my other poets

When I wake up this morning eight twenty or so Jack is here sleeping in my room on the floor, on cushions. Hey jack, i want him to go away, but he's on a mission to nurse me through this latest bout of pneumonia. coughing like a cute romantic poet, don't spit on my carpet mr keats. sick of being sick, eat fruit don't shoot nothing walk many, many steps every every day, have a routine, eat breakfast.

"your life is too chaotic."

whereas really my life is all order and washed cutlery, ex-boyfriends and jasmine tea. all the time i'm a little numb, hold out my tongue for anything anyone's gonna put on it.yes please.

jack makes me jasmine tea, something i think is a bagel. i'm thinking maybe if i don't speak to him he'll go away, but then i don't wish to appear impolite. Thank you. If i don't speak it's just because my breath is short, my throat is sore.

sex with c

i was laying down all evening reading my book on account of feeling unwell. c is in my living room all evening and there are some other folk round also playing bastardised mah-jong disney games drinking vodka lime because i can hear them little cross shouts. c comes to my room maybe 2am when i'm still reading my undemanding book, shrug when he asks if its ok for him to sleep " stay over" he says like its gonna be some pajama party. i like it he doesn't speak much to me and seems to find it amusing i'm sick. i watch him undress through the bars of the bedstead. i'm laying on my belly with the book on the pillow and he lays on his side touches my thigh, i'm feverish an not under the covers cos the room is so hot, like another country. wearing navy blue tiger pants, green t-shirt.
he's kinda rough, digs his nails into my ass and i'm ignoring it but i'm reading the same line like 34 times, 35 times whilst he opens me up with 1 hand breathes ragged close to my ear. i don't fight him, i just resist some like it's a subtle distinction but i don't actually hit him except once when he goes to rim me nearly breaks my leg holding one ankle pushes it way too far somewhere above my head an i feel like i'm gonna break, also i feel kinda stupid and awkward, so i kick him aimlessly somewhere around the head and he laughs bites where its really tender, the softest flesh at the top of the thigh so i cry out for the first time, which makes me cough some. i love it his good-natured and casual cruelty which is so uncontrived, or maybe just seems so and is un-dramatic enough to make even me want him, it, uh whatever. plus it almost hurts enough. he fucks me kinda difficult with the tiger pants still there, i don't know how, maybe i'm on my side trying to push him away with my knee in his chest but he holds me tight by the hair, my head pulled down over the edge of the bed so i can't really move any without the feeling my neck is gonna snap like a twig.

would be good to remember better. for a journal ...

sometime they're just round my ankle and i'm on my back, listless like i'm unconscious, moved like a doll only i don't wanna lie on my belly so i'm trying a little not to let him do this and it's kind of funny and makes him cum way quicker i think.

always he smiles a lot after we have sex and smokes desperately and is somehow tender and amused at the same time, but he won't let me go to the bathroom and makes me lie under him a long while stroking my hair out of my face. then he has to go - i don't remember why and i wake up this morning eight twenty or so and jack is sleeping on the floor.