poetry collection V: burial

archive of my poetry, January-February 2024

kitchen fantasy - 13th January 2024

"the desire to kiss you is draining, 
tiresome: it devours me" 

when i play my records at two in the morning 
in the kitchen, half glance into your eyes 
and stretch out my limbs toward you, reaching 
i see a captive audience, in my mind 

where again i'm free, and seventeen 
dancing to that russian radio 
no inhibitions, i fall softly into him 
standing together amongst the dishes 
here, my love is not a gun. 

now my heart beats harder up every step 
with none of my plans, the usual schemes 
bottle in hand, knowing that never again i'll be 
so young and so stupid as at nineteen 
i never heed your warnings, i'm always 
finding a way - or making one. 

you, standing fresh and naked 
in the dim light of the shower 
i, sitting in your old clothes 
on your little kitchen counter 
we whisper with the vulnerability 
of the wild, daring hyacinths 
an old lover's kind of intimacy 
but we speak in new superlatives

as if you were set upon this earth to test me 
you bring me back to the edge of all that i left 
weak, i tune out the sour note of the backbeat 
the knowledge that this proximity is a knife 

no mercy left, in the end, for temple kisses-
the roses of this shared garden 
watered by your tears, laughter as it rings 
nurtured by conversation into the late hours 
yet still i balance on a tightrope of your whims 

for its burning passion, tender sweetness, 
sometimes, i swear, i could cut out my tongue 
but our matching things would still sit there, sink-side 
and so grief is my receipt - the proof that i have loved 

only in the heart of the dark 
on night drives down starlit roads 
how your words tore at my flesh 
were, by my true love, truly known 

i let you into my kitchen, 
you said you were hungry for me. 
you come back for seconds, for thirds, 
with no regard, you licked the plate clean.

but you've done this before 
you know how to play 
how to get what you want 
at the end of the day 

of fleshly pleasures, how to make me 
imagine- the kind of familiarity 
to which passion and danger 
have made me a stranger 
you came into my kitchen 
but not to wash dishes 

so, i play your game right back 
in a language that you understand 
like some dog, some animal 
you follow your nose 
where pleasure is promised 
that's where you will go 

i shall not let you extinguish 
the flames of my fire 
my passion, my longing 
that endless desire 
all i mourn is a simpler soul 
neat, clean, square-cut 
no gaping hole 
no complex lines 
no webbed disguise

that pretends i cannot see 
what you could have guessed 
if you had half my mind 
where all the time, i feel her eyes 
her shadow haunting me 
when you're done in my kitchen 
it's for a bedroom that you leave 

when i turn to a past, distant photograph 
sandy beaches, rolling cherry waves 
my bright sun casts her out, no Lilibet now 
nothing to return to as she fades 

in myself then, embody, what i need, not desire 
while you drag yourself back, i lift myself higher 
palming your ashes to find nothing hung on the line 
so i selflessly mend, to selfish ends - i'd like to be free 
i'll pack, take a train, and leave behind - your kitchen fantasy

medicine - 14th January 2024

i think about what it is she did 
to send you shore-side 
under moonlight that one night 

i think about taking a leaf from her 
spooning you saltwater 
lungfuls of your own medicine 

my medicine tastes 
like ribbons and lace 
and lingering in the doorway 

my locket, never opened 
and jars of hearts 
unthinkingly broken

mixtape i want to leave at your door, but won’t - 31st January 2024
(a cento comprised of thirty-one songs)

*Note on this poem (from the caption of the Instagram post where it was first originally published):

The Young Poets Network recently posted about a “Love Poetry Collage Challenge” and while I had many different ideas for entries, I was struck by the form: a cento (a literary work made up of quotes from other authors). I have always enjoyed collage as an artistic medium to experiment with, and hold a deep love and appreciation for music as a form of self expression. So, I challenged myself to create something using only song lyrics, adding nothing original. I didn’t realise quite how limited I would feel, each version sounded wrong or disjointed- I’m still not 100% about it but here is one of my ‘cento’ ideas that makes use of a medium other than poetry.

Additionally, the version of this on Instagram has some pretty cool visual elements (for example, each stanza appears on a different mixtape). I often enjoy adding a visual aspect to my poetry, such as layering it on top of relevant imagery (either my own, or found somewhere on the internet), or adding images, quotes from other writers, or memes after the fact to deepen its intertextuality and poetic multiverse! I don’t do that on here since Substack is a primarily textual medium, but it’s pretty fun, so if you feel like checking that out, the Instagram is @ lilibetwrites.

"when you love me, 
you love yourself—
love God herself" [1]

silence and patience [2], the middle of the night [3] 
pining and anticipation [2], my only prayer [4] 
a vision of [5] the kitchen [5], in my dreams [3] 
a quiet evening alone [6], nothing compares [6]

you're standing, smiling, at the door [7] 
caught up in a moment [8], laying on the floor [9] 
your roomate's cheap-ass screw top rosé [10]
we're drinking 'cause we're bored [9] 

blow all my friendships 
to sit in hell with you [11]
I'll be some next man's 
other woman soon [12]

my white eyes don't care 
about the opening lines [13] 
can't see the forest for the trees 
behind the lids of my own eyes [14]

drink up your movements [11]
you sink into me [9] 
I feel like I'm just missing 
something when [15] you leave [15]

what a wicked game to play 
to make me feel this way [16] 
love thorns all over this rose 
I'll pay the price, you won't [17]

nights melt into sequels [9] 
I call and you come through [11]
fucked me so good that I almost said 
"I love you" [18]

you, with your words like knives [19] 
I feel your compliments like
bullets on skin [20] 
high, high neglectful lover [21]
you spin me all around, and then 
you ask me not to spin [22]

if you'd never looked my way [23] 
you, [24] the [24] devil in disguise [24] 
I damn sure never would've danced 
with the devil, at nineteen [23]
heaven help me, I didn't see 
the devil in your eyes [24]

kerosene in my hands [25]
you're the coldest form of warm [13]
you make me mad, I'm fire again [25] 
karma's a relaxing thought |26] 
through the fire, we're born again 
peace by vengeance brings the end [27]

truth is, I can't pretend it's 
platonic, it's just ended [28] 
all I can ever be to you 
is a darkness that we know 
and this regret I got accustomed to [12]

the only way back to my dignity 
was to turn into a shrouded mystery [28]
anyone can start again: 
not through love, but through revenge [27]

beautiful man, I know you're lying [1]
so bite your tongue, [29] choke yourself [29] on [23]
the cross I bear that you gave to me [30] 
I'm finally happy now that you're gone [31]

Song List

1. Don't Hurt Yourself, Beyoncé & Jack White 
2. Dress, Taylor Swift 
3. …Ready For It?, Taylor Swift 
4. Burning Desire, Lana Del Rey 
5. Stargirl Interlude, The Weeknd & Lana Del Rey 
6. crushcrushcrush, Paramore 
7. bad idea right?, Olivia Rodrigo 
8. So It Goes..., Taylor Swift 
9. affection, BETWEEN FRIENDS 
10. Maroon, Taylor Swift 
11. The Louvre, Lorde 
12. Tears Dry On Their Own, Amy Winehouse 
13. White Eyes, The Wombats 
14. Caught in the Middle, Paramore 
15. Cake, Melanie Martinez 
16. Wicked Game, Chris Isaak
17. "Slut!", Taylor Swift 
18. Norman fucking Rockwell, Lana Del Rey 
19. Mean, Taylor Swift 
20. lacy, Olivia Rodrigo 
21. Shades of Cool, Lana Del Rey 
22. Vampire Empire, Big Thief 
23. Would've, Could've, Should've, Taylor Swift 
24. (You're The) Devil in Disguise, Elvis Presley 
25. Cinnamon Girl, Lana Del Rey 
26. Karma, Taylor Swift 
27. High By The Beach, Lana Del Rey 
28. Now That We Don't Talk, Taylor Swift 
29. Choke, I DON'T KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME 
30. You Oughta Know, Alanis Morissette 
31. Cruel World, Lana Del Rey

burial, the first: ultraviolet - 2nd February 2024

in the murderous moments
I flashback to blue
sun dress, sun haze 
one room made for two

I find it is those
who least understand 
insisting, in black
they say that they do

like across the plane
some American lame
whom I didn’t pay mind
having forged my own way 

and on that sunrise drive
how I slandered your name
I only do it because
it’s for forgiveness I pay

I pay my debts for how many times
I’ve willingly fallen upon my own knife 
my armour, my honour, forsaken anew 
gladly given over: to die protecting you
but in the heat of the battle, I turn only to find
my shadow emerge - behind enemy lines

over, over, over, I survey the war-torn scene
over, over, over, I search fruitlessly, adrift
for a fragment of sense; for just what you mean
you use the past tense, as if nothing is left
you, a china-shop bull– just passing through
leaving bruises behind, an almost-something shattered
tossing me the shovel, the search for pieces scattered 

as of late, it’s with muscle memory I bury 
until in the end there truly is nothing left
only the last of the bridges you’ve burned 
and those sensible still of comfort, somehow, 
in your arms; a burning blaze that can only invite
those weak or blind enough to find
heat and light from the fire to illuminate
the dregs of you; fragments that glint dimly

amongst the dying dusk embers, reflecting
how you so swiftly cut through my selfless strings
nurtured my garden of evil: breathed to life
that blood red spirit: fresh, delicate and mean
then cut down again, caring nothing to mend
a queen sacrificed to advance your knights 
caring nothing to Know, leaving dirt over the surface
unburying only dear, red-haired Lilibet, in the end

you pulled the bedsheets close, to cover your head
unknowable shroud in the starless AM
a power balance that swings from hinge to hinge
with a nauseous violence, my head caving in
no wonder, then, unlike the truest of friends
pointed precision, correct: you cannot see
aching in the dark - my ultraviolet beam

burial, the second: rebirth - 2nd February 2024

in dizzying daisy-chain circles
Forever February returns
slow, swelling rebirth, tender and warm
culminating in that snowdrop clot
just when the bluebells had begun to
invade; just as I almost forgot

my palpable, corporeal world
where it won’t suffice to sustain myself on
the phantom thread of imagined implications
a distant life now, it seems–

of good morning assurance, hand-written notes
surprises slipped in my pockets after class
sitting, across from you, in a dim restaurant
sapphire flame dancing between our eyes
smiling, together, knowing in simultaneous 
our wedding night visions of gold aligned
that way, it hardly mattered what would
and would not be realised– still sometimes I’d smile
alone, knowing that in the rear-view, I see you
waiting for me, the dinner bill and late nights at train stations
hand holding in the streets, flowers and coffee for my parents

and when your hand meets mine it shakes
because this means something to you 
even if you break my heart, you won’t miss 
a single rung on the ladder to reach the top
from where I give it to you, earnestly earned
though it shatters, I can say it was yours to drop

you’ll say you love me first, even if you’re only 
seventeen and you do not yet know what love is
you’ll walk and write and give it your most sincere try
and see a halo around me when i tell you to ask-me-
again-in-a-week-because-i-don’t-believe-you

now my existence is a chess board of glass
founded upon guesses, and though I try not to be
when I speak to you, I'm all the way through
despite my promises, to find you who’ll unbury me

burial, the third: paradise - 2nd February 2024

laying my head back now
definite and decided 
on my knees, in the dirt, I pray:
that nothing will kill this
tangible, insatiable, sweet lust for life
great hunger that blossoms within me
forgiveness of the vengeful kind

hot, blazing white, I bleach you out
to the edges of my technicolour dreams
my ultraviolet light meets the eye of those 
who understand nothing is as it seems

that same bright knife of paradise 
that comes with ritualistic self-forgiveness
my weapon of choice against those
who equate ambition with villainy
which only shows how little you know 
of my core, of my soul

I peel back from you, my radiance
redirect my tenderness and grace 
to those who know the hardest part
lies not in the win, but the race
like the fruits of paradise, my
ever-constant rebirth and a knowledge of loss 
bringing growth, an ever-ebullient joy
all the more pleasing, when the time comes 
in the face of that which seeks to destroy 

fade now, and again, melting into
bright paradise and burning blue 
forget everything you thought you knew
eternal summer
in my mind