If she stopped, the world would stop with her Okay, maybe not But there would definitely be an earthquake Or some other natural disaster Let me help you for once

Is it luck to have someone in your life Who would do anything for you Or does it render you immobile Without a left hand Unable to do anything for yourself

I paint thick strokes, too dark Too wet and clumsy She takes after her mother That’s a very attractive sketch Do it again, in my GCSE art book

Unfinished but well on its way Creating layer after layer Finished whenever she decides to sit down See the world in watercolour Radiate impossible optimism

Lady Godiva wants her horse back Cuts off her nose to spite her face Admire her from afar Appreciate her gall A wild heart in exactly the right place

Like the Amazonian removing her breasts Still nursing her children Fires perfect arrows Into the hearts of her enemies They never got a word in

Not perfect, but then Are you? Her snide remarks cut you in half Clever and intimidating The scorpion protective of her brood

Hair full of secrets A tangled web of information hoarded Some useful, some strange Beautifully strange A curly hideaway for my brother’s hand

There’s another layer Sorrow she keeps close Easily pushed to tears Hold your tongue She’ll remember everything you said

My father said Self-loathing is all part of being creative Misery is more interesting An artist said Happiness is an extremely uneventful subject At least we had it for a moment

My father is an artist too A split personality And a double-crosser Half the time Or more than half The silent part of a song A dark figure under the water Hardly visible Just a silhouette Barely there The silent treatment you barely remember A man you barely recognise in the corner of a room Waiting for something And probably drunk

His other half The slow progression of a song You can’t help but sing along to Creeps up on you Like the surprise of the tide coming in Up to your neck, almost swallowed by the sea His mother said He’s a closed book, misunderstood Projects his feelings inwards and never lets anyone in But I’ve seen him shout I’ve seen him swear And I’ve seen him cry Beat himself up And drag the closest stranger with him Among these halves The stronger whole reveals itself The man in the corner has always cared about you It took some time My brother expressed A wish not to be like our father A dream for a closer connection Another contradiction I saw them in Soho last Sunday Almost arm in arm Almost twins Definitely friends My sister too Either all or nothing

It’s almost June and I love you. I crochet matted hair into a soft turquoise cardigan with white cuffs. I can already tell it will be too big for you but I know you’ll look adorable. I’ve lined the front with star-shaped buttons and added an accidental sprinkle of dog fluff. Restart the row. If only I could frog all of my mistakes in the same, neat way but I refuse to go back. I stitch my body back together as you tear me apart. No one else understands our symbiotic lifestyle but we don’t need their validation to survive.

Writing always makes me sad because it has the ability to heal and break you. How can I explain? New beginnings force me to take another look at the past, as if it somehow changed whilst I wasn’t looking. A wave of familiar sadness, not as strong as before. I tap into latent emotions when writing. In return, a strangely addictive reminder of who I used to be. Synchronised pleasure and pain and countless unfinished conversations. It’s funny, you’ll never see that side of me. I will be different, better.

So I re-watch the same films over and over. Suck on a few bumpy gherkins and ramble on a bit. Anything to entertain my idle mind and distract me from worry. Drink a salty ocean of water, sleep too much - not enough - I almost faint. A quick google search: Why am I crying for no reason? Multiple answers. You can rely on me.

You are pushing us away. I used to be like her before the world hardened me. Excuse me, your friend is giving me the eye. She gives everyone the eye. You were so funny that night. Do I need more tattoos and piercings to appear threatening? All my thoughts and dreams have been written down. I’ve never been in a music video before. This dress would look better on you. She is tough, no wonder you look up to her. I absolutely adore you. Who’s your favourite? I won’t tell. We were wrong to idolise a person so much. She is slower than you. Happily hopeless. You need to stop convincing yourself you’re a bad person. We don’t like quitters. It’s a man’s world. I would probably do anything she asked.

Star-crossed lovers cliff-hop the Mediterranean sea Another lost boy found Her curled drunken fist a pale star Laid out and adorned with stringy eye-bracelets Pretty, pretty pebbled pathways lead you somewhere... One more freckle to add to the shoulder-collection Sweet caramel milkshakes kiss two sweet rabbits Running round their rabbit-run The colours are blue and white The boys are lost together The sun pierces, presses-perfect into your skin Souvlaki selfies in the mirror Reflections of your childhood self A better self, your better half Ice-cold swigs of ‘aphrodisiac’ and ‘sex with the ex’

Wine is bottled poetry and I’m feeling more like me #EatSwimRaveRepeat Our dancing queen followed home in the dark star-sky Our singlet mission for you Should we make ourselves a 3?

One-hundred Grecian goddesses cling to a boat (I always exaggerate slightly) Take a depressing swim for fun The number-one hangover cure The lost boys find Atlantis There’s seven or eight stanzas We met at 7 or 8 on a rum-filled pirate ship Crazy Brits pose for polaroid pictures Clowns on stilts talk in symbols, live in windmills Dissociating again, your dolly jelly-shoe daydream... Caramel complexions and milk-maid braids Her heart-shaped sunglasses make annoying appearance Deep-sea thinking, linking hostel friends Fresh flesh forbidden-fruit, we ferry-hop the islands  Lost boys lost in their books