The shrink told me I'd be traumatised/ But I'm alright.

Winter nights in a beer garden, when it comes to cigarettes, I can't fault your dedication.

Beers drunk slow- Your face is as orange as a box of Honey Nut Cheerios due to the heaters glow. The heater might as well be for show. I'm freezing. Sad truth is we're both in the cold for completely different reasons. Funny truth is if one of us doesn't stop soon, what we're doing now will kill us, and it wont be the cold (I don't smoke)

You remind me of Misogyny in Hip Hop. I should ask questions but I'm having too much fun to stop. We indulge in laughs I'm not sure I should be apart of and the more we drink the less thinly veiled our insults- at our friends our love lives and ourselves but so what doing things I don't usually do doesn't mean that I can't do them.

And, you're pretty when you're mean
recently it's like everything you do is pretty to me.

drink more
past last call
cast out
tube's shut
walk more.

I don't feel pretty when we wake up

After another night of us. Not.

Doing stuff.

I don't know why, it's different.

I don't know why it's different.

The moment the lights are off and your eyes are shut and it's time to start, every thought in my body says I can’t. in the middle of the rhythm and everything stops like my mouth that doesn't sing words sung in my favourite songs.

I was thirteen when I bought the album 'Warriorz', by M.O.P.

Mum thought it was odd there'd be a group called Mop, It was purchased on the strength of their single 'Ante Up’ Which had a music video of both a white biker gang and black men with Avirex jackets at a M.O.P. gig having fun. Townie and Grungie, united as one.

Track one- titled. Intro.

someone I don't know tells it's strictly for real…
and that it's definitely not for fake….
and he apologises for all the fake…
and if you've bought the cd and are a fake…
then get the fuck out the room….

The album was prematurely cut short due to me turning my Walkman off. I was scared that, if I carried on listening to it I was pretending to be someone I'm not.

Day interrupts, overcast and as harsh as the reminder that what we had is in the past.

we don't talk or acknowledge what we did. I leave the room, you get dressed. So many times we've done this and I'm still embarrassed. Another moment of our friendship with benefits not benefiting our friendship

Put the kettle on.

You're standing by the door- you say you'll see me at so and so’s for so and so's so and so tonight. you give a smile to the ground before leaving me with a brief hug.

The kettle boils. my head's dense. 
I’d pour the water over my face,
but I would rather the tea.

Need to speak but throat is in feet. This morning my knees are a different type of weak. Recently it's like everything you do is making me weak

If I could, I'd dance to your tune, but I know what it means to you- a medicine to hold back the day to day numbness. That very tool you use for distance is what I see as the pinnacle of being intimate.

You listen to the same songs he left you with while I download five new mixtapes from Datpiff every week. when everything but rap reminded me of my broken heart, music for you was a time machine to two years ago. A place you could go to where he wasn't gone.

These different paths we've taken to mend us have sent us wayward and now we’ve wound up in the same place with 

you unable to show love, to me
and
me unable to make love, to you.

We haven't enough of our own hearts with us.
Trying to get over being left overs with sleep overs
drinking to our former lovers who left us, but come the last call
it's each other we're drawn towards.

making this worse before we admit we've spent years not knowing how to make heartbreak work.

Still, we have to admit we're working on something, even if it's taking casual fucking and fucking it up beyond recognition.

Not since maths have I attended the same lesson I haven't learnt from, only this feels like it's worth taking part in.

Recently my favourite songs have been made for Texas strip clubs and can make a distinction between smoking Spliffs and Blunts. They tell stories about driving in your car/ with a Glock on your arm/because you own what people want/and you're prepared to do harm/

I don't know why this music makes me peaceful,
maybe it's because these goals for happiness
are so simple.

I don't know what I'm meant to feel
tonight I'm trying to meet you
The pub is full of people
and speakers blast maroon 5
the crowd could be see-through
as I use your laugh as a guide
nine thirty I've come round
brush-past shoulders
in search of a smile
our corner of mutual friends
you ask how I've been
tell me that it's been a while
because when we're not alone
this is a life where there
was no last night.
I get it (I get it), alright (alright)

We drink our way to a mates place who puts Donuts on play. I’m silent when everyone agrees hip hop died with Dilla. My protest is an offer of a new artist I've fallen in love with, a Meridian Mississippi rapper called Big KRIT

("Let me tell you about this country shit
country shit, country country shit")

He raps about missing his grandmother, driving his fathers car, and being rich in a way only a person born into capitalism can. I get as much a yes as I need to put him on and do so, putting the room in a concentrated silence. My head beats with eyes on you giving a look, that makes it clear that I care what you think, I don't count on eye contact, or you seeing me 

in another moment of open vulnerability.

You know that if you give me any feelings of camaraderie, I could imagine that outside our world of closed eyes and no lights, we could have something.

You say, to the group
”why are we listening to a song
about a fucking car?"

The call for rejection aids the friends looking for help in forming an opinion. all inside the time it takes for my head to drop speakers start singing common, there’s a little laughter and someone asks where Outkast have gone.

I couldn't give a fuck. Recently it's like all I can do is not give a fuck. 

It took me years to realise what it was that had me drawn to M.O.P. That I loved them not for what they said but becausethey said what they wanted with no regard to what anyone thought in time to music that screamed as loud as they did. Criticised for a lack of meaning but whatever they did say, it can't be argued that they didn't mean it. When younger those displays of such aggressive freedom had me thinking that I wanted to say what they were saying. That’s what had so many of my mates blind, they were screaming hip hop's truth- 

hip hop was inspiring me to say mine.

The moon is big
It's like, a really big moon.
It's a perfect circle
and it looks like a moon
I can't think of anything
a moon looks like.
I'm walking home tonight
and I'm thinking of you
and I'm getting texts from you
and I don't know what to do
and I'm crying in time to my heart beat
and with every breath
a new tear touches my cheek
I don't know if I'm crying
because you can't commit
or because you don't like Big KRIT.
But I'm crying and feel better for it
you know, like, it's therapeutic
I can't win with you, but I can forfeit.
Might need to forfeit from love for a bit.
I'm going to put on some Ab-Soul
and dance for a bit.
I just need to be alone for a bit
Just need to dance for a bit.