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this is your brain on drugs

this is your brain on lust

validated through a ladder of boxes
checked in accordance to social norms
you never chose but internalised very aptly
you could always negotiate it so well
manipulate and innundate others with yourself
poorly, but forcefully 18, you were
maybe now he can make you whole
in your holes
now you’re thin enough
to allow yourself to be full
maybe his eyelashes can help you
run away from all the women you loved
look for them in him
in a way
that your grandmother won’t be ashamed of
or the devil who came at 12
always as you did
sweet like ginger (s)herbert
pulling you in/pulling you out
just like O, like H in your head
better wish you were dead
the catholic guilt can’t get you in hell, honey

suicide memes and infantalisation of drug dependency
this is all you ever wanted
and now sobriety sings to you, but…..

you’re

so

very

sweet

to me…?

as though i’m surprised by kindness
(and i am)
did you hear me?
answer me J
lull me to a sleep, J
i need to be occupied
hazy little lady, barely 19
face down in bean bags and pillows
like all the brisbane boys before
it’s ok, it’s ok

let me project my idea of love onto you
I imagine you soft
i call you sweet 
but I’m a bitter fuck
they call me a bitter fuck
because of the first J
palpitating out from the back of my chest
leaving me salter-point shaky
now heard across victoria
from toorak and back

i wish i couldn’t help it
but i know how to heal
i just don’t care for myself very much
and it sounds pitiful out aloud
so I took a half of my father’s pills to pull myself back up
pulled from an irish tongue, intended to protect;
it tone-policed and neglected me instead
(if only i could suck enough dick
to be respected enough to be disrespected)
as though I needed the time out
to realise
that the maiL
isn’t gonna send itself backwards
and be read the right way round
everybody uses Facebook anyway, dickhead

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i think of myself
[a waste]
of potential
dulled by dank smoke
and loose nooses
hung by my father’s neck
brought back by my brother
cut down by a leatherman that i whined about
another gift that would graft my future
that i would be insolent over
like a tired, strung out sour child
raspberry face, hot hands;
tears flowing on my twin
made hot with alcohol
as i tell her of the boy that took my innocence away from me
in the most brutal way he could
(he ripped and i cried like moans
because i was too afraid to be anything other than appealing)
far from the nights we spent curled up against each other
as if back in the womb - 
as we watch glowing refractions
in the night
dance around our bedroom
like shirley barber books

i insulate

i innundate

myself in each feeling i’ve had
I am an indulgent; self serving canyon of emotion
to pull in and out
entitled to my anger from my fear.

i saw my friend’s rapist last night
he tried to speak to me in familiar terms
(he was an extension of my ex boyfriend
in more than one metaphor)
a well-intended boy turned entitled
i almost spat at him on sydney road
i was so angry
and then so sorry
for spreading the hurt around further
the friend of a friend who’s room i slept in when i had no home
who i would turn on
when i indulged my id
(as i had afore on sydney road/wrong city/wrong country)
from my pain body
to fill my paint body-of-work
feeling through her thoughtlessness
as it echoes the realms of relationships before her
the boy who crawled into bed with me whilst i was unaware
the woman who left me
labelled my empathy as sociopathy
as i look towards remnants of her inverted;
a pale, hairy, acne-strewned version of queerness and self-acceptance
that i strayed away from from the beginning
from phobia or self-preservation
i’ll never really know
biting into hot haloumi
salty like the google photo compilation of my tears
this sort of earnestness
is not very commodifiable, delly
for my instagram profile presence
better fill yourself up; deli
i’m so sorry i couldn’t sell myself better, baby