The girl is broken from inside,
There’s a crack in her foundation,
The girl would like to run and hide,
Or at least find some elation.
The girl doesn’t know what she wants,
Or what will make her feel whole,
The girl has many nightmares and haunts,
And doesn’t know who’s heart she stole.
She sees her self with happiness,
But she doesn’t know which to choose,
Could spend all her money on a dress,
Or more importantly, shoes and booze.
“How can I define an age,
When I don’t know how I live,
I’ll let you know when I do,
When I’ve an answer to give”
“I could fall into a world,
Of poison and broken glass,
But I’d trip on all my hope,
Fall on my fucking ass.”
“My life will jump shark,
And nobody will watch me,
I’ll slowly lose my ratings,
Until I cannot run free.”
“I’ll push every button,
In an attempt to escape,
My body and even worse,
This brutal mind rape.”
“I’ll curl up in a ball,
Cross heart, hope to die,
And I’ll find myself rocking,
Emitting a pain-drenched cry.”
So the woman at the desk,
Looks away with my answer,
“I’ve lost all my flexibility,
You see, I used to be a dancer.”
She doesn’t understand,
So I gaze upon her face,
Wondering what happened
To the glorious human race.
We all are broken down,
Into a symphony of pain,
Nothing ever for any other,
A sense of senseless self gain.
“If only my words made sense,
In the way my poetry does,
I’d work well outside my room,
I won’t leave, simply because”
“And the world outside is daunting,
And I cannot make out a word,
People moving far too fast,
Similes for a buffalo herd”
“And what even was the question
You asked a moment ago?
I can’t remember what you want,
Or even what I might know”
I think the girl asked my age,
Though she’s clearly quite unkeen,
“Truth is, I feel ninety,
And, sweetheart, I haven’t hit nineteen.”
I saw a girl with a troublesome smile,
The girl walked away, I watched for a while,
Your face turns to me, but you don’t seem to see,
That my face it is touched, by this cruel irony.
And the girl walking by with a glint in her eye,
And the boy who I saw staring at passers-by,
And the child who would cry, then pray for a while,
That his mother would stop with the pain for a smile.
I watch you fall into a deep abyss,
And I wish I could save you with a daring kiss,
So there’s one little thing I want you to do,
If you’re going to fall, let me fall with you.
So I hope and I dream, and I think unawares,
That I am the girl with the glittery stare,
And I hum and I sing and I try to make sense,
Of a world where most parents are too young and too dense.
I see your pain, your shame, and torment,
Within an issue for which you’ll never really repent,
And I see an true opening for a friend,
It could be something more, or it might be pretend.
I watch you fall into a deep abyss,
And I wish I could save you with a daring kiss,
So there’s one little thing I want you to do,
If you’re going to fall, let me fall with you.
I’m gonna pack up all my bags,
And live amongst the lonesome hags,
I’m gonna stick up for the man,
Just so the feminists know I can,
Because I don’t label anything,
But I’m a goth, proof in the ring,
And we’ll live in a little shack,
And I’ll watch yours, you’ll watch my back.
I’ll dye my hair and smoke a pipe,
I won’t get the new music hype,
I’ll kiss you ‘til the sun comes along,
I’ll miss your voice like the bird song,
I’ll think of all the words you’d say,
The troubles that you’d make go away,
In the days where love was true,
In the days when I loved you.
So here comes the deafening final blow,
I’ve stopped my knitting, starting to sew,
Back the threads of what never was,
And there wasn’t even ever a cause,
But you never were really even there,
I conjured you up once from a fine hair,
Brought back corpses right from the dead,
Tried to match the hair from your head.
But all that I could ever find,
Was a gentle soul, or a perfect mind,
But never once were these together,
With a sculptured body for forever,
All the corpses they were rotting,
But they were never really forgotten,
Your parents came to yell at me,
‘Cause I dug you from a sycamore tree.
The leaves made you a mighty crown,
And I bet you never wore a frown,
Except from when that spell was broke,
My throat emitted a tear filled choke,
Magic gave me you for a while,
And for that time I wore a smile,
But once you went and you’ve gone away,
I’ve never felt worse than since that day.
But what I’m really trying to say,
Is I’d be Thatcher for a day,
If it could bring you, oh, back to me,
Here for to hear, here for to see,
I’d be the devil, I’d be a nun,
Just to see your life begun,
I’d give up drugs, I’d give up sex,
If I could bring you from your rest.
I’m gonna pack up all my bags,
And live amongst the lonesome hags,
I’m gonna stick up for the man,
Just so the feminists know I can,
Because I don’t label anything,
But I’m a goth, proof in the ring,
And I’ll live in a little shack,
And I’ll watch mine, I’ll watch my back.
Mutants - The Dead Poets
This is totally my poem.
My voice.
To music.
It’s rad.
Listen.
Define, establish, defend your equal rights.
Write a manifesto in the deep dead of night.
Feminism, marxism, homoeroticism, your choice,
If you shout it loud enough they’re sure to hear your voice.
The needle slips in and out,
Reminding you of last night with your new fella,
‘Cept he ain’t no good.
You’re enjoying this more than you enjoy him.
‘Cept this is permanent,
He’ll be gone within a week.
Maybe a month, if he takes you out somewhere nice.
The colour drains from your face,
Reminding you of rinsing your hair dye out,
‘Cept you hate the new colour,
At least your face will be back to normal soon,
‘Cept you can’t get over the shock.
The dickhead just dumped you first,
Ruining your manipulative plans. Wanker.
The shoes clip-clop down the street,
Reminding you of horse riding as a child,
‘Cept you ain’t got the money no more,
You get your rides in other, dirtier ways,
‘Cept your rates are getting too high.
You’ve got another on the way,
Your children are starving.
Perhaps prostitution wasn’t the best life plan.
You talk to a guy online,
And he’s really quite hot,
It turns into sex talk, that’s fine,
Because you’d rather do that than not.
But then the guy asks for nudes,
And you don’t know how to respond,
You think it’s really quite rude,
So you make something up on the spot
“I’m real fat”
“I’m too shy”
“I’ve got bruises”
“Don’t ask why”
“I feel ill,”
“Not in the mood,”
But never
“That’s too rude”
Women are stupid,
And they should just give it up
Don’t need no cupid,
Face down, please, arse up.
You pop the small lozenge into your mouth,
“Ooh”, you say, “That feels good”
I am soothed,
And I can breath,
I feel my youth,
I am relieved,
I feel a pain,
Upon my tongue,
No pain no gain,
My throat has won,
The strongest thing,
You’ll ever know,
From Beijing,
To Mexico,
For the best cold fix,
To suit all ends,
The honest best tricks,
Are Fisherman’s Friends.
There is a young man I know rather well,
And he enjoys talking about dead babies,
His friends all know he’s going to hell,
But that’ll be after he contracts rabies.
There is a nice guy that is nice and stuff,
But some think he might have tourettes,
And as for when he gets inside Sarika’s muff,
We have all made several bets.
There is a rather fascinating fellow,
Who is also in his fantastic third year,
He keeps saying his piss isn’t yellow.
But we look away and pretend not to hear.
