Vagina Central

Vagina Central


She gave it to him,

Not as it was,

A jewel, stitched inside of her,

A hidden treasure,

That could have lay hidden forever,


Instead she gave him the map,

Pointed to all the clues encrypted,

In fact she scripted, those magic words,

‘Do you wanna do it then?’

Plainly, without poetry, thinking that he might not understand,

Thinking that that would be a reflection of her, silly girl, and not him, stupid man,

She gave it to him,

As though it were the only dusty penny she had,

As if he were going to give her,

More than it was worth in return.

And he could have done,

But he didn’t,

Not knowing the value of things,

She wasted it and he lazy, unloving,

He, pushed himself to the edge of the event horizon,

And before she knew it, it drew him in,

Despite her, in spite of him,

The end and the beginning

It can only ever happen once,

And they never did do it again,

So she learnt to hurt, to regret,

She tried hard to forget,

But of this act there is no undoing,

You see once nailed, there is no unscrewing

And it took some time for her to learn,

That she was not really sullied and spoilt

And that virginity only matters – when dealing with olive oil.

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I Gave It To You.

I gave it to you,

Not as it was,

A jewel, stitched inside me

The first time my fathers eyes darted,

Caught my mother.


Instead, I gave it to you,

As though it were the only dusty penny I had,

And you were going to give me,

More than it was worth in return.

Not knowing the value of things,

I wasted it.

By nature, it can only happen once,

And that was me,

And you were there,

So we are,

Forever, once, Us.

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Come Close

It’s the third time he has left her in the wet patch. She feels embarrassed that rather than biting the pillow, she has been sucking the corner of the duvet. She looks to her right and smiles at where he has been lying all night. She is lying. Her arm wedged between the mattress and the pillow, he pillow sandwiched between her arm and her head. She hasn’t moved since she opened her eyes, scared to disturb the cosiness in case it forces the day upon him and he remembers to leave. She wants him upon her again. Eyes closed remembering. Bitter.


He always does this and for a second she allows her passion for him to be redirected and she hates him; he has left her too soon again.

He always does. He always manages to arouse her to a point near orgasm but it all finishes before she does. She has actually never had an orgasm, although she is sure she has come close without coming. Its like the first cigarette she tried, she knew instantly it wasn’t a full-fat-hard-core-tar-filled cigarette and suspected immediately that it was a skinny slut  (that’s what they called lights at school) and she was right. Without having tasted it before, she knew it was weak.


She had heard enough people talk about it and had asked enough questions, because she was curious before she was brave enough to try it. So while smoking a cigarette and achieving an orgasm are not synonymous is many ways, for her she had experienced a weak potency when breaking both virginities and as she realised this and watched him grunt and leave, she lay back, realising, the best was yet to come.

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Little Whisper

I feel different today. Maybe it is the ladder running down my leg and across my thigh. Maybe it is that I don’t care about the ladder because I know how accidents can happen and I don’t know how this one happened but I know these tights only had holes for my legs when I put them on this morning, and so, somewhere between there and then, I had an accident. I didn’t notice so it’s surely not my fault. I feel inspired today. Maybe it is because there is a Russian girl sitting across from me, who is smarter, slimmer, prettier than me, in fact she is much cleverer than me; studying for six years, she should be managing financial accounts and not wiping the nose of the one we so affectionately call Jabba. As it is, she works as hard as I do and makes less money. Because I was born in a bed in this country and not hers and, because both my mother and my mother tongue are English I can earn more than her here. In two years time her English will be like Olivers – in that it will be better than mine – and she will make a fortune. She will be on the other side. The weather is changing and as the clouds cast over my horizon I feel pushed back into the middle. I voyaged to the other side this morning. It was quick, I didn’t even notice I had travelled until I lowered my legs and it was warmer and clearer – I opened my eyes and I was near the shore. I didn’t mind that soon my toes would be immersed in the slimy and scraggly bottom. It was talking to Oxana that did it. She asked about my post-grad, which I don’t have because of time and money and excuses and she said but there is time and there is money and if not there are loans. It is not the money and the time – they are the excuses and every year they change slightly. If I was brave enough to even dare to dream what my heart longs for, but then I would be somewhere different. But I am scared to dream it. I have a fear of flying. Ben has emailed and I am desperately trying to make him believe he is good enough to illustrate a story [not now little whisper – go away] that I wrote. It is being published and although I feel flattered that they have taken me on, I fear it is not for my artistry but more for my efforts. Sweet as it is, I feel I have not done my best but that I couldn’t do any better. How dare I think I could write a story. I only have one story and that is my own, the one that I keep sewing patches on. Recently I attached a new lining to the belly of the blanket and the story is warm and cosy but now only half as interesting as I once thought it were. [Ok little whisper, we can be quiet and together we can contemplate how good I will never be.]

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I feel sick and twisted And sorta confused I wanna run to near nowhere But I don’t think I can move I’ve got aches and bruises and I’m loosing my breath I feel empty but full and tight in my chest And I can’t rest, can’t think, can’t do much for myself I, miss independence Now really wants some help It feels like butterflies are dancing around my insides I try to stay upright, I’m closing my eyes But the darkness only incites the rush I feel overwhelmed with a sense of nervousness And the dizziness is churning and turning Like eddies swirling in a river And I get sweats and shivers And can’t deliver or consider Any task that’s at hand I’m out of my body and can’t hardly stand It’s like I’m hanging from the ceiling Dancing in the air I can’t really shake the feeling Cant really say I care Because I’ve joined the epidemic I submitted to the bug And though I’m debilitated, It’s just because I’m sick with love.

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You blew me out like I was birthday candles and you were six
You were genuinely happy although it pains you to admit it
And that’s cool
Because you were moving on quick
Had your fix and fucked right off
And it’s fine but it’s tough
See I don’t want to lie,
As much as I’ve tried not to despise your shit
I keep feeling sick and under he weather
And while I’m hanging on at the end of my tether
I can’t really hold it together
I know it won’t be like this forever
But I can’t really handle hurting
Having to try not curse and
I can’t be around you when I’m feeling like that
See you’re just too easy to dig at
And I can’t really take that
That feeling when I’m unhappy
Stressed, vexed and nasty
And I want to lash out at the ones that I love
But then it’s interpreted before it can be understood
And that’s no good
Because drama brings bad karma
And I only want the
Calm that comes after the storm
Well I didn’t want a storm at all
But when you had me dancing in the downpour
I thought you announced our love
But you declared a war

And when I’m in pain
I want you to feel the same
Even though most of the time I’m doing ok
I hurt and I want to blame you
Its residual, not rational and something of a struggle
And I know I have to make it up to you
But just right now, I really don’t feel to
Just right now I’m not trying to offend you
But I’ve got a broken ego
And a bruised heart to tend to
And we need space because you need to mend to
So for a bit
Please don’t trouble me, at least not for your own ends
And maybe against all odds
We can go from lovers to being friends

It’s all too easy for me to confuse it
Love, lust, then loose it
Get too passionate, when you’re taking the piss
And you’re still around so it’s the idea I miss
And sometimes I get bitter and I feel the loss
Dream of your kisses and wake up feeling cross
And it can take all morning to shake that shit off
Worse when you call early on a wrong-way rub up
And we must have got passed that stuff
I must have finally had enough
Because it’s not my job
And it’s not my portion
And it feels…
I suppose it will do while this is new
But we have to make it through
I thought we would defy definition
See through the mission
And make love last
When it just wouldn’t work

But me being silly,

I just thought it wouldn’t hurt.

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It’s a love-hate relationship
See I love getting drunk but I hate getting pissed
And for me the fundamental difference is
Anything more than three pints of Guinness

I like to finish at my limit,
And leave with head held high.
I like to walk and not crawl out as I’m saying my goodbyes

But there are many days
when I forget my inner-sense
Shake my angel from my shoulder and commit to getting bent

And then,
I talk shit,
Let secrets slip,
Shout and swear a lot
And embellish bitterness

And though it’s kind of rubbish
There’s no use in complaining,
Because while I hate being pissed
It’s always entertaining.

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