Читать книгу: «She Must Be Mad: the bestselling poetry debut of 2018»
she must be mad
Charly Cox
A mental coming-of-age documented through poetry and prose written by someone who’s still in the thick of it
copyright
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ 2018
Copyright © Charly Cox 2018
Charly Cox asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in this work are of the author’s imagination. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events or localitites is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook edition © July 2018 ISBN 9780008291679
Version: 2018-09-17
contents
title page
copyright
For the men who broke my heart...
she must be in love
love part 1
to you
she moves in her own way
mourning routine
mesh of kisses
anatomical astrologist
otters
weight of you
lipstick
lovebites
with his assistants
doubletree by hilton
porn
evolution
snapple lid facts
kaleidoscope
rosie cheeks
app cheats
first west service
you sit with your tongue...
the first time
love part 2
she must be mad
mind part 1
‘she must be mad’
@saintrecords
doctor, doctor, don’t help me
selective feeling
I wish I’d not spent so long crying in bed
rapid cycling
funny
I prescribe you this
I know that truth is always beautiful
all I wanted was some toast
a voice I know
wonder of worry
amber meal
unidentified businessman
mind part 2
inner gold
resilience
dysthymia
wrong spaces
kindness
your mind is biased
she must be fat
body part 1
stuff
shoreditch house
kale
kale reprised
wrigley’s extra
trump
filters
london pervs
women’s tea
imposter
hunger
gift for a man
sobriety
cellulite (sells you heavy)
fat
body part 2
bodies
sexy
she must be an adult
age
goldman sachs
I’ll be home in the morning
too young
say you’re sorry
they came out and I stayed in
E1W 3SS/Billy
pint-sized
roots of them/sorry, jacob
kids
forever
baby ella
adult
seaweed – for grandad
expectations
yellow cabs
hospital visits
you will choose...
acknowledgements
about the author
about the publisher
For the men who broke my heart, for the beta-blockers that slowed it, and a chunk of what is left to the sisterhood with a gift tag wrapped around it reading: let’s try and figure this all out together.
I owe this all to my madness and those who have suffered it. I never thought I’d be a poet. I never knew one day I’d slap a title on a cover that encased sometimes lonely and sometimes excited thoughts and say, ‘Here it is! A book of poems! By me, Charly … The Poet!’ But life shocks you and here we all are. In that never tense, I didn’t know a thing – I just knew how to feel. I took to feeling like a sport and I exercised every one of those achy heartstrings that had festered in cliché drivel until they snapped and aortic wells poured and shouted, ‘For god’s sake woman, can you just write these feelings down so we can have a break?’ And so I did. For years in silence and secrecy. I wrote these poems and letters to my past self and in every sort of melodramatic, romantic, ridiculous way, these are what saved me. Saved me from an intensity I was afraid to share until I morphed them into something to share with you now. Some of these were written at sixteen, others at twenty-two; they were all written growing and lost and sad sunk, but they were also all written with eventual hope. A hope that I clung to in the most intense way that only a girl desperate to take a peek at womanhood, battling a wealthy portfolio of mental health issues nervously, could. Finding strength in the contention of such frustrated confusion, in odd and debilitating sadness, in jubilant first kisses and clangs of clarity – in the words of our lord saviour Britney Spears, ‘I’m not a girl – not yet a woman’. And there is something truly quite almighty in that in-between … either that or, I must truly just be mad.
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