Artificial Unfortunate  

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,  

You know.  

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. 

But 

I couldn’t fit into dainty.  

Ugly step-sister? 

I was to never cut my hair. Never. 

Never ever.  

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.  

Fume  

At how fast things aren’t moving. 

I mean 

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

 

18. (I) 

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.  

25. (II) 

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.

 

31. (III) 

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?