unspoken word

We were outside smoking

Winter hours made four pm feel like midnight

The countryside sky free of air and light pollution

Had so many stars our city eyes were

Nearly blinded

I exhaled wearily and said

I was heartbroken

 

He, my friend, cast me a withering look

Said “stop wasting your time with men

You’re far too clever”

He’s a sometimes feminist

part time misogynist

I suppose he thinks

It accentuates his swagger

 

My newfound interest in men has

Placed me lower in status

He maintains that I should know

Better and women are far more complex

Allegedly. All I know is

men drive me distracted

(the men I’m drawn to make me crazy)

most women I’m drawn to are crazy

(so which side of clinical insanity would I like to be

I mean, where does that leave me? )

 

I shook my head, locked eyes with him and said

Listen, seriously man, I’m heart broken

And the stars laughed

And the night grew darker still

He stubbed out his cigarette

And walked back in

With not so much as a word in my direction

I think he preferred it

When I was lesbian

 

 

 

I used to love indulging in retail therapy
Pushing my debt further for the sake of
A statement bag, a party dress
I now choose different routes through this city
Purposefully avoiding the boutiques I
used to be compelled to enter
Not wanting to see racks of dresses I
want but can’t afford
I couldn’t really afford them before either
I just bought them anyway but
Its different now somehow

I meet a pair of friends for lunch
The café’ is chosen because Its central and
they can bring their poodle there
The menu comes. Brunch or lunch?
They query. The girl sets down a
Winter white bag from Chanel
Inside A ring, real diamonds She’s
not allowed to see it again
Until after Christmas
These two were always out of my league
its impossible to ignore it now

They talk about their upcoming ski holiday
My berlin friends lust for travel But
rarely have the means
to get out of town
most of my london friends
have high salaries
and need their holidays They
don’t stop otherwise
I guess I was, I know I was the same before but
Its harder to relate to them now

My berlin is already starting
to shrink around me
My London feels too busy,
a shade bourgeouis
I walk down oxford street with
this craving for lingerie
I thought I’d treat myself.
But price tags of forty pounds, delicately
dangling off a pair Of lace frilly knickers
seem ridiculous. I walk out empty handed.
No desire for indulgences now

Sometimes I feel like
some of my friends resent the way I left
they’re still locked down 9am to 10pm
Better to work through your lunch break
Or you might not leave till eleven
I’ve allegedly become Some kind of bohemian
Creating, producing, performing
but probably in their opinion Not working
They regard me differently now.

I used to have a profession
I used to be a professional
Sometimes my Berliner friends
Catch glimpses of this former me
Sharp talking, organized, hyper productivity
The friend who said I’m the only one she knows
Who plans ahead (and she just meant the coming weekend)
In London I’m teased for
No longer keeping a diary
But I like that I don’t live by one now.

Back here I can’t bring myself
to make  concrete plans
I walk and wander
Sipping gingerbread lattes
Wanting something,
what I’m not certain
But I’m definitely
Not quite settled
Its just
Different now somehow.

I couldn’t believe my luck when he walked in
I know its embarrasing but i’ve got this weakness for hipsters

Particularly
the extra tall, extra skinny, skinny jeans and glasses wearing kind
But all that aside He was cute, charming And it was almost alarming
how all of our favourite bands,films and fine artists agreed
Our cultural interests  winking at one another as if to say
the deal is done

his forties army coat and braces flirting with my vintage fox fur and heels
after three or four or five drinks we sauntered over to the pub that
vice magazine owns

and watched some unsigned band we were both sure we had heard of
and then i felt his fingerless glove brush across my neck and we were kissing
it was wicked until we broke apart and he said (in his cute kent accent)
that he had been excited about our date because i was this

hot BLACK chick

and its not that it wasn’t a compliment  exactly. maybe what bothered me
is that the word he most emphasised was
Black

I think he got it, because he quickly added that
that made me something of a  *commodity* on “our” scene
and until that moment I hadn’t actually noticed
until that moment it didn’t really matter

but now the label *commodity* hung somewhere between
my bootleg chanel and american apparel and sure enough i was the only
black girl in a room of something like sixty

“you see” he said, and I nodded
and i wished that  we hadn’t stopped kissing
or maybe that we hadn’t left the last bar

or maybe at least  if i was some kind of
badge of chic cultural diversity that he could have
kept it to himself

so i could have left feeling that I was “hot”
not
a “commodity”…

When I am somewhere between
the duvet and a deep dream state
I am somewhat awakened
by the frenetic pacing
of her bare feet
bustling across my
wide pine floorboards

every day it mystifies
how she can be up so early
even though my version of early
some would call a rendition of late

and as much as I
like my own space
I also like her way of
filling it

its less like we’re friends
and more like
we’re sisters
the kind that get along
mostly

who giggle in bed
over absolutely nothing
who trade sarcasm
in a way that is
code for charm

bookended by
her distinctive laugh
and her occasionally brutal critique
of my films and poems

in the morning
with my eyes closed
she sounds like
a moth fighting with a lightbulb

for some reason
even half awake I like it
the silence of solitude
was always too loud for me
and i’ve never dealt well with quiet

and so as i navigate through
the mish-mash of
our makeup and accessories
i find myself

relishing the swishing
of her dresses
the clatter of
coffeecup and cafetiere

the constant persistant clicking
of her high heels
pacing with conviction
up and down my appartment

She broke my heart
while smiling
but she was so beautiful
it was moments before it hurt

that’s the problem
with being a poet
falling in love with impossibles
is something of a job requirement

as soon as she’ d realised her actions
she held my hand fast
apologised
said she hadn’t meant it
i was so lost in her eyes
it didn’t matter that she did

because love is a loaded term after all
broken hearts renew themselves
eventually
it all felt a bit metaphorical
totally fictional really

but even the most jaded
secretly wish for happy endings
romantics switch from swelling hearts
to those that require mending
but she
broke my heart
while smiling

and this has all been fictional
metaphorical strictly speaking
love is a loaded term after all
hearts repair themselves
eventually…

he said that he never calls anyone by accident
well we were on the phone two hours long distance
when he was off his face on salvia
i guess it was… sweet?
in a fucked up kind of way
it took me back to the days of highschool

when i was the favoured girl of a friend
who liked to get off his head on acid
daily calls occured around midnight
when i was tucked up in bed
he’d speak for hours…
the lack of sleep didn’t help me
in algebra class
but it didn’t matter
the conversations were worth it

now let me make a proposition
to all of you, now
promise me this
next time you’re pissed
poised to drunk dial
go ahead and do it

only
promise me
promise me this
you will not
regret it
you will not take back
what you said or did
in fact
you’ll stand by it

from this moment lets make a pact
admit that what you said intoxicated
was not so far from fact
and its rarely that
you didn’t really mean…
its far more like
you generally wouldn’t say…
from now on my friends
know this is okay
we drink and take drugs
for more reasons than recreation

the substance is merely
social facilitation
and the easier said truth
is eerily close to honesty
so from right now
promise me
you all must promise me this
recognize that regrets
are meaningless

you kissed her
thats fine
you fucked him
its not disaster that you did
you said…

‘i love you’
now think about this
even ‘under the influence’
perhaps
you meant it…

yes
yes i’ll be in your film
even though i’m not an actress
yes i’ll come crew for your film for free
yes I’ll come see your band play
and then fall in love with it so much
i won’t be able to say no
to being in your music video

yes i fucking love
the wardrobe you designed
for that short film so
i’ll buy a dress
from your independant label
and wear it while constantly saying
how fantastic it is
and yes
i’ll shoot the behind the scenes
for your first fashion show
actually
i’d be honoured

yes i can’t wait
for your book to be translated
yes i want your book published
in english so i can read it
yes i love your poems
they’re making mine more lyrical
maybe yours have more rhyme now
what…you went home
and wrote a poem?
but you never liked poetry
right?

yes
use my studio to edit
while i’m away
yes stay in my flat
while i’m away
yes i’ll come see you dj
even when i’m totally exhausted
because
i believe in what you’re doing

yes we’ll dance around
the dj box
even though its
more of a bar thing
yes we’ll create
the party around you
because we
want that for you

by the way…
did i tell you i took your
poetry book with me
and turned a poem
into a song?
by the way
did you know i took the title
of your poem
and turned it
into a song?
come and listen to it
lets play

lets sit around
in a pretentious hipster bar
we once loved
and play
cards
well i won’t play…
but when our friend passes
his ipod around
for us to listen
to the acappella tracks he recorded
our little crew will resound
with respect and insist that
yes the tracks are brilliant
and they need to be out there

what??!!
you write, and make music, and paint???
when i google the words
*artist flat*
will i see your studio?
no seriously. but really
is it ok if i
come over and record. yes?
we’ll spend two hours
even though i thought
it would take twenty minutes
and you’ll then come up
with ways to meld it with
sound design

what???
you turned down that gig as a booker
to concentrate on turntablism?
and you still refuse to go digital?
well…props to you girl.
come over to my house
lets get out the projector
and watch a woody allen film
with a mixed crowd of
germans and auslanders
and end up in a
hyped up debate about
the problems of dating

and i”m working on this edit
but i’m feel a little guilty
because i didn’t finish editing
the video we shot of his
street art in action
but he’s busy
i think he forgives me

and i’m still playing
with this script,
because they’re both such
great actresses and i want to
write something for them
specifically
i want to play
lets play.

we play alot
but somehow we
also work hard
our work comes out
of that play
and yes sometimes we
stay out all night
and yes sometimes we
play with substances a little
but then we come down
and sleep and wake up and
we write and produce
and perform about
all this life we’re living

and the work is so good
its easy to be support
and yes
its much colder.
but hey
the sun is shining…

i admit
i have this way of lighting firecrackers
then looking confused
when the smoke emits
like a wide eyed child
unaware of her accident
i rarely act with thought of
consequence
i never expect anyone to take me seriously
when anyone does
i’m a little mystified
 i’m far more innocent
than most give me credit for

and I feel…
mixed up
like the change in my wallet
which is the foreign currency?
which is foreign?
which city am I in?
who can I call now?
who costs less to call?
who’s calling?

Oh sorry
the voice mail said
I thought you were still in London
I then read a text asking
if I was back in Berlin
an email asking when I’m back
back
I’m back to back
with two cities

all change
swap keys
swap partners
tick the next box
on your dance card

I was dancing to minimal techno
at a club by Treptow
before I left
three days later
I was dancing in a club in Old street
to minimal techno again
I said goodbye at the end of the night to my dj friend
four days later in Berlin
I said hello to him again

and there’s an ocean
there are borders
there’s a divide
but its laced with connections

I’m in
a german speaking country
but often i forget
because if my german fails
i’m questioned again
in english
but my german
felt trapped under my tounge
when i walked around London

and sometimes it seems like
wherever I am
I’m the other
the outsider
and yes its always been
a little bit that way
but London became home for me
definitively
I’d settled
and when the contract
was drawn up and ready to sign I
walked away…?

but the thing is
I settle quickly so
months later Berlin was home
and as I set about making it so
explaining to those
I was leaving behind
I returned here and felt
homeless again….
and I couldn’t tell you why but

I feel…. like
I’m on borrowed time
between the between
an oyster card
where my my bike key should be
or more like

the mixed up change in my pocket
which is the foreign currency?
which is foreign?
which city am in?
who do I call now?
who costs less to call?
who’s… calling?