last tuesday club

"She believed the world had begun last Tuesday. January the twelfth, to be precise. When I asked her how she came up with the idea, she just shrugged, before looking at me as though it were obvious." – Charlotte Amelia Poe.

Month: February, 2016

and all you are

sloppy late night handwriting
as i try to describe
every butterfly
in my stomach
when i think of you
ink scrawled across the page
or the back of some crumpled
receipt
just the desperation
of words
eager to escape
but impossibly, impossibly
inadequate
when it comes to you
and all you are
and all you are
how can i write you
when you are everything
and the world
would be a little colder
should i have never met you
i am lucky
beyond words
i cannot describe
that kind of luck
how could i possibly
how could i possibly
begin to describe
the wonder that is you?

short reply

“so how was your day?”
is the worst thing you can ask
same as every day
(i reply)

the things that make

glow in the dark stars
on your ceiling
and your arm across my stomach
and the soft snuffles of
your sleep
your nose pressed into the pillow
and your bed-head ruffled and more
perfect than when you ever style it
i can count every freckle, every scar, every tattoo
every mark life has left upon you
i can trace your skin with my lips, my fingers, my tongue
i can memorise every part of you
or i can try at least
to know you are ever-changing
as we all are
but in this moment with your chest moving and your heart beating
and it’s just this
in this moment it’s glow in the dark stars
and the weight of your arm
and the soft snuffles of
your sleep
and that’s enough

anxiety is –

anxiety is –
the moment in a horror movie
when the girl looks behind her
and doesn’t see the tree root
her foot twists
and she falls
and in that moment
she knows she is going to die

anxiety is –
knowing you are going to die
it is the fall that will kill you
because you were too busy looking back
to keep your footing.

sharp teeth

girls have sharp teeth
you may not think so, but they do
for biting, bruising kisses
to drain the blood and leave the husk

girls have sharp teeth
with settled words behind them
waiting for a perfect moment –
to let them free to sting and burn

girls have sharp teeth
they keep them sheathed but –
the right moment will show itself
and when it does – oh when it does,
they’ll rip you to shreds

Cinnamon

Your lips taste like cinnamon

And I’d never tasted cinnamon before you

Now it’s inescapably a part of you

You are the girl with cinnamon lips

A soft spice of taste

After drinking your coffee

It reminds me on the days when you’re not around

I taste it

And oh –

But of course

There you are.

Does anybody want me?

So, I’m looking to contribute to zines or websites or collections or anything that’s out there, just to see my name in print or on the world wide web. I know my last poem got a few likes, which was amazing considering I wrote it half drunk from lack of sleep at 5am, so yeah. But honestly, if anyone is collecting works, let me know, because I’d very much like to be a part of it. I like the idea of creating something beautiful and sharing it. You can email me at lottiexcore [at] googlemail.com – excuse the email address, I’ve had it since I was sixteen and thought I was hardcore. I’m not hardcore. I was never hardcore. Anyway. I will be adding more poems as they come to me, so please feel free to follow this blog, and I’d love it if you got in touch or let me know about anyone who might be interested. Thanks for reading! xx

Girls Who Run With Wolves

I run with the wolves because what else would I become –
My skin is marked and my hackles raised
I bare my teeth to the setting sun
My feet are bloodied and my knees are grazed

I run with the wolves because I speak to the dead
In ancient tongues and blood rites past
In rubies, corals and all things red
In knowledge that I am, finally, the very last

I run with the wolves because the night seduced me
I run with meat caught in my teeth and sharpened fangs
I run with intent and promise of pure and simple deed
I run with aching stomach and hunger pangs

I run with the wolves because once I was a lamb
Devoured whole and an empty grave
I run because the waters have long since broken the dam
And because no, I still haven’t learnt how to behave

I run because when you’re running you can’t look back for fear of falling
I run because what chases me is more terrifying than any four legged beast
I run because I cannot face the morning
And darling, finally, I run because I need to be released.

a short letter to a girl

i could be the best thing you ever lose

p.s. a thousand fuck yous

wondrous

do you think
maybe, just maybe
there’s a place for us
nothing big, we don’t need
much space
just enough to curl
up into a ball
like little children playing
hide and seek
we peek out and hope
that the world isn’t
watching
and we can be alone
do you think there’s maybe,
just maybe
a place for us
where we can forget everything that
isn’t us
and breathe each other in
like lapsing sighs
and you’ll turn to me
and i’ll see it then
because you’ll see it in me too
this great big something
made small but no less precious
by its observance
we treat it with wonder
because we are
in ourselves
in our small space
wondrous