Stupid words!
They claw
at my insides
They completely
fog my brain
Stupid words!
they spill my secrets
when, inside
they should have
remained
Stupid words!
they have no thought
besides becoming
known
Stupid words!
that clog my throat
inside an empty world,
they are sown
Stupid words!
I hate you!
Even as I leave them
drip dying in the breeze
Stupid words!
I love you!
Even though
No one
Believes

I have very little time for me
5.30am I wake, so I can read
6am I'm waking school children
6.30am I'm making lunches
and waking them again
7am I'm ready and waking them again
in between, I try to read...
3pm, after work, I've picked them up,
home again, I have no luck
I'm reading homework, doing washing,
cooking dinner while they sit watching
asking questions, demanding my time
showing me answers, I can't say Nien!
at the time they are ready for quiet
I'm deep into my own bottle of Claret!
I've exhausted topics from
Logistics to get to the Fete,
and simple dress changes
that relate, if acceptable for camp?
and can my girlfriend stay
just for a night?
Mum! Look at me dance?
Have I got it tight?
I'm tapping away trying express
my own thought
then comes a little voice
that breaks down my fort...
And I realise,
I can't tap out a rhyme
the could ever compete
to the little dancing feet
that demands my attention
no less than your poem
but rest assured
as you have written it
I've read it, I just thought
*you should know

Tones of green for envy
Red for passions fire,
Blackness for obscurity
And rougeness for desire
Yellow colours buttercups
In happiness and glee
But whiteness for the purity
of your heart's charity.
Pink depicts your girliness
Gold means you are rich
But grey brings out the trouble
When, occasionally, you're a *****,
Tangerine for tittiness
And gingerness your ****....
Oops! Now I'm in deep do-doos
For I've painted...quite enough!
M.

I'm not really who I pretend to be
I'm not really angry at other people
I'm more angry at me.
It's just easier to reflect on them
as they are defenceless,
though it seems senseless
for them to be the object of my ire
while they sit patiently, waiting
to be object of my desire
It's simply easier for me to paint them
in water colours
that drip upon a canvas
that can't absorb it
than it is to mar the canvas of my life
with Oils, that appear more solid.