Poetry

the moon demands that you shed your skin
because it is better to be animal
when the silver hits

eyes reflect in the dark
and the surf roils
and like something primal
you feel absolved –
washed clean of the sins of your father

heart beats flow more slowly
as the tide welcomes you in
the in out of your breathing
a staccato as old as
the salt on your tongue

you duck your head under the surface
and it welcomes you home
as it muffles your ears and takes your breath away
lungs burning

(we are made of this, we came from this, and so we return)

Poetry

I’m sorry
Really, I’m trying
I think maybe that’s part of the problem
Because the earth’s too dry
For what I’m growing here
And I might fall through the cracks

I thought if I gave you my voice
I’d be amplified
But instead I find myself
Buried, dirt in my mouth
And I want to scream
Is anybody listening?
But it’s uncouth to do so, isn’t it?

I’ve gone through so much thread
Stringing myself back together
But I’m lumpy in all the wrong places
And I’m hard to love
And soft in ways that make me
Want to bleed out all over the floor
If you scratch at the wound
I’ll shiver for you

Do you think I was born this way
Or was it something I carved out?
There’s so much black in my eyeline
And so much water in my lungs
I’ve tried to swim but I like the way sinking feels
And I’m not going to lie and tell you otherwise

So if I’m there in the static
Lean forward and try to make me out
A tiny black and white excuse of a boy
I lost my best friend to
The heartattack promise of a kinder world
So maybe I’m not as solid as I used to be
That’s on me, I know

The mirror’s blurry
But the glasses make me someone else
So I guess I’ll make do
With seeing myself through you

Poetry

I broke the heads off
All my sunflowers
I didn’t like
That they were taller than me

I think you knew before
You met me that there was
Something wrong about
The way that I breathed

I’m sorry, I built myself
Up and I’m carved out
Of sand and
The tide is coming in

The world’s on fire
But I’ve been burning for years
My skin scalds red hot
Keeps me safe keeps me warm

I believed in reprieves and
The space of not being
Needed or wanted for
Anything other than love

Before realising that
That hurt the most that that
Was the most broken jagged piece
Of glass between my toes

I stare so hard I think
My eyes will turn white
Like milk and all I’ll see is
What I’ve been endless nothing now never dark

Leaving was an apocalypse of
My own design and all
That remains is the marrow
In my bones ’til you suck that dry too

There will be flowers again when
Winter turns to spring I won’t
See them but I’m
Assured they’ll be there

This place is a prison and I’m
Only operating one small portion
Of all the clanking machinery that
Drones on and on in the background like dulled screams

I’m a virus and
I’ll infect you too
Mask yourself and quarantine
The very bones of your spine

I’m sorry I couldn’t be beautiful
For you, I built a pyre but it’s damp
The kindling won’t light there
Isn’t anything more than sparks in the night

Salt sea air and I have that in common
The cries of the gulls above me
Six feet under and breathing in dirt
Didn’t I tell you I was doing well?

I haven’t been myself lately
I think it’s something in
The way the floods roll in
And in miniature oceans
We pile up our belongings
And pray that we don’t lose
Like maybe there’s something to lose
Like maybe there’s something
Like maybe there’s something
Like maybe there’s –

Poetry

Sorry, I know we’re running out of time
The planet’s on fire
And you’re busy pouring petrol
The flames are beautiful as they lick around our twisted limbs
Aren’t they?
Carbon turns to carbon turns black grey ash
And I breathe you in as you breathe me out
Smear soot fingerprints on the glass
As it smashes when the heat forces its way through
Billow up into the atmosphere
Smoke sharp in your lungs
I’m burning up and you’re smiling and I think:
“oh, I guess this is what you meant,
when you said that I could be lovely”
I turn through colours blue yellow white
A birthday candle hushed out by the breeze
Can you smell the death of me? Of this?
Kiss me hard and scorch me like you’re cauterising a wound
I can’t feel my tongue anymore as it makes its way around words I wish I’d said
“run away with me, run away with me, run away with me”
You laugh like an explosion and it pierces like shrapnel
And it’s in the bones of me now
“I chose you” you say voice nearly lost to the wind
“I chose you because you had long since washed up on the soar and dried out, the salt of you shaken away”
“I chose you” you say
“because you looked back”
You strike the match and it bends my spine like willow
“You were perfect” you assure me
And as I’m eaten away
I repeat that to myself
“You were perfect”
Oh.

Is this my fault?

Uncategorized

It’s been a thousand years or twenty minutes since I last wanted to die
Definitely one of the two
I’ve been counting my breaths, are you counting as well?
There’s something inside of me that’s golden,
This core of hope I can’t seem to qwell and I was wondering if you had any advice about that?

I’m a billion years old or I haven’t been born yet
Definitely one of the two
I exist in star stuff and the cosmic rays hitting the windowsill
I’m a long way from home, that much I know
Yet I’ve been here all along
Isn’t that strange?

I want to tell you what it’s like to be a moon to your sun
To reflect back light like a child reflecting love
Existing is –
Hard.

When you shimmer soft and glow yellow
I think to myself of the night sky and how dark it was up there
The sun is just another star, after all
And stars burn up all the time
So there I was, cold, alone, knowing that somewhere you were burning
And I was, what? A hunk of rock
Orbiting you, hoping you’d let me in

I’ll see you again when the daffodils bloom
And I promise I’m still breathing
There doesn’t seem like there’s enough air in this room for two
So maybe I’ll stay alone for a little while
If I have nothing to reflect then will I see myself?
Is that how this works?
Is it?

I collect you in the between moments
When there’s a lull in conversation and a gentle contentment washing through
I’ve been to space you know
And I crash landed in the ocean
And you know what I thought as I hit the water?
Dammit, I thought, dammit, I want to live

It’s not like that every day
But for today
With nothing but these words
I want to be here

And maybe tomorrow I’ll tell you something different
Because there are no straight lines when you move in eclipses
But right now?
It’s okay
And that’s all I can offer you
I hope that’s enough.

Uncategorized

I’ve neglected this blog, I know. Don’t even talk to me about my Youtube. These are the dead days, the days between Christmas and when the world starts to turn again, and with them comes the lethargy, the depression, all the things you really don’t want to talk about.

2019 was amazing for so many reasons, I can’t begin to list them, but obviously achieving a lifelong goal was amongst them – publishing How To Be Autistic has changed my life beyond measure, and I’m so immensely proud of creating something that people seem to enjoy. I’ve received more messages than I’d like to count, so much kindness, so much sadness, so many people who know what it feels like, but there’s hope there too, and that’s what I wanted more than anything else – hope and promise of a better tomorrow.

It still hasn’t sunk in, I hope you realise. I don’t think it ever really will. I don’t even remember being the person who wrote How To Be Autistic in a frenzy after winning the art award. I just know that somehow I did, and that that means somewhere there’s a spark in me that means I can do it again, somehow, somehow.

I have so many plans, so many things I want to share with you. I feel like for such a long time my world was a single room, this tiny box of four walls and the same views outside the window, but now it’s bigger, expanding just as the universe expands, and god, we are starstuff.

There’s so much potential, the world is fizzing with it. It’s a very weird thing to realise, that maybe the future holds something beyond the monotony, the every day, every goddamn day being exactly the same. I feel like I can breathe for the first time in years. I feel like I’ve woken up (and yet I’m still exhausted!).

I have plans for a new video, and I’m still trying to get my next book published. A goal I’ve made for myself is to publish something, anything, really. I’d also like to write something new, something substantial, 50k range. It takes an awful lot out of me to do so, but having written is such a beautiful feeling that it’s worth the torment of it all.

I feel so lucky that there are things I can’t even tell you about yet that are coming, and that might be coming. My world is straining at the seams, getting bigger still!

And I find myself appreciating my family now more than ever, watching my sister’s children grow and become proper little humans, feeling so incredibly old as they do so. They anchor me to this place, and in doing so, they keep me safe, even on the darkest days.

I owe so much to so many people, and I hope I can repay that. I don’t believe in karma, not really, but I believe in kindness and the power of it, so.

Here’s to a kinder 2020.

Poe xx

Uncategorized

we found a fox skull in the woods,
and you asked where the rest of it was,
the body, the bones, the fur,
the fluff of the tail,
all that was left was the gleaming white of teeth and jaw,
empty eyes in empty sockets,
did the other foxes drag it away?
or rip it apart,
an act of innocence,
an act of cannibalism?

we found a fox skull in the woods,
where the trees crossed the sky,
and made shadows and sunglows on our faces,
and you held my hand as we made burial plans,
and you didn’t mind the mud and moss,
that etched under your nails,
as you sank your fingers into the earth,
you dug a grave,
small, shallow,
and we placed the skull inside it,
and you held my hand again,
as we kicked the dirt with shuffling feet,
over the last remnants of a life,
reclaiming, remaining, but,
finally lost.