All entries for Tuesday 09 February 2010

For Change

I want to be 

somebody new.

I want to spin

the sun.

I want to change 

nobody's mind,

I don't want to be 

someone.

I want to drink until

I cry,

I want to start a 

war,

I want to bleed my

body dry,

I want to love my

clichéd thoughts,

I want to sink and

breathe and swim,

I want to learn to drown,

I want to be the

king inanimate,

I want to sell that

crown. 

I want to be

a poet.

I want to be

nothing.

I want to be

no-one of note,

allow me that 

one dream.

: 09 Feb 2010 16:22 |  Tags: Poetry |  Comments (0) |  Close comments |  Report a problem

Still

Because I never write in rhyme...

you’re all so young.

you’re all so young.

you’ve still got your legs,

you’ve still got your tongue,

you still wear pink

you still wear pearls

you’re still weaving daisies

with all the little girls.

you’re all so free.

you’re all so free.

you still can’t think,

you still can’t see,

you still have dreams...

you’re still so thin.

you’re still so young.

you’re still what I want to become.

: 09 Feb 2010 12:09 |  Tags: Poetry |  Comments (0) |  Close comments |  Report a problem

Andrew. Being cool.

It’s all about the chin and cheek combination. It’s all about listening to music on blogs and pretending that The New Band drips orgasm into your ear. It’s all about calling your friend a dirty jew and laughing about rape. It’s all about aiming high and going home, shots and shots later, with a fat girl on your arm. It’s all about failing exams and doing drugs and being so fucking Skins that the world sits quiet whenever you brood. 

I’m good at learning.

Chillax. And learn.

I am looking swish. Trainers. Jeans. T-Shirt. Hoody. Nothing screams ‘man about campus’ more than a Warwick University hoody. I fell in love once. I met Kieron on a gay cruising website. His profile picture was him, hair over face, lips parched by the camera. He saw me (just a grey question mark on a yellow background) and we spoke about being and doing. We never met. But I loved him. But I never saw his eyes. But he never knew my real name. Jake, he called me. Jake. 

I have had sex before. 

I want to leave it at that.

Because I’m all about being great on World of Warcraft. I’m all about eating ice cream for breakfast and brushing my teeth five times a day. Just in case. I’m all about looking at people smiling, arms over shoulders on Facebook. I’m all about not caring about shaving and, and I’m all about masturbation.

But I have had sex before.

I want to leave it at that.

The ritual. Friday, 5pm. Week over. The boy with the stripy shirt, the boy with worn brown shoes and three girls. Blond, blond, blond. The Crew. Varsity. Drinks and chat. I enter, sit at the bar, a pint of lager and smile. And smile. And one day, I know, one day they will say, ‘Andrew. Hi. Do you want to join us?’ Except. 

I will tell them my name is Jake. 

The pub ceiling should be more yellow. But no-one smokes. But people smoke. But no-one’s raping. But The New Band isn’t on the Jukebox. But it’s loud. But I brood. But it’s loud. 

I’m good at learning. 

Drink. And learn.

: 09 Feb 2010 00:09 |  Tags: Fiction Prose |  Comments (1) |  Close comments |  Report a problem