Mauve MauveI've written six and a half stanzas of pure drivel.Mauve Mauve by x-Mercy-Dimwit-x
They don't bushel in quivering golden heads
like corn in spring
or a hundred tiny swimmers with shivering legs.
They're meant to tell you you've done okay
well, in truth they're to tell you happy birthday
but moreover I wrote them to say
that actually you're pretty swell.
I didn't use similes to show your effect,
I could have said you were like a travelling quartet
who visit once a month and make the air thinner
and knit up our insides ready for winter
I did attempt to show what you had taught
that I could be more than others said I ought
to be, that by your own aspirations
I suppose one could say you set me free
now I don't mean
to get ahead of myself
but it's just that I remember vividly
the first time you said
"I want to go and do something useful!
I want to love and aspire to more
than an ok job and a marble kitchen floor"
and my quiet sparrowed brain thought
Why isn't that me?
After I knew you for two more years
The why was gone
Failing one's A level examspure unadulterated empathy:Failing one's A level exams by x-Mercy-Dimwit-x
a cosmic whiplash
a break backing crash of
sexy blue whale waves rocking
knocking at your neighbours doorstep
asking for a way home to a God who
cares about chipped nails and unlimited texts.
sex like a cancer, like a radio show
the multinational equivalent to the bbc news
and an oyster with the childhood blues
the longing to be better eats you up
till the pulling inside you becomes enough
and then the sadness leaves you and
you don't know what to do
it's not that my feelings are new
the leaves still ochre the babies still cry
the snails you tred on still ache and die
maybe they're glad to go
maybe if we let each other know
empathy is not the ultimate conduit to destruction,
but neither is silence
neither is God
neither is dead snail either
A Duel- Burden FemaleI remember emailing you as a scared little girlA Duel- Burden Female by x-Mercy-Dimwit-x
I feel like a woman now
a scared authoritative woman
birthed from the very colouring pens which raised me
my hands are silver birch and elderberries
a pun from my year 2 class teacher who smelled
like soft bird feathers and had a face equating to an envelope
and kind, leathery hands
my legs are stocks and shares my parents crafted
bought and sold on many European markets
where I learnt to order the bill in native tongue;
feet like hymns sung on spiritually dusty mornings
alone in the French countryside tanning my legs to the bells below the hills
my torso is that of broken over zealous women
oversized jumpers, boyfriends at a young age
and that is all
my neck is my own and I stretch it twice monthly
I sit overreaching my window- crooning to the stars
and they paint moles on it and I try not to laugh
because it tickles sometimes
I text you now, and my
Alex Crookso heres a ditty for freeAlex Crook by x-Mercy-Dimwit-x
another cliched poem to stop me feeling empty
you'll love me if I'm perfidious enough
the next few weeks are gonna be tough
the next few years are gonna get better
really though. Are they.
the summers will only get wetter
the leaves will raise like unleavened dough
i'll cry tears on books cried over centuries ago
but hearts are connected and minds are a blaze
together we'll take hands and run through the maze
the daisy's are pure and the girls have soft hands
the boys are all tall and the trans chicks are grand
the feminism is boisterous and the children in love
tell me that Arcadia isn't enough
learn to love the sweet moments that aren't what they should be
learn to want nout but air when you sit on santas knee
i'm not going to compare us to the african orphanage
but look yourself in the mirror and darling please pledge
you will be the best person that you can be
you will love every
steady pulselet me drink up your fashion, i'll choke on the stars in your eyes.steady pulse by itselliegasp
you read me your favorite novel.
it's about a boy and a girl and every chapter before you finished, you reminded me that it's not a love story; you'd never read me a love story.
you have this beautiful feeling about you, i wonder if you'd ever noticed it when you looked in the mirror. it's like when birds sing at night, and you wonder why they aren't sleeping. you should sleep sometimes and i don't think you do. you're strange. it strikes me.
turn the page, sad one. you're reading ahead now while i stumble through the sentences, and those stars in your eyes are still flaming brightly. i know i'll never know why.
will you give up understanding with me? i'll throw it all out the window, and honey, i'll never look back.
disfiguredone, two, three PM. hours pass like we-both-know-what and your sugary lips still stain her cheek. it's a wonder sometimes, how far we've come. it's a wonder how i'm becoming faster and better at stopping myself when i start to remember.disfigured by itselliegasp
i leave my bag by the door as i enter the crowded room, and it's hard because we both make such a conscious effort to ignore each other. it's too late now, and it's not socially acceptable anymore to check up on each other. i pass by you, because i need to get to my friends, and we need to prove we don't care about each other anymore. right.
funny, isn't it, how strange i still feel? and each time i'm hoping that the next time, the next time you're around it won't affect me. like everything we had was just a dream within reality, and now i'm back to that reality. but some dreams are too lucid and some dreams are too real. your image is unforgiving.
i type in short. sentences sometimes because. we need to. stop. and give ourselves a quick. reality. check