"disapproved" poems
The moths followed the little square
Like he was a flame
The little square wrote a book about his despair
And the moths made a proclaim
The little square didn't like us
So he told the moths to find us, "the mess"
He told them to do it without fuss
'Cause without us his garden would be flawless
The moths came out to his garden
They found me and my kind
And pulled us out with a gun
Treating us like we aren't apart of mankind
We were put on trial by them
And thrown into fire
We were shoved into a room by 'em
And gassed because it was "prior"
Occasionally the moths were bored
So they played hangman with us
This was a game that they adored
All we could do was stare at the hanging carcass
They were our friends and family
They were the only medals we had left
We were too broken to be angry
So we ignored the theft
When the moths got rid of us
They went for the most damaged weeds
That often made us anxious
Because of it some did misdeeds
Some couldn't deal with the pain and fear
So those weeds jumped to the birds
On the floor they left a smear
The smears thought jumping would send them homewards
Though we saw death so many times a day
We were still able to eat and treat people with hate
It was because from our god we have gone astray
Maybe because we were all under weight
In our stomachs prowled lions
Our hunger was so severe
If we found stray scraps we would go for the ****
If you went for the food you were a volunteer
One time we ran out of food
So we complained even more
The moths got tired of our complaining mood
So we ran to a new camp door
We were often moved
We went from camp to camp
Of course we all disapproved
On the house that was based by our stamp
On each of our wrist
Was and inky black stamp
It was on the moths checklist
It was our name in each concentration camp
When we were saved from hell
We were all broken weeds
We couldn't even sleep well
But the ones that saved us answered our needs
The ones that saved us helped end the war
And some were normal citizens
Everyday we are grateful for their loving core
Even if we had great differences
Though the Holocaust made us different
And the memories haunt us
It was kind of a movement
Because now people won't walk into war without a fuss
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 8:40 AM UTC
**I am but a skeleton,
A misprinted society element.**
I lived to the hum of my own melody,
A disapproved version of achieving ecstasy.
Those around me didn't like that very much,
Made me feel crazy, distant, and such.
Then, one day, I came to find,
I was one of few with such an open mind.
Pressured with conformity, I remained organic,
Such a rebellion filled them with panic.
So here I lie, a pile of bones
They ripped me to shreds, no trace with their ghost.
No one realized, for they were confined,
Stressing to stay structured, to keep their design.
But in the near future, they all will see,
The one they cold-heartedly killed is with whom they now agree.
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 3:57 PM UTC
A mirror is never just your reflection,
My mother once said
The mind has this devilish way of
Twisting
Things around
Making then a lot more or a lot less
That what stands before me
Suddenly
My face isn't my face anymore
Instead
I stare blankly at a blueprint
Society itself has hand-sketched
For me.
Post-it's on where things had gone wrong
Scribbles on things I needed less of
Highlighters on places I needed
Brighter brights
Thinner thins
And I just stood there
Watching
As these self-proclaimed architects
Unraveled
The plans they had for a body that wasn't theirs.
Accepting
The new rooms they had drawn next to the ones that already existed,
The ones that were always there
The ones I made a home out of,
The mole on my ear
That never seemed out of place
Until,
The impact of a critical post it told me so.
The place where my thighs met
I've always ignored,
Assuming I was normal
But the scribbles that
Begged
For less of me,
Proved otherwise.
The marks of stretched skin
I considered battle scars over a few calories at a buffet table
Nullified
By society's architects
Disapproved
As if it were up to them
Invalid
Like human came in the form of overruns
But I stare at this blueprint that suggests to change me from
Floor to floor
Head to toe
And wonder
If the one who owns the lot in which I am
Wonder
If He wanted to change me anymore than them
If He liked the original rooms
More than the ones carved to fit the trends
If He wanted me to ignore the architects
And the drafts of copies
And copies
And copies
Of different versions of me
Didn't He want me to accept the mirror for who I am?
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 1:15 PM UTC
A microcosm of the world was what I would say
and the hurt kept coming in every way
Money religion and all that can divide
it was all used to hurt my pride
Friends, parents, and heritage were to blame
When love is not love its all the same
Where is the "for better" where is there "for worse"
believing more of what's out there, that's the curse
Lied about, framed, and hurt deeply with neurological drugs
aligning herself with common thugs
Thousands of magical moments they really did bring joys
even though they are now used for other people's toys
Deep in our hearts they'll never go away
How I love you in every way
I don't care what anybody will say
More Roses from me to you on more of your special days
your are of my greatest gift s in my life and our moments I will always cherish
there are no words, no actions, no charades that can blemish
our bread is buttered today that's what we say
some creativity will find another way
so many things remind me of you
not the worst human being alive deserves what happened in lieu
In my mind I gave more than I ever I could
The drugs made hardened feelings do what they would
stock market losses another reason to blame
moving and changing lost much more just the same
but all the justifiers come out to make sure she disapproved
when all our lives were changed with her horrible moves
when all chances taken were for love and generosity
and all she could see to make her right was animosity
No human being could ever bare to hear the pains I suffered
and to even reveal the truth takes all I have to muster
but the truth is that I would do it all again
if that was the price for you to see
the beauty beyond all attachments and the splendor in thee
Nelson Mandela, Martin Luther King, Socrates, Galileo and more have been jailed
and what were the greatest truths ever and how they later sailed
Unconditionally loving you and that is what will always be in me
and for that I am the luckiest person I can be
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC
He felt her presence everywhere
She watched his every move
But She was gone no more was She
His dark side disapproved
One half hated, much like herself
The other filled with glee
The two halves fighting all the time
And all because of She
His double-self entranced her thoughts
She clung to every word
The danger carried her away
Like songs from dying birds
He’s on his knees proposing love
She simply answers “yes”
The darkness is opposing it
It’s all a ****** mess
Her body lies on Winter’s floor
Observing from the sky
She left our world and can’t come back
Now all She does is fly
Blood flows gently on this cold morn
Other emotions flee
But love She had for half that man
The one that’s filled with glee
We’re all alone, the light and dark
The innocent with glee
Stuck with the man inside his head
For I am the carcass called She
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 8:51 PM UTC
Ring, ring, ring, ring.
Water's running down my face, no, tears, their salt is melting into my very bones as I stare at the phone and listen to it, ring, ring, ring...
My caterpillar has finally turned into the beautiful butterfly I believed I dreamed of, only to find myself rejecting him now at every turn. His Grace has grown up, and realized his riddles and rudeness are not the love I deserve, not the one I want, not anymore.
Wonderland has changed, too. It has expounded upon itself, growing larger with newer faces, faces I'm growing to love and cherish more than old.
In the whispering hours of Wonderland, a New Frabjous Face takes my hand and tell me to run with him, and I do. We run and dance and even when the rain is pouring he is still holding my hands and my face and telling me to run and breathe and live so beautifully.
My caterpillar never held my hand in the rain, he always disappeared into the clouds with his booming voice, judging and screaming about his own struggles while I was drowning in mine. Wonderland tends to flood.
Forecast for now though is sunlight with a slight overcast of whimsy.
After the New Frabjous Face, I feel more comfortable in the rain. Maybe it is apart of me, especially since I always beg to go dancing in the rain. Maybe I knew all along the rain was the key to Wonderland.
Caterpillar would be glad to hear I've been forgetting my magical little pills, no safety is swirling through my veins. He always judged me for using them, though he insisted it was my choice. My choice that he disapproved of.
New Frabjous Face and other new friends are new to me, but they makes me feel alive again, like maybe Wonderland can be a happy place again, like maybe the Jabberwocky can learn its place once more.
Ring, ring, ring...
And as the night goes on, I turn away the phone and let it ring, for it doesn't own my heart anymore.
I do.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 5:41 AM UTC
Uncle Joe,
Quietly a bachelor,
All his 77 years,
Never spoke an unkind word
I ever heard.
Most afternoons,
He sat in his brown chair
Behind my Grandfather.
Two old French men,
Smoking pipes
Talking slow and low
In English, French-laced,
Laden with Quebec enunciation
Though they'd not been back
For sixty years.
I didn't think he'd ever loved a girl,
My Uncle Joe,
And then his nephew spilled the beans
One day to me.
Alice was the damsel's name,
But innocence was not her style,
And so my great-grandma,
Memere, disapproved,
Clucked her tongue,
Hands on hips,
Glared and crossed herself,
Whenever Alice came around.
Still, Joe pursued
Until the day she walked out
To the field where he was plowing
Behind a team of horses.
She didn't think ahead.
So when her dress billowed out
As she walked up,
She set the team in fright.
Uncle Joe,
Too shocked to act,
Fell feet first into the foot board,
And down the field the horses dragged
The plow and Uncle Joe.
They stopped before disaster came,
And Uncle Joe crawled out.
When he stood up,
He ended any chance that Alice
Had with him.
"Dat **** girl near got me ****
His exclamation.
So it was
He lived sixty more years
Safely and alone.
Jan 3, 2012
Jan 3, 2012 at 8:51 AM UTC
I'm not selfish!
You haven't experienced the weight and woe
that accompany me with each tick of the clock;
I was--no;
I always disapproved of the things I've done,
I've regretted trusting with such nativity,
I always offered too much
I wanted to be accepted,
so I did what I thought I should do.
I tried changing myself,
I attempted to be like them, and
to somehow be similar.
It was of pure envy,
I wanted to be like them
Attractive, and having
countless friends
I wanted and needed;
And, instead of being envious,
I was greedy or maybe both;
I kept on suppressing my own emotions,
I push back the tears before they even form.
I would look unpleasant if I allow them to fall.
With an effort to perfect myself,
I desperately tried to improve with
the talent that I possess.
I was frustrated
each time it looked--so horrible.
Yet, blinded by my own perfectionism,
I overlooked the progress made.
"What a fool,"
Jun 11, 2021
Jun 11, 2021 at 8:11 AM UTC
It's weird
how I remember your legs,
the curvage of it and
sparseness it feels, including the
colour tone of it.
It's sweet
how I remember your smile
the one which made your eyes
gleeful as you
parted my bangs lightly.
It's sad
how I remember your texts
those with hurtful but truthful
words which reject yet
lingered with your concern.
It's helpless
how I remember the look
you gave as you incidentally
glanced over, only to hope
that you didn't.
It's painful
how I remember your back
as you turned, after delivering
your last look of longing as if you
wished for more but logic disapproved.
It's bright
how I remember the future
as we used to describe, it is still
bright
to me and my hopeless heart.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 11:09 PM UTC
I thought it was love
When he said it was
And looked into my eyes as he did.
I thought it was love
When he held my hand
And squeezed it, not wanting to let go.
I thought it was love
When he kissed my forehead
And brushed my hair from my face.
I thought it was love
When he wrapped his arms around me
And whispered how much he loved me.
I thought it was love
When he gave me a teddy bear
And pretended it was our child.
I thought it was love
When he told his parents about us
And stayed with me when they disapproved.
I thought it was love
When he asked for another chance
And I wholeheartedly gave it.
I thought it was love
When we went on a date
And watched his favorite movie.
I thought it was love
When he wrote me a poem
And told his friends about me.
I thought it was love
When he said he'd wait
And promised to be better.
I thought it was love
When we went to where his parents got married
And he said, "Let's get married here."
I thought it was love
And maybe it was
But it never lasted
Because he silently let go
And I was left holding on
To a memory
Of what I thought was love.
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 4:47 AM UTC
You take the words from my mouth,
Physically removed,
Disapproved.
You take the thoughts from my mind,
totally revised,
Cencorised
You control what i say,
What they see,
Explicitly.
No more control of content,
Freedom of speech,
Breached.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 9:12 PM UTC
The ace of spades
Was digging in the flowerbeds
Last night under the shade of the moon
Her rosy lips were clipped and
Her hair in disarray,
As the traffic down in
the valley disapproved.
What happened to Clara at the click of nine,
Down on the corner at fifth and dime ?
Silk stockings and stillettoes
stabbed the night
Traced out in tendrils
Of wispy smoke at bar ends
Aye the glint in his eyes,
That ace of spades,
Put paid to his debt
Of knives.
Oct 13, 2011
Oct 13, 2011 at 3:01 AM UTC
Last, the youngest son was taken:
Very rough and thick his hair was,
Very round and red his face was,
Very dusty was his jacket,
Very fidgety his manner.
And his overbearing sisters
Called him names he disapproved of:
Called him Johnny, 'Daddy's Darling,'
Called him Jacky, 'Scrubby School-boy.'
And, so awful was the picture,
In comparison the others
Seemed, to one's bewildered fancy,
To have partially succeeded.
Finally my Hiawatha
Tumbled all the tribe together,
('Grouped' is not the right expression),
And, as happy chance would have it,
Did at last obtain a picture
Where the faces all succeeded:
Each came out a perfect likeness.
Then they joined and all abused it,
Unrestrainedly abused it,
As the worst and ugliest picture
They could possibly have dreamed of.
'Giving one such strange expressions--
Sullen, stupid, pert expressions.
Really any one would take us
(Any one that did not know us)
For the most unpleasant people!'
(Hiawatha seemed to think so,
Seemed to think it not unlikely).
All together rang their voices,
Angry, loud, discordant voices,
As of dogs that howl in concert,
As of cats that wail in chorus.
1.4k
Uneasy eyes comprehend the easy lines of the minds who dine and constantly define all sacramental chimes without a whimper or whine I decline,
To be invited reunited I decided to combust without a rush might find a crush more than trust isn’t lust tho we do tend to touch less than enough,
Belief to be discreet the preacher falls to his feet help the man stand or pass again without demand now am banned from their gospel, am without welcome to their church, reached the spiritual out come that can praise without a book.
Shepard’s crook has created a nook of who play with the for play, my forte no pay do the doomed approve, or wether sentence you to a private room where all disapproved can go loose as is pleased, feel the ease then recklessly leave believers grieve.
Feigning teachers relentlessly fail as they see their fallen students have trials on bail, as unborn babies wail no need to be ail is a chance of good tales unreasonable detail of all hail, praise the male, position fail while grows frail as have said..He bled, the sermonizer not to seem mean but he has dreamed to wean off the unseen, ruining the light hearted beam he forgets to bring.
Evangelist is common type unless it brings a bible fight of heaven’s fright the right delight a fearful night in believer’s sight they might reunite, domestic might be what we need the preacher pleads ‘Oh please believe’ we don’t take heed we simply need to take the lead and set again demons pretend all sacrilegious men, do forgive of what we do, faithful to you, do not approve of what we choose to loose is You.
Oct 10, 2011
Oct 10, 2011 at 10:49 PM UTC
"Always put you're own needs first"
That's what you've always said
For if you attempt to help everyone
Too thin, you'll soon be spread
But I chose not to listen
Which is really nothing new
I wore my heart upon my sleeve
And into danger, I flew
Building other people up
Was always worth it in the end
No matter how many times they fell
My hand would always extend
But I started to feel that weight
Pulling me every-which-way
And with my own world crumbling around me
I soon fell into dismay.
I guess in some ways you were right
I should have made sure to care for me
So I tried to make that change in life
And listen to my own heart's plea
I took a little time alone
And focused on my own needs
But when I spoke of that choice to you
You disapproved of all those deeds.
You said my choices were selfish
And that my actions had all turned rude
Since I no longer blindly followed the plan
You and I began to feud
I was left completely baffled
For I had done just as you said
I took the time I needed
And did things to clear my head
And that is when I realized
What those words had really meant
It wasn't so much a piece of advice
But ideals you followed a hundred percent
"Always put your own needs first"
That is exactly what you did.
I wish I'd listened a little closer
To the truth you never hid
Because when it comes down to it
That's really what you believe
And now that I have finally seen the truth
I fear, I've no choice..but to leave
Jul 18, 2017
Jul 18, 2017 at 2:14 AM UTC
tribute to my grandmother
it was placed upon the shelf
unkempt from long neglect
in the company of other books
in need of our respect
it's binding cracked and lifeless
it's pages yellowed leaves
I finally read her memoirs
I finally knew her grief
my grandmother was lovely
beautiful. sublime
her writing style spellbinding
a woman out of time
she gathered many clippings
cut out many texts
from a bygone era
each better than the next!
I finally reached a memoir
written by her hand
she was a bitter woman
but now I understand
she was a great musician
but her parents wouldn't pay
to get her further training
nor help in any way
they wanted her to marry
but strongly disapproved
of the man that grandma wanted
and they would not be moved
he was striking! handsome!
his parents very rich
but he had a little problem
his fingers had the "itch"
back then they were called "kleptos"
and it was a shame
to ever be involved with them
much less take up their name!
so this lovely lady
married late in years
no longer a debutant
a by-word to her peers
she wed "beneath her station"
bitter and very sad
she didn't love my grandfather
her true bow was a cad
she died in quiet misery
unlauded and unsung
her memoirs mouldering away
as though she wasn't born
I hope now she's happy
that she's finally free
she is now immortal
*she lives on in me*
SoulSurvivor
written 10/25/2013
rewritten 12/8/2015
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 11:17 AM UTC
I recognize you like the first fallen leaf signaling autumn. I know you looked like someone for the future, but the present stopped me from whispering wishes onto dead trees. And the orange cardigan that's giving me warmth stayed inside the closet. I hoped for spring in fall but September disapproved.
Dead leaves covering pavements the same way they cover graves. And my feelings are flickering like candle in birthday cakes but not in celebration.
You never look for me. You never look at me. And it's fine now because I have learned to appreciate comings and goings. But you, you came but never stayed.
Love approved of the next chapter and I finally looked forward, straight ahead, after looking at the sidelines for a long time. I saw love and was surprised that love was already looking at me.
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 11:14 PM UTC
Under the water.
At the bottom of the shore, it lies.
It faces the ocean roof, and peeks out to the sun, that peeks out to it.
It breathes and stares on into the glass top.
Everything is slow.
Everything is cold.
This is where it always was.
This is where it always is.
The water overflowed the hole hidden in the stomach.
There is peace for once.
It could cry of joy, but no one would know.
That is why it ran.
That is why it left.
To take a breathe into the unknown.
To be where others disapproved.
It's the disapproval that drives the car.
And the car falls.
And the car drags a figure to the ocean bed.
And the figure lies on the bed.
And instead of sleeping it stares at the ceiling, as it always has.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 10:14 PM UTC
What I do to them.
I tolerant the intolerance.
I see individuals in the crowd.
And I keep'em safe and sound.
We're supposed to be enemies.
They obey people I won't stand.
They believe with no doubt
The things disapproved
With every breath and step I take.
But our balance is calm as a lake.
We are antonyms.
They follow sun and I adore moon
They praise landwhile I honor the wind.
And we're a duet just as lime and mint.
But now look at us.
I help them out once I've heard a call.
And they catch me right before I fall.
Always getting stuck in one boat.
And you know, we are simply one,
We don't care that it's just dumb.
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 2:09 PM UTC
If you close your eyes and listen closely
you can hear the ocean in my lungs like a conch
After once deciding that I was thirsty for something other than life
for control
I drank the sea like a cup of fresh black tea in the afternoon.
And as my lungs stilled and my eyes slid closed
I felt the pull of the current
and the call of the one who calls us all to the sea
lost sailors we are
with no boats and too many troubles
She sang into the night, voice old and wise
voice lulling and moving
voice the sound of home
and waves crashing upon the shore
But as I saw her face, I saw she disapproved
as the men carried my body through the stark whiteness of bliss
And she sang a song of sadness for me
a song of wanting but wanting for little
a song of praise for the golden house of the sun in the morning
that reflected in the waves of her eye
And I felt the ocean pull me back out, back to this world I am not sure I love
away from the one who still calls to me
and I listen quietly
still
and silent
except for the sound of the ocean in my lungs
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 12:26 PM UTC
My chocolate dipped sword,
Such a bitter lullaby.
A burden at the least,
As the honored soldier cried
Don't make me just a product
Of your twisted memories.
You're making something out of nothing,
Turning broccoli into trees.
Yet, another moment passes.
The clock ticks perfectly in time
With my slow and steady heartbeat,
Unaware of your latest crime.
Oh, excuse me sir, but I failed to see
The crown upon your head.
Did you think that since you disapproved,
I'd just be left for dead?
Once again, you've been mistaken.
I can simply ignore your song.
Your facade just doesn't work on me,
I've seen it for too long.
So goodbye to all the judging.
Farewell to you and yours.
"Take thy beak from out my heart,
And take thy form from off my door."
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 8:12 PM UTC
Midnight on a college campus is lonely
if you stand on the right spot-
The empty sidewalk outside the library.
Not sure if it was the cold or the nerves that
Rattled my spine into goosebumps, but I could feel my
Hands shaking, trying to seize comfort from the silent air.
He was late - I chewed the color from my lips, waiting.
The sound of his car slowing, tires too loud on the cobblestones,
Rung in my ears after we pulled away from he curb.
The streetlights seemed awfully harsh as he drove away with me
But his voice sounded the way lavender smells after a rainstorm,
More gentle than I expected it.
I caught myself wondering if maybe I would be okay.
I don't even know his last name.
I don’t remember the night as a narrative, a story I can
Describe to you in detail,
But as frozen scenes of a movie -
Unattached, flooded with momentary feeling.
His fingers in my hair and this time it was heat
Burning down my spine that made me shiver.
Click of the switch turning out the kitchen lights.
Cool leather of a couch.
My own nervous laughter.
Breath forced from the back of my throat.
Fingerprints on my collarbones.
Hands and mouths and hips.
Safe.
Warm.
The ride home being quiet.
My roommate stared in shock when I walked in at 2:30
Flushed and too embarrassed to speak
I could tell she disapproved but I decided that
I would savor the feeling of myself
I am not ashamed of my body or my choices with it
I am not ashamed of being confident in myself for the first time in 3 years
I am not ashamed of enjoying my life
And if someone wants to call me ****
Then I will be there to accept it
With a smile.
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 5:13 PM UTC
i
I have always loved you.
You're my best friend you big beautiful idiot, what do you expect?
ii
You remind of words written on fog on a mirror. You can be beautiful and ugly but you will always be fleeting.
You told me that i remind you of corn flowers,
and I never really told you much.
iii
You are forgiven and I hope you are well.
iv
You came into my life at a weird time and I came into yours at an even weirder time.
We're both actors, so we were pretty good at pretending.
v
I kissed you when I shouldn't have and your mother disapproved. We've both grown so much and I love you exponentially.
You're a combination of Audrey Horne,
and a desert flower
and I wanted to kiss you so bad by the creek last week but perhaps your mother would still disapprove.
vi
You were my green hair muse,
I have so much to say about you
and I'm embarrassed to say I miss you.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 6:34 PM UTC
Butch Malone walked tall that day when he arose from his rest. Outside pillars having climbed the long whinding duration of each moment he awoke. Various scenes flashed by his brain in remembrances alone again in a pitch darkened room.
Where tables having overturned to seal his doom. For Butch Malone was fit to be told. Many today viewed wanting to run away hide yet to where? Through both space and time there were various questions lingering inside his fragile egg shelled appearance. Many years have passed having every reason to grasp the question of his existence. A chase after ice to seal his doom. Still searching for an answer for the questions that lay on his heart. A neighbor friend would be right by his side to depend. Something was stirring inside when no one would want to date his cause of having cobwebs in his attic. A poor lost soul living in some fish bowl year after year. Chasing sweet dreams through a pipeline built in formation. Perhaps Butch was in need of a break on some long away vacation? With a tender voice that was thhe day Butch stubbed his big toe. There was again silence again stirring in the wind.
Through night following day he took time to bow the knee to pray by giving thanks to the one we have to do. Still it is what it is. Later Butch sold his life story at outdoor auction to benefit the press releases that would profit his name. In time even through the night following the day he took offense. Where as his neighbors disapproved stating, "Life doesn't need to be lived out that way"? His heart was moved with compassion where as later it was fixed on his realization to live out his dreams. In snap shot memory's of his past having so much fun with the hope that it would always last.
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 8:36 PM UTC
so now, here is the thing.
as a kid i was not allowed
crisps.
gran disapproved
& mum had little money,
on her own with four
of us kids to feed.
it is just potato.
i had game chips when
i went to the marsham
court hotel to dance
the new year in. i wore a kilt.
my mother did not come.then
my nice brother went to work
on the railway. one day in secret
he bought me a packet of my own.
early employment as a cook
entailed cooking crisps, oh joy,
& paid for it.
these days i eat them as & when i like.
#salty
sbm.
Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 1:30 AM UTC