i have moved

to here. maybe it's better, maybe it's not:

http://jennybrowne.tumblr.com/

almost airbourne

you can walk to the ends of the earth if
you'd like. i don't mind. i need you like
i need air. it's funny how i can't help
myself. i look to the wall and see paris
and imagine us under a pastel duvet.
i'll bring you marmite on toast in bed
every morning, stroke that bit by your
ear which sends shivers down your
spine and tell you that falling in love
with you was my best idea yet

464,200

i watched as clouds from the west
collided with an aeroplane from the
east in the window reflection across
the street. dulling rows of red brick
marring my view each morning. i
did not ask for a perfect panorama.
i did not recieve one. in this dirty
city i live and breathe. but there is
no oxygen. only bulletproof shop-
fronts, industrial palaces and Floyd
who sits in a filthy puddle of his own
lost memories outside the university.
i roll him cigarettes and he tells me
that i remind him of the wife he once
had. it is entirely subjective, this city.
i wake up for the day but it is already
dark. i still lose my way, but finding
things by accident is better. i found
myself by accident. i don't get scared
anymore walking home at 5am.
daddy said i'm a big girl now

forgetting to post thank you letters

she's wilting like a dying rose, just not dead yet,
not quite yet;
i don't want to be counting down days on fingers
- i never had piano hands like yours anyway -
i always swallowed my food hard in her presence.
but she's a mother and a lover who has
lived a life inside a tupperware box
NEVERBEENFREE
but now she
can't get out of bed on her own
can't shower without slipping and
breaking - so like that fragile soap dish
from the charity shop.
mother cried and held me this morning
and said they're taking her away;
she wanted to die at home.
cooked meals tasted like plastic
my socks stuck to kitchen laminate
house looked like christmas
but this year was her last and
i still haven't seen her