Alexis Gunn

smooth out your skirt and do not look at him

[shefancieshim]

it's 5.32 am. you squeeze my thigh in the back of the uber. as soon as it comes to a stop, we're hurtling out, fingers linking, mouths grinning, feet already moving. 'i'm drunker than i should be, i've got an exam in 3 hours' i think to myself, but you're pulling me through your front door and we're laughing and laughing and laughing. the ecstasy in my system makes my heart thump and my head spin, but you're still the most beautiful man i've ever seen. my makeup is smudged, pink eyeshadow on my cheeks, fake eyelashes peeled at the corners, but you're kissing my neck and calling me baby so you mustn't mind. i've got an exam in 3 hours, but all i can think of is your hips between my thighs, and your hips between my thighs, and your hips between, oh god, my thighs.

[shefancieshim]

In the flat downstairs, there's a boy who lacks experience but holds me like he's never going to let go. He has a broken heart but a good soul and he hides the pain from his face when he sees me with other boys. He calls me his little rocket as he grins into the crook of my neck. In the flat upstairs, there's a boy with a dirty mouth and sinful lips. He unravels me into nothing more than a sideways smile and a broken moan. He holds me by the throat in the corridor when he kisses me goodbye and I swear I melt into honey in the palm of his hand. In the flat I live in, there's a boy who's bedroom is three doors down. When I wake up in his bed for the fifth morning in a row, I sneak out before he wakes. Later, when I see him in our shared kitchen, we act nonchalant and resolutely do not touch each other.

Halls of residence

[shefancieshim]

I love your poetry.You are a talent 💕✨

thankyou so much darling💘

[shefancieshim]

I’m crying into my steering wheel and am naive enough to wait for an answer when I call out your name. I say “How dare you exist 236.9 miles away from me? How dare you look so breathtaking when I’m not even there to tell you?” I say “The idea of your hand around my throat (and my lips on your chest, and your hips between my thighs) is enough to turn me into more syrup than girl. All light and sweet and warm.” I say “You’re 12 cities over and my chest still gets tight at the thought of your voice- what’s the chances of that?”

Maybe a holiday romance is only worth it when you can catch the same flight home.

[shefancieshim]

i. I shouldn't have kissed him. I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have kissed him. ii. I feel you in every man I meet. When he smiles, your breath fans against my neck; when he kisses me, my spine arches under your touch. iii. My bed feels so much colder when you're not picturing yourself in it. iv. I haven't been able to orgasm in two years without imagining it's your teeth nibbling my ear and your hips sliding into mine. v. Look how much time we've wasted. You watched me pretend to love him and I watched you pretend to be happy for me. We watched each other break. vi. You destroyed me and I said thank you; I said please. vii. The first time I questioned my strength was the first time I saw you with her- I swear I cracked my teeth on wine glasses for months. viii. Perhaps if I never shied away from your touch the last time you reached for me, you would have came back for more. ix. How many times will I have to kiss the wrong person goodnight before you fall asleep next to me? x. You were never mine and I was never yours but, my god, we could've been something incredible.

a heartbreak in 10 parts

[shefancieshim]

2016, it’s been a pleasure

[shefancieshim]

one year older, still the same habits

[shefancieshim]

A LIST OF THINGS THAT I HOPE REMIND YOU OF ME Breaking the speed limits / Arcades / Black underwear / Bruised skin / Peach schnapps / Fake eyelashes peeled at the corners / Sex in the bathroom / Gucci perfume / Tigers / Blue polo shirts / Envelopes licked shut / Fake tan that streaks at the elbows / Screaming along to Oasis in the car / Fiat 500s / Waterslides / A TV series about suicide / Bomber jackets / Harry Styles / Spending a month's wages in 3 days / Nike sliders / Holding hands on rollercoasters / Empty cinemas / Medium-rare steaks / Tommy Hilfiger / Vodka on the rocks / Fairy lights / Electric blankets / Arguments ending with tears or laughter or both / Spoken word poetry / Purple bedsheets / The Beatles / Denim jackets / Eminem's Mockingbird / Acrylic nails / Scratched backs / Red stilettos / The Wolf of Wall Street / Unconditional love

[shefancieshim]

He left. Kitted out in camouflage with a taste for saving lives. A goodbye kiss that could last a lifetime, cut short by his boarding call. Who would’ve thought that by 17 years old I’d be crying at the airport for a boy who’s departing promise was that he’d try not to die.

My first love left for the army

[shefancieshim]

The first time the word abuse tries to slip from my mouth, it coils tightly around my tongue- laces itself between my teeth in a bid to remain silent. So I clench my lips while you clench your fists, and I swallow the word back down and choke on it like poison. How many symptoms of emotional abuse have to apply to us before I can prove there is a problem? When I finally cough out the word, it sticks in your throat like a tortured scream hitching your breath as though chemicals are  squeezing their way through your windpipe. That evening, you kiss me, you laugh, you tell me I'm being silly. I'm too skittish, too stubborn, too distant. I laugh too, the forced, tight lipped laugh that sounds fake even to my own ears. It's my fault again- of course. I turn my back, deep in slumber, and wake up hoping for a change.

my emotional abuser

[shefancieshim]

Don't kiss me. Don't tell me that you're sorry. Don't whisper that you love me. Make me hate you. Please, just make me hate you. Do anything that will make me turn around and never look back. Say something that will make me never want to talk to you again. Please. I beg you, make me hate you. It's the least you could do.

When you love him and he leaves you

[shefancieshim]

I know a man who travels the world as a bartender on a cruise ship but still feels trapped by his childhood. He’s 11 and a half years older than me and, I swear, he’s the smartest man I’ve ever met. He has thick rimmed glasses, jet black hair and a mouth that fluently spits out four different languages in an accent that has me dropping to my knees. His tone is nothing more than a soft whisper that presses against my sticky skin, even when there’s no one else around to hear the erotic words that gush out of his mouth. I met him on the boat and for 10 days I was surrounded by his stolen glances and lingering touches and frantic kisses. Although he’s almost 28, he has the mind and sex drive of a teenage boy; getting horny midway through his shift simply from my tight fitted dress and sultry smile. Every night, at midnight on the dot, he fills my phone with pleas to buy another plane ticket to visit him again as he crawls into bed after another long shift. It’s hard, I claim, as my head rests on his chest. The age gap makes it hard, I claim, as his fingers rub circles on my inner thigh. The age gap and the distance make it hard, I claim, as I taste the vodka and tobacco that seem to permanently stain his lips. When I’m away, he whispers sweet nothings down the phone until the early hours of the morning. He refuses to talk about his childhood, his parents, his friends back home, but insists on knowing my earliest memory, the first time I was intimate with a boy, how I felt that time I told my mother I hate her. He wants to protect me, the chaotic school girl with the face full of makeup and youthful body and full heart. He doesn’t want me to make the same mistakes he did. You make me better, he says, with a fistful of my hair. You make me want to be better, he says, as his fingernails dig moon shaped crescents on my hips. You give me a reason to make my whole life better, he says, his breath hot and sticky as his lips leave purple bruises down my neck. I used to meet boys at parties and drag them, laughing and kissing and stumbling, upstairs to the nearest bedroom, but now, when they whisper in my ear and call me a tease, I can’t help but push their wandering hands away from my skirt and think about my next pay check that will buy me a new plane ticket. While my phone floods full of messages from pretty boys back home, my heart beats rapidly for the man I love in Rome.

excerpt from my journal #9 (via shefancieshim)

[shefancieshim]

TO THE BARTENDER ON THE CRUISE SHIP; THIS ONE'S FOR YOU After the fifth time you serve me alcohol, despite the fact I'm underage, my parents are starting to get suspicious. So, you're 28. I mean, I'm all about the fact that age isn't always important, but following the eighth drop of the phrase "age is just a number" to a girl twelve years your junior, I'm beginning to wonder if you're really just a nice guy, or if this is some thinly-veiled attempt to get in my pants. Okay. You win. You made me feel special. You made me forget about the guy back home who begged me to meet him in the back of his Dad's beat up BMW  and then told the whole school what I tasted like and stopped calling me before I fell asleep. And, to be honest, you were right about the fact that I deserve better, and maybe that's why I let you convince me to head to your cabin where I found myself with a  Romanian barman's head between my legs. It's fine. I get it. There's something shockingly appealing about a sixteen year old with F cup breasts and a face full of makeup. There's something startlingly appetizing  about a tight black dress on a girl who has a youthful body, clear mind and full heart. I just thought I'd let you know that using your seductive eyes and sexy voice to someone who's not yet graduated high school makes you neither trend-setter nor revolutionary. You haven't done anything that my boss or my gym teacher or my best friend's father didn't do before you. The only difference is, I don't have to continue to see you on a daily basis. After I leave the ship, I can finally escape your stares and lingering touches, whilst you continue to fill  your empty bed to over compensate for the fact you can't fill your empty heart.  As for me, I'll pour one out for the girls like me; the girls who's bones are too old for their bodies; the girls who fall asleep tangled in limbs and wake up to an empty bed; the girls who don't realise that their bodies are temples because men like you make us value ourselves, until you roll off the condom and send us on our way.  So, bartender,  would you do me a favour? Next time you come across a girl like me, remember that we find there to be something laughably heartbreaking about a man twelve years our senior making us feel special when we'll never see you again.  Now, it's time to drown my sorrows. Hey bartender,  I'll take another vodka on the rocks.

HEY BARTENDER

[shefancieshim]

UNSOLICITED ADVICE TO ADOLESCENT GIRLS WITH POUTY LIPS, SHORT SKIRTS AND A PHONE FULL OF BOYS PHONE NUMBERS (after Jeanann Verlee) When he tells you he loves you, do not believe him. When he offers you a puff of his cigarette, say no, go home. When your crush kisses you at a party and says he sees a future with you, do not proceed to kiss his best friend, no matter how drunk you are. When the girl with no friends sits at your lunch table, do not get up and leave. When he pulls up outside of your house in the middle of the night and claims that if you don’t come outside then he’s coming in, lock the windows, lock the doors, wake your father. When your high school gym teacher puts his hands on your waist, pins you to the wall and whispers in your ear, do not take this as a compliment, do not turn red, call the headmaster, call his wife. When the boy on the football team takes you to the attic and pins you down until you agree to have sex with him, explain that you’d rather kick him in the balls. Then kick him in the balls. When they say you remind them of Kendall Jenner, laugh, thank them, do not turn red. When he tells you he loves you, do not believe him. When your English teacher publically mocks you for confusing verbs and nouns, do not cuss him out, do not turn red. When you lose your virginity, make sure it’s with someone you love. When your best friend tells you she’s been opening her wrists, hide her razors, pour out the vodka, take her in your arms. Every time. When you fail a test that you didn’t study for, learn from your mistakes. When you fail a test that you did study for, do not beat yourself up over it. When he leaves you for a girl with skinnier legs, let it sting for a while but don’t let it kill you. Never let it kill you. When you crash your first car, apologise to your parents. When he tells you he loves you, do not believe him. When your math teacher threatens to call the headmaster if you don’t remove your bright red nail polish, show him how neatly you painted your middle finger. When the most popular boy in school corners you at a party and whispers in your ear calling you a tease, do not just stand there, do not turn red. When you and your brother’s best friend fall in love, don’t hide it from your family. When your brother’s best friend moves across the world to pursue his dreams, let him go, let your heart heal. When your brother’s best friend moves back a year later with tanned skin and a new tattoo, smile, ask him how his trip was, make sure you’re wearing a push up bra. When the head chef at your first job kisses your neck in the stock cupboard, push him off, slap him, do not accept it, do not wait. When the policewoman claims you were driving recklessly, accept the fine, accept the license points, do not fight back. When he laughs at the way you pronounce the letter R, leave him. When he pushes you down and refuses to take no for an answer, leave him. When he litters bruises around your body with his once caring hands, leave him. Do not regret this. Do not turn red. When he tells you he loves you, do not believe him.

everything wish i’d done the first time around

[shefancieshim]

The first time you lost control of your car, I should’ve told my father rather than making excuses for your cocky attitude. He would’ve told me that naive, young girls like me can’t rely on boys who are as irresponsible and careless as you. He would’ve told me to never, ever let myself be swept away in your second-hand, beat up Clio again; heart beats are more valuable than revs of the engine. The first time you lost control of your car, my scream stuck in my throat. The heavy thump of Kanye that blasted through the speakers seemed to suddenly go mute. The tyres screeched out “NO” as they battled frantically with the slippery road in an attempt to stop us from spiralling off the roundabout. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe. The first time you lost control of your car, I shouldn’t have accepted the flowers and kisses and lingering touches as a token of apology. I shouldn’t have believed you when you promised that “it’ll never happen again”. I should’ve looked into my future and realised my own fate. I should’ve realised that with you, nothing ever happens only once. The first time you lost control of your car, I should’ve told my father. I should’ve told my father. I should’ve told my father.

excerpt from my journal (via shefancieshim)

[shefancieshim]

3am conversations with my ex

[shefancieshim]

EVERYTHING I'M SORRY FOR, BABE For kissing him. For leaving. For coming back. For leaving again. For relying on vodka. For relying on laughing gas. For hiding your lighter. For my sweaty palms. For wearing so much makeup. For staining your sheets with fake tan. For the scars on your back from my acrylic nails. For rolling into work still drunk 5 days a week. For eating the last chicken nugget. For flirting with the chefs. For flirting with the boss. For flirting with every boy in came in contact with. For towering in heels that hurt to look at. For knowing every word to every Kanye song. For keeping you awake by grinding my teeth. For having a curfew. For the petrol you spent whizzing back and forth across the border between our houses. For the way I feel about cigarettes. For the way I feel about you. For all the times I told you I hate you. For the poems I wrote with you in mind. For the look on your face when I told you I was leaving. For all the tears. For the flowers that I left to die. For the short skirts and tight tops. For the memories. For loving you so hard that I lost myself in the process.

[shefancieshim]

I wish things worked out. I wish petrol was less expensive. I wish I never got back ache in the car. I wish your scent never faded from my sheets. I wish you never joined the navy. I wish I never went to University. I wish time difference didn't exist. I wish you never started smoking. I wish I deleted his number from my phone. I wish you never carried my heart between your teeth. I wish I always knew your location on the map. I wish you never had me orbiting around the phone. I wish I stopped listening to your mixtapes as I fell asleep. I wish you didn't ever raise your fist. I wish I never formed a bond with your little niece. I wish you attended your anger management classes. I wish never relied on laughing gas to have a good time. I wish you sung at the top of your lungs with me in the car. I wish started wearing more and going out less. I wish you never kissed her. I wish I never kissed him. I wish neither of us knew what tears tasted like.

I wish we worked out.