Artificial Unfortunate and Two Tedious Lovers
by Molly Knox
Did they knit me into something I am not?
Drenched in mud lark sorrow- for my childhood is over.
Weep for their inhibitions, their glee. Of dreaming what the world
Could be. As they chase barefoot contend with the certainty
Of a supernova. A long forgotten
Nap in a faraway land, because yes. The sea forgets all.
Her rockpools and envy tire me out, as I tether
To a whirring hand of fate of ashen grey taunts
And whispers of my youngest years. It starts young,
I used to religiously wear crocs. Blue ones, red ones-
Ones with holes. I’d walk home
With muddy nails and twig tangled hair,
Matted with mischief. I found my shoes
In the boys section. The “boys” section,
You have to laugh. I tread
Through tireless insults. Those look like my grandpas
Slippers. A grandpa I knew I was not.
I couldn’t fit into dainty.
I was to never cut my hair. Never.
That’s sacreglious, most suspicious,
A shame, a crime, a terrible blunder. To touch
A thing that grows back could not be undone.
My mother dressed me in yellow as a babe
Keep it neutral, keep it safe. Only through growing
Could they carve a Me caricature
Of what crawls beneath my skin.
At how fast things aren’t moving.
That double D cups and less makeup,
The shapes, the size, the lies in our eyes,
And shoulders back and what you lack and corrrr,
look at her rack- are core,
They take us back. Give us
A chance to catch our breath.
Relearn, focus what push us forward.
Keep your eye on your own, stop,
A perfect pawn.
We starve our poor, we starve ourselves,
We feign humility,
Humanity, because maybe
Then a man will see. Superficially
Shut our ears and chant anthems
At brick walls. They hate us and we
Have no choice but to hate them back.
Look at us, does it only get worse?
Embrace the gentle and the crass,
Pick up posies of our poses and lay
In mildew grass. Cuddle on driftwood
And relish air in autumn leaves.
If we make it work,
At last it will last.
Be not the villain
Of your epoch. Champion
Your lost flame.
Remember that you are not the one that they should blame.
Two Tedious Lovers
in three parts
He fumbles across the gaps between my fingers.
Hiding his smiles with sweater sleeves and shit TV.
Have they not got anything better on?
Help us. Roman marble, tangled across divan.
His cushions cosy us in. Savour how we dine, ultravioletdrowning.
How do I hide blushes/ he rustles his hair? Our delightful moonlight.
She makes us tea. I hate tea/ except when she
Makes it. Mark it down to intrenched infatuation-
Make me more? So my nose can catch
A smell that reminds me of us.
She stirs my small red mug and I-
Well I, kiss hers.
They sit cross-legged, yawning.
Carpet. So soft it could make you fall
In love with them again. I’ve fallen
For the way they paint clouds. Sullied rest.
On the mundane and languishing, the way we chase
Each other beneath our ether. Tuck me in?
Molly Knox is originally from Glasgow, Scotland. Molly is a poet and reviewer for theatre and literature and is currently a studying music at Durham University. She explores themes of nature, identity and mental health within her work. Twitter: @mollykmoon28