You act so perfect
With your straight hair
and big round eyes
and skinny waist
You are so smart
and kind and gentle
and loving and you want
to work with children. Aww.
Everybody likes you,
no one can say anything bad
or they are just jealous
and spiteful.
Why do you get to be perfect?
Why can’t I be smart, and kind, and gentle
and loving and wants to work with children?
It’s because of you.
Anything I say, you have already said
Any joke I make is not as funny as yours
Any job I want to do, you have already claimed
I can’t think, can’t feel around you
I sit here, spiralling into dispair
looking at the Facebook status
supporting you, when I need it most
but, in comparison, I’m not you
One day, I will be perfect
and I will be more perfect than you
I will be smarter, and kinder, and more gentle
and more loving and be helping children more than you
And you can sit, spiralling
while Facebook is celebrating me
and has forgotten you
because you are not me
But this is a fantasy
and can never happen
because I will never be you
and it’s your fault.
I cannot wait to be rid of you.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 2:41 PM UTC
Golden dust will form your in eyes
Over the long time they stay shut
Of course, you are unware
Dreams are flowing through your head
Now, just relax
I am here
Giving nightmares nightmares
Holding down the fort
Till the sun shines on dew drops
Lay your head down
In case I leave
Teddy will be here
Taking my place
Looking out for you
Exactly as I do
Oh, my little one
Night will soon be over
Enjoy your dreams while they last
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 5:02 PM UTC
It was another hot summer’s day and
I, with the small amount of change in my pocket
was journeying towards to the local park
in efforts to create a more fulfilling afternoon.
On the way to the park I
had to pass Mulberry Lane, with its shoddy Bus Stop.
Graffiti littered the benches and a man
sat, silent, a cigarette hanging in his mouth.
Me being me, looked away, staring downward
and rushing past, holding my breath as I passed through
the fog of smoke, wispy, tinged blue,
curling around my body as I walked away.
After the afternoon had passed and the
sun began to set, once again I walked past the
Mulberry Lane Bus Stop, the man sat,
still smoking, but with the hint of whisky.
When I returned home, my mother asked
“How was your day?”, and me being me, did not
tell her about the man at the
Mulberry Lane Bus Stop, with smoke surrounding him.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 12:34 PM UTC
You are
the sky to me
clear and bright and endless
You are
laughter to me
loud and happy and peeling
You are
sugar to me
sweet and small and fine
You are
the computers software to me
the Indiana Jones adventure to me
the pyjama-wearing Sunday to me
Comforting, Comforting
Stop hugging me, it’s annoying you said
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 9:29 AM UTC
I am not a damsel
I am a knight
I am not a Princess
I am a Queen
I am not a witch
I am a healer
I don’t need your rescue
I am my own
However
You can still hold a door for me
I appreciate manners
You can still support me when I cry
Everyone needs a rock
You can still fight with me
Opinions differ often
You can treat me like a person
It’s what I am
The female Equalist
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 5:49 PM UTC