“Oh my god, other people struggle”
that’s what you hear them say
today it’s debilitating
so was yesterday’s pub visit
and Friday’s pool palava
enough tears to sink a ship
watching Blended with Drew Barrymore
and yearning for that family
my feelings are playing musical chairs
when it stops you hear the clap of arse cheeks
sit themselves down
and with no music to dance to
they twiddle their thumbs gingerly
Christ knows if the noise goes
the fear starts
leaps to attention
like some Nazi guard
the music can’t die down
else I’ll die with it
I stepped out to Londis and squirmed
teeth chattering
mind nattering the whole way
it’s cruel to live like you shouldn’t be here
and the crying is getting old now
I’m bored
wilting like a weed
I’d like to hit somebody
and really yell with my lungs
because I haven’t done that before
(except into my pillow)
and make them burst like two water balloons.
talking to my pillow. 