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97 · Oct 29
Advert
Ruby Oct 29
The appreciation of others lives is interrupted by an advert.
Their online presence which plays like a sequence of a dream
A constant flow of images and words. A film of poetry.

I think. What if everything was interrupted by an advert? A non-stop of unnecessary and unwanted reminders to snap out of whatever we focus and rely on to get us through our day.

It's hurtful. I want to live through the videos of beautiful people , I don't want to be prevented from being comforted by capitalistic crap.
32 · Oct 29
Pear
Ruby Oct 29
When i was young you sat on a bench not a tree-
In a basket of wicker and plastic.
Swarms of jam covered fingers snatching and clawing at your freckled flesh.
I wanted to catch you but never could , you were always swept away into the belly of a child.

As we put pencils down
and our little leather shoes stepped from carpet to tarmac
A race began
"Free food" we chant when the sun hits 10
But it's too late. The pears have been eaten.

And when i walked home , my belly was all empty.
I looked up to my mother and I asked for pears.
'you wont eat them all in time'
I sighed
But i will mother or the other kids will eat them first.
This was just a quick little poem as i was feeling nostalgic of the fruit and veg we would receive at break time in my First school.
Ruby 1d
I write this on the toilet.
My partner stands there patiently chatting to me about his day as I melt into the disturbingly warm plastic of the seat.
It's my own toilet thankfully.
Not some grimey public one where the ***** lay in the shadows of the man-made whirlpool.
I am kidding; there are no *****. Scientists state.
This is a communal area for lost hair bobbles, bleach and the drowsy words of my partner's mouth as we commute here in the late hours of the night.
I like my toilet.

— The End —