kiss. But you cannot allow it back beyond the bar doorway.

Do Not hold hands.

Do Not hope for text responses.

Do Not - fall.

He did not realise what he did when he leant in, strangely, for a kiss at that counter.

And you stared, saying, “no” but realised “Oh, wait. Yes.

I can do this now”.

You cannot just leave your remorseful relationship flaggings on the bar stool

As you learn each other’s company in weekend beer sessions

Alleyway shaggings

Midday wakings.

You Must

First face your end.

And not text each time you wish to escape your pained cage

Each time rattled by the voice of your… Ex…

Now….Ex….

You cannot play without first cleaning.  

He was not meant to lean in for that kiss.

He was not meant to shout, on that street corner, that he was tired of you hauling your ex and your past into each evening’s conversations.

He did not ask for your burdens.

Though.

You’d leant back, in for fun.

It was not meant to turn this serious

Under Renovation

“Nice boots”

“But have you seen them dance!”

And so we did

Dance, across the laneways, on the alleys’ stairs, to the entertainment of kitchen staff’s smoke breaks, with a scarf, from each doorway that would allow the space, around scaffoldings of buildings

Under Renovation.

“What’s your name?”

“Adam. Or James. Or Scott. With a Z.”

Through photo shoots. Of graffiti and Lady Gaga fans.

Outside clubs that would charge us for just. One. last drink.

And you never asked me mine, as you pirouetted in an emptying bar

While I drank my dark rum with the barman

And the strangers clapped. 

“You make me horny”

You.

Make.

Me.

Horny.

“Ok stranger. But have you seen me dance?”

Around a fountain and across bushes and back out without following

Scaffoldings. Of those buildings. As gym bars

Sign posts and bike bars and hand railings for slides

Following without inquiring

Across the bench tops and along the alleyways

And just, for five hours, we danced.

Until the sun rose and the rain cleared us out.  

Without knowing anything but the two unnamed strangers on a pavement.

Post 1

Standing, whiskey bottle in one hand, half smoked gauloises in the other, on my balcony, on a chair, with my breasts as bare as my rage.

Fuck you. You fucking French men. With your wives.

Fuck you. The love of my life for six years. For every cheating lying way you stole from me.

Fuck what has become and could have been. And never was. And what you thought I should have been.

I am the crazy woman. Who is treated for fits of nervosa. Whose mother pleads to see it his way. To calm it down and be pretty.

Bare breasted. Big headed. Loud mouthed and politically looped up the opinionated tube.

A little too loud. A little too… what the kids like to call… unique.

The years have been fun, since I wrote about John and Yoko intertwined.

We loved. God, how we loved. Dancing with Buda on her streets of Pest. Running across granites of lighting as we camped with noodles and wine. Closing off our friends. For just us. Until the whole continent couldn’t hold us. So we escaped, with our adventure elsewhere.

God, how we loved. While I sobbed on empty couches over Love Stories while he roamed the Outback with a pick and a camel. We clung. We threw half frozen mince at hungry walls. We were never certain. And spent three hours trying to do a grocery shop.

We found our feet. One by one by two steps back one.

I worked. And worked. And interviewed and worked and heaved along train lines to new places to answer your questions and calls and demands. And looked forward to years ahead when I would be home.

And you stressed. And counted. And hated.

And he died. Far away. We can never bring him back. And I am sorry that you were not there. I could not get the plane to fly any faster. And I tried. And my heart broke that you were here, in the darkness, in so much pain, and I could do nothing. I could always do something. But that night… Far away in a lighter time, I could do nothing.

And so you hated. And you raged. And you cheated. And you turned from me. And I interviewed. And I worked. And I applied after applying for an application to apply. I applied.

And you turned away.

And I realised. So I asked. And you denied. You accused. So I worked. I

Paid.

It got twisted. But not like John and Yoko.

It got dirty. And raging. And beating, my fists, on your chest, for answers. Any answers. I would be sober. I would be drunk. I would be anything you wanted, if you could just give me answers.

But you denied. And you hated. Me. Because, I hadn’t been there, when you were in the dark and I was so many time zones away, in the light.

And so we broke.   

In realisation. After too many screams while neighbours covered their heads with their 3am pillows. We gave up on us.

And we shook hands. Like worthy opponents after a satisfactory duel. Ready to sheath our weapons and walk away.

Until you realised. What you had done. And you said you had changed your mind. Could we go back. To couches and crying and Love Story and groceries and remembering why why why.

But I couldn’t I’d moved on I’d met old friends I’d shaken hands. You said we’d shaken hands.

So I put you on a plane. And I cried like the world. Of Six Years Of Age. Had ended. In front of my eyes. In front of the Qantas gate. At 7am. As people lifted up for work. And you walked down a gang plank with your green oversized backpack of years of weight. And I went back. To a world I never knew.

And I moved on.

So now here I was. Raging. With my cheap whiskey. And a man I thought I knew. Until he kissed me while his wife’s back was turned. And I raged. Like I used to do. And I liked the rage.

And I liked the words. Like wine they are seducing my fingers into telling. Tales. I have long since known but forgotten the rhythm. And so I type. Like old days.

And I welcome me back.

Though I still don’t know why I did it topless.