Day 34

any amount of whatever in my life

I know in my bones is bad for me

will hold me back in my work

will steal my peace

will compromise my values

will blur my standards

will jeopardise my mental health

is not believing that I deserve better

so ditch WordPress

 

Sorry, guys: Thanks for your likes and follows so far, but if you want to read more you’ll have to buy the book! More details when I’ve written it! 

Day 33

Magdalene was an intense thought

I’d lose my inner peace to

each time I posted

 

the most powerful of attraction potions

I was too quick to absorb

 

I’d write out the words stuck in my throat

trying to get healthy inside myself

but I needed that stable feed

of Magdalemania

Day 32

I go to bed and dream that I’m dead

because nobody cares about me

nobody would notice if I didn’t exist

I’d leave no hole in someone’s life or

any work of enough social merit to

deserve being remembered for

 

I was just a biological mistake

but Buddy loves me

Day 31

past fears

stone sweets

workshopped weapon

brooding car

little things

screaming trees

downstairs bangs

quiet loo

rare mark

last minute

suspicious test

splintered postcode

young arms

dead car

blighted iron

melodramatic dog

clothes talk

truck wreck

obsessive love

latched gate

stopped handgun

sleepy Sheffield

gardener gone

ovum sample

by herself

Day 30

my resolve to stay off

social media dissolved

like tears melt the eyes

because despite my

yearning to be Roddy ash

I needed to connect to

others on this side

of the receiving room

and to know that Roddy left

for us verses that make

my life worth mightily living

Day 29

my brain’s scrambled

 

it’s not big enough to hold

 

everything that’s happened

 

within my fucked-up family

 

 

it can’t make connections

 

takes the shortcut to my abuse

 

mires itself in acute loneliness

 

sticky consequences

 

 

causing me to interrogate

 

my motivations

 

to distrust others

 

 

it short-circuits

 

 

my heart goes up in flames

Day 28

breakfast

 

phone addiction

selfie addiction

follower addiction

 

am

 

selfie addiction

follower addiction

phone addiction

 

lunch

 

follower addiction

phone addiction

selfie addiction

 

pm

 

phone addiction

selfie addiction

follower addiction

 

tea

 

follower addiction

phone addiction

selfie addiction

 

bedtime

 

selfie addiction

selfie addiction

selfie addiction

 

night-time

 

follower addiction

follower addiction

selfie addiction

 

REPEAT

Day 27

glad to have outrun the grip of social media

but never my mind inviting stuff to feel guilty

about to tuck in more European outbreaks after

the bone dust of Brexit parties settles leaving

a bloody stream and Roddy having been dead

twenty-two days a skeleton of a bird swinging

Day 26

taking one small bag onto my flight back from Dublin

forced me to shed a pair of dirty pants and socks

flat grey slippers with the compact foam peeping out

five years old mascara and a stump of eyeliner plus

a beige woolly hat I looked like a gnome in

Day 25

in Dublin’s Griffin Park Drumcondra

I put around me the orange flower

scarf from Paris that’d been protecting

my melodica I lifted to my blueing lips

and played improvisations contemplating

the seasons going on without Roddy

as ducks slipped down small river rapids

then black Scottie Lester sniffed my fingers