Poetry by Naoise Gale

                          Holly Lay CC



Autumn

Days like this when lightning
Smacks the grey cheek of sky,
I want to use so much my 
Teeth hurt, I see an alternative
Autumn in my third constricted
Eye – maple leaves and bald 
Birches, robins that bob childlike
In the serene breeze, occasional
Whiteness that fills the earth
With pill cleanliness. I want to
Sink and never emerge; I want
To close my lids and let 
Consciousness fester in some 
Other poor soul. There is an
Insect on my desk which
Irks me but I cannot kill. I
Am a feast of greyness in
The drizzly afternoon. Do
Not talk to me in absolutes.
I can only see haze clearly.
I can only see a girl with
A needle and thread.
I can only see the needle,
Star-bright. I cannot
See the stars. Open my eyes.

​


Love

Some days I want to be cleaner
Than ice, my pussy covered in
Haystack-hair, unreachable, 
A battalion of wiry pubics 
Forcing you away, disgusted,
From my natural femininity. 
I want to stare at my reflection
And see the broken, busted
Curves of my once-fit body,
The bloody striations around
My hips and thighs that match
Those in my eyes once I’m
Done puking; I want to press
My hands on my uncorrupted
Skin and imagine one million
Ghostly fingers grasping my 
Body, hungry as vultures,
Wanting me so desperately
Their eyes shine like those
Of a shark and they bulge
At the trousers. I want them
To want me and I want to
Say no – sometimes so loud
They splinter and crack, semen
A pale trail in their pathetic
Jeans; sometimes so quietly
They don’t hear and ravage
Me regardless, my mute 
Mouth closed and ugly, my
Breasts strange creatures
That bounce like winter
Robins and illicit strange
Noises. I want to be bruised
Inside and I want to lay in
My white sheets with my
Fleecy Christmas pajamas
On, no make-up, kiss you
Softer than breath. I think
I have fallen in love twice:
The first one never called 
Me back; the second only
Liked girls under fifty
Kilograms. He made collages
Of Audrey Hepburn – I had the
Eyes, those dark, mystical eyes,
But my belly hung over the
Trench of my largest jeans
And in a dress my flesh
Spilled out like a stream of 
Cheap beer. I don’t fall
In love anymore, I fall in death.
I can’t help smiling when you
Say my name. I imagine us 
Together as I stuff junk food
In my plain, virginal mouth,
I imagine us talking about
Music and poetry and the
Seventies neither of us saw. 
I imagine telling you about
The drug thing and the puking
Thing and you holding me 
Tight enough that the 
Touch doesn’t burn. I imagine
It as I throw up; I imagine it
As I stumble down the stairs;
I imagine it as curl into my
Cool sheets – alone, always 
Alone.

​

Naoise Gale is a twenty-year-old Modern Languages student living in Italy. She writes poems, short stories and novellas about mental health, eating disorders, and addiction. Her work has been published by Cephalo Press, Rabid Oak, Anti Heroin Chic, Divergent and Cobalt. She was also runner up in the Parkinson’s Art Poetry Competition 2020.  

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