So you stop dead for a second to check me out,
My broken burnt nose,
My orange hair showing my roots,
My split ends and uneven haircut,
My five quid-a-shoe sneakers
My zip undone, my nails bitten down,
My trousers splashed all over with ice
My shirt dipped all over in cream
My yesterday’s bra starting to smell of me,
My last week’s knickers waiting for you to make ‘em drop
drop down to the knees,
My socks taken from a pile of laundry,
My guts and soul ready to be sold
to whoever needs another piece of gratitude,
My patience to be tested by egg in my teeth,
My false leather to be ripped apart by your gaze,
And you judged that little voice of mine,
You deemed it unworthy of your time and nerves,
And one glance down my top into my bosom,
My cleavage, told you to back off that swimmer’s back of mine,
And the stubbles on my legs and under my arm
only assured you in thinking “how the hell was I so wrong”,
So you take my strength, my perseverance and my pride with you
as you buy that bottle of beer,
Get your ass back onto your high horse
And let the knights swallow you whole.
MJ 6/24/2010
Tuesday, 9 November 2010
Seem to
The African tunes in your head won’t stop you
from lingering on those memories for a moment, not one,
And you turn your back to the people accompanying you on that train-ride
from A to B, while you’re gone
Gone from bliss and torture and nothing seems to express
the feeling you’re holding in your hands the best
While the worst part seems to have fallen behind you,
the clouds seem to have lifted, the wild breeze is still here, but you,
You don’t seem to mind the croaking baby, its first words of independence,
You’re putting on that bikini seemingly untouched,
And while you watch those faces pass,
exposed like a mannequin in a window selling fabrics they don’t need,
You seem to extend that breath onto other parts of your body,
parts that seem to have been asleep in slumber,
And you don’t seem to mind that numbness in your left foot,
in your ear, that buzz you’re left with at night.
It creeps all over you, that tingling you can’t get off your page,
and you seem way too pleased with how
And why the world is going to end,
you don’t seem to notice that black spot on your mother’s iris,
that undeservingly freaky title of that new comedy,
That mouth smiling back at you in that magazine you secretly despise.
You gloat at everything and everyone
and everything seems to gloat back at you,
so take a moment,
Fulfil that dream of automatic writing when phonology seems to dictate semantics,
when camel-piss is in your cup and you seem peacefully drown in it.
MJ 6/23/2010
from lingering on those memories for a moment, not one,
And you turn your back to the people accompanying you on that train-ride
from A to B, while you’re gone
Gone from bliss and torture and nothing seems to express
the feeling you’re holding in your hands the best
While the worst part seems to have fallen behind you,
the clouds seem to have lifted, the wild breeze is still here, but you,
You don’t seem to mind the croaking baby, its first words of independence,
You’re putting on that bikini seemingly untouched,
And while you watch those faces pass,
exposed like a mannequin in a window selling fabrics they don’t need,
You seem to extend that breath onto other parts of your body,
parts that seem to have been asleep in slumber,
And you don’t seem to mind that numbness in your left foot,
in your ear, that buzz you’re left with at night.
It creeps all over you, that tingling you can’t get off your page,
and you seem way too pleased with how
And why the world is going to end,
you don’t seem to notice that black spot on your mother’s iris,
that undeservingly freaky title of that new comedy,
That mouth smiling back at you in that magazine you secretly despise.
You gloat at everything and everyone
and everything seems to gloat back at you,
so take a moment,
Fulfil that dream of automatic writing when phonology seems to dictate semantics,
when camel-piss is in your cup and you seem peacefully drown in it.
MJ 6/23/2010
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