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Such a sexy little number

Such a sexy little number

I cry looking for a matching lingerie set

in

case

I want to look great for the moment I hit Downunder.

 

Laugh at your tears

Say a Huge fuck you to your fears.

 

This is the week when bash didn’t do it for me

Sniff

Sniff

Banging

Pocket pat down

hear a  jingle

Family matters is more substantial for me.

 

Write to recover or die trying to live the life of another.

 Freedom will come from sucking the teet from how you was mothered.

 

Be real

authenticate

deliberate who you gonna get rid of

You know them Twockers,

those who instigate?

 

I dilly dally

Think

Cut through the same ally

Second thoughts

Nah, maybe… another time.

 

No masterpiece -is this stream of consciousness

Too oily for an academic poets diet

Borderline poetry on the rocks

Top of the evening to those who think creativity is a bit of alright.

 

.*Song choice is purely based on the dynamics of my relationship with my husband. We are chalk (I am ). and he is pure cheese. 😉

Now, I thought

Now,

I thought

I’d tell my husband that I was going to walk out into that  main road

Wait

for a car to run me over.

I’m sure he would have expressed concern and said I should have invested in an organ donor

Card!

That he is with his wry sense of humour.

 

 Now, I thought, we’re  on the train & nothing feels real

Except maybe his hand on my knee reassures all I  need to feel.

 

The sun’s out & sparring with my panic attacks & phobia

I have to leave ya for a better time.

 

We’ll have time to play this theme out over & over.

Just for now I’m feeling fresh

Air

Not like I’m drowning in a cashmere claustrophobic coma.

Write to recover. Write yourself out of a panic attack. BUY a book. Look both ways before crossing the road so you don’t get mistaken for  Avante Garde road kill.

My mother called me a Narcissist​

(Reading the book-  ‘poems for a world gone to shit’
Here’s one I wrote of to add to poems for a world gone to shit. A post-suicide poem I wrote in 2018. For the record, my mother didn’t call me this. She called me worse. I’m seriously joking now.

My mother called me a narcissist
I delayed in ringing an exorcist.


Eve didn’t want to admit she was too affronted by the orange county housewife
I’ d laugh if it weren’t for the affray
the truth is I’m a direct line of my self sabotagist.

My mother called me a narcissist cos I  tried to kill myself
She didn’t find it funny when I told her to go along with it.


She didn’t get it.


I take up my place as a dyed goat dressed in sheep wool.
I wonder if I can make it.
I forget
language-

so I bleat in Beast instead of weeping my tears of rage & regret.