HOW TO NOT BE SEEN
how not to be seen:

a fucking didactic wannabe pastiche
of ruination and colour. boyish haircuts
and the need to grasp your wallet close to you.

I am not so much falling in love with london
as she is pulling me close to her as we pass under
a flyblown lamp in a piss puddled alley just where it is
night-blindest I can smell her breath as she grips me
just under the armpit and the tension swells like
a rubbernecked toy snake

I like the outside of the tate modern
more than I like
the inside of it

today I ate three oranges and was upset about how
I am buying too many lipsticks. we watched a film
set in a cathode ray tube television set in an art piece
set in a gallery of a string of gold filigreed crosses being
reeled out of a blow-up doll’s ass.

everyone thinks it is okay
to disrespect blow-up dolls
because they are not real
but the disrespect is real

the violence is real

there was an angry bewildered man
afraid of being ripped
off all the time last night trying
to be an uber driver
he jam-braked in the street
and said,
get out of my car
because he thought my ex
was yelling at him.
in these two months
I helped my ex move
way more stuff than I ever deemed
myself capable of carrying
for myself
it is because
we are queer women
and queers have to fend for themselves
when being thrown out of cabs

I cut myself with a knife and dripped alcohol inside it
all by accident. I got a message from someone important
but forgotten
today out of the clear blue
which merely contained
a sam smith cover
and ‘getting emotional’.
is it damaging to be selfish about catering
to others’ emotions
as payback for them
not catering to yours
this is why ignoring bids for attention
rarely is profitable
and why I should only be in a relationship
with the Atlantic
the magazine
not the ocean
but also
the ocean

somewhere along the way
I stopped thinking of myself
as a cool girl for surrounding myself
almost solely with
male friendships

‘friendships’

‘friends’

oh my days, she says,
and interrupts men pissing in
residential doorways because
she has to do it
and it’s the right thing to do

I think we need to stop caring about
whether we can be adequately-dressed
drag queens and go straight for the
lip-sync lacerated jugular if it makes us
unbearably happy

the thing I was mulling over today
the thing I was thinking was
for every single situation I have made
everyone unhappy in I have tried my best
to please conflicting demands
and I am not sure what I learn from this
except to please myself first and foremost
and sometimes the most pleasing thing
is to walk away and say no
if they cannot sell you anything then
you are no longer beholden to them
and they have no dominion over you
this
the sweetest eviscerated
emancipation

how not to be seen/how to be fickle/to be poised/posed/arrogant/confident/untwitchery/charming enough without being pushy/offensive while smiling through your teeth/majestic enough that people don’t stop you in the street/sexy enough for people to turn their heads/to be taken notice of without being bothered/to be obliging without others thinking they’ve pulled one on you/to be present always/to remember/to be two steps ahead/to have foresight and live in the moment/to take pleasure in desire/to respect boundaries/to hate elegantly/to be unapologetic for one’s flaws/and still keep growing