Don't Call Me Baby

Sunday, 13 April 2014


I don't get it, it just doesn't make sense.
My head weaves through the city smog, busying myself with whatever comes next.
Throwing myself into another book, another newspaper, another bucket of wine.

Your voice would make me wince.
Spiders legs crawling to the pinch of my eyes as you'd call me baby.
Who was I, Sophie Ellis Bextor? I hated when you'd call me baby.
I'd rip you to shreds in front of my friends, laugh at the little things you'd do with grand servings of vain.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know?
I don't want to wake up and see your name flash with fever across my phone in the morning, I want to taste it.
I want to taste each vowel like it were my last meal and I'd never get to taste anything like it ever again.

But then you stopped.
8AM's left blank and unanswered, no baby, no kissing, no cringing eyelids.
You think you don't want something but you do.
(You tell all your friends you don't want something because you really, more than anything, do.)

I denied myself of emotion, I didn't want to make those same school girl mistakes again.
Vulnerability was for half knotted ties and rolled up uniform skirts, not for office court shoes and Chanel Rouge Allure.
But I was.
Vulnerable.

The dinners I'd taken for granted haunt my conversations and leave me vacant and a little nervous.
For all those times I'd wondered what to do or how to call it off, I'd wondered if I really felt that way or if I was just terrified you might get there before me.
I'm an idiot and suddenly I can feel it.

I can feel it in my needy text messages, role reversal so bitter and unexpected that I taste acid in my mouth before I press send.
I'd insisted I couldn't see the next six months with him but suddenly I shiver and icy coldness at the thought of without.
Maybe this time I'll learn, but my selfishness always seems to circulate back in a vicious circle of inevitability.

I'm an idiot and I can feel it.

Lobster red as I scratch my eyes, lashes swimming down my cheeks as I scratch at them with impatience and fury -
                                         why am I crying?
I didn't even want you

                                      did I?

9 comments:

  1. your writing is absolutely beautiful

    ReplyDelete
  2. ilysm you and this is GORGEOUS

    ReplyDelete
  3. Who's the lady in the photo, and is this about Tyger? I haven't noticed you tweeting anything about dates. Are you keeping secrets, Charly. :))jk

    ReplyDelete
  4. Amazingly written :))

    ReplyDelete
  5. Wow this is beautiful and so powerful! You have an amazing way with words.

    ReplyDelete
  6. I think an important question to ask yourself is whether you miss the person, or the attention. Nevertheless a lovely poem Charly !

    ReplyDelete

 

Charly Cox © All rights reserved · Theme by Blog Milk · Blogger