"smeary" poems
Once upon a midnight, dreary,
Top Hattie twinkles, lipstick smeary,
...spinning girls like Mischief Managed all glittery on the ball room floor,
I was taken, most completely.
...Batting lashes indiscreetly.
D'lilac lips that pouted sweetly, a Circus Girl that knew the score.
I pinched myself, could i be dreaming?
Of this Nymph, this Empress gleaming?
was her Diva charm misleading? Shoe Addicted Troubadour.
A Siren in Styletto thrilled me,
Abracadabra wish fulfilled me,
......Medusa eyes that drew, yet stilled me- Retro-Futuristic roar.
Like an Airborn Unicorn descending,
advanced upon me unpretending.
my heart of Dragon Scales extending for this Cupcake Thief I'd cover for.
"Mirror Mirror" she whispered, smirking.
Countessa Fluorescent had caught me lurking,
and sent my Great Pink Planet jerking, Cosmopopping, Centrifuchia war.
My Beautiful Rocket was set to swinging,
No She Didn't hear the ringing
in my ears the Twilight singing, to the Limest Criminal on the floor.
Jan 22, 2011
Jan 22, 2011 at 7:17 PM UTC
I bought you a crown,
nothing special, it's cardboard,
decorated with construction paper and smeary markers;
it looks like an elementary art project, but you look like a King with it placed crookedly upon your head.
You told them to step aside,
the corners of your lips curled up,
slightly gaped teeth shone beneath your top lip,
you say "the Queen is coming through," and our hands brush as I walk by.
You are powerful, strong, confident —
the King of Sass,
the King of Humor,
the King of Charm,
the King of my heart.
I am frail, self-conscious, jealous —
the Queen of Uncertainty,
the Queen of Rosy Cheeks,
the Queen of Midnight Tears,
the Queen of Imagination...
After all, you only see me as a commoner.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 6:59 PM UTC
After morning matinee
and after dinner
of sausages and mash
and baked beans
you met Helen
by the post office
at the end
of Rockingham Street
she had on
the red flowered dress
you liked
and held Battered Betty
her doll
by an arm
her hair was held
in plaits
by elastic bands
and her thick lens spectacles
were smeary where
she'd touched them
but not cleaned them
where are we going?
she asked
how about London Bridge
train station?
you said
we can watch the trains
come and go
and watch the porters
rush about with luggage
and things
she gazed at you
through her thick lens
shall I tell my mum
where we're going?
sure if you think
she'll worry
you said
be best if she knows
Helen said
don't want her to worry
where I've gone
ok
you said
and so you both
walked back
to her mother's house
and she told her mother
and her mother came out
and looked at you
and said
ok so long
as you're with Benedict
and so you walked back
along Rockingham Street
and got a bus
to London Bridge
railway station
and sat on the seats
downstairs
by the conductor
and this guy with glasses
and a thin moustache
gazed at Helen
from the seat opposite
his eyes moving over her
his gaze focusing
on her knees
where her dress ended
he licked his lips
his hands on his thighs
Helen looked away
pretending she didn't
see him looking
you stared at the man
watching his eyes
dark and deep
they say it's rude to stare
you said
the man looked at you
kids should be seen
not heard
he replied
and you're seeing a lot
you said
he muttered something
and got off
at the next stop
giving you
a hard stare
Helen said nothing
but seemed relieved
after a while you got off
the bus at the railway station
and went inside
there were crowds
of people
and the smell of steam
and bodies washed
and unwashed
and the sound of trains
getting ready to leave
and voices and shouts
of porters and rushing
and going and coming
of people
and you sat
with Helen
on a seat
on the platform
she with Battered Betty
and you with your
six-shooter in your
inside pocket ready
to get any bad cowboys
who came your way
and Helen said
why was that man
staring at me
on the bus?
just a creep
wanting a peep
you said
peep at what?
she asked
I'm not beautiful
yes you are
you said
anyway it wasn't
your beauty
he was looking at
you said
what then?
she asked
oh something
he oughtn't
you said
and a loud blast of steam
echoed around
the station
and a voice called
and a whistle blew
and you all
sat watching
Helen
and Battered Betty
and six-shooter
carrying cowboy
you.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 8:09 AM UTC
Elaine sat in class.
She'd seen John
on the bus, but he
had not looked over
at her, but gazed out
the window, sitting
beside the boy Trevor.
She looked back and
he was sitting at back
of class with a boy
called Rowland, he
looking at some book
the boy was showing him.
Once the pupils were
all there Miss G took
the register calling out
the names. Elaine wished
John was beside her at her
desk; wished he was talking
to her not the Rowland boy.
She sat uneasy, her body
plumpish, her glasses smeary
needing cleaning. Miss G
talked about music; about
Mozart; about his piano
works and put on a LP and
the pupils sat arms folded
or hands over faces listening
-or not- to the unfolding
Mozart music piece. Her sister
talked of boys over breakfast;
what so and so had done and
where and their mother had said
NOT AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE
loudly but did boys really sniff
after girls as her sister had said?
Elaine never heard John sniff her.
He had kissed her that day, but
not sniffed-thank God- and she looked
at Miss G as the music played away.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 2:59 AM UTC
She cries tears of mother's ruin
"Look at me!
It's been so hard
All of my life
And I've had to fight
For my own patch of light
Still, no-one ever looks at me"
He turns his eyes to the floor
Saying nothing
Feeling stupid
And his words burst like bubbles in his mouth
He is desperate to say something
Anything to make her happy
But he cannot turn disappointment
Back into youthful optimism
Or bitterness back to hope
As she sinks into smeary sobs
Wet and bleary loss
He takes her home
He undresses her and puts her to bed
Then he holds her as she cries
And he holds her as she sleeps
He hushes her when she stirs
And calms her when she starts and cries out
When the dreams become too real
And he shall never be more than this
Never more fulfilled
Caring for her is his only purpose
Making her happy is his holy grail
Willingly trapped within her pain
He is nothing else at all
By Phil Roberts
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 4:36 PM UTC
Down came
the heavy rain
***** coal
coloured puddles
and you and Helen
stood under
the railway bridge
she clutching her doll
Battered Betty
close to her chest
you staring out
at the grey rain
thunder and lightening
making Helen scream
and clutching
your arm
her thick lens spectacles
steamed up
and hiding her eyes
I hate lightening
she said
what if it strikes us dead
it won't
you said
putting on
the brave boy routine
not while
you're with me
she didn't look
convinced
to a great degree
and peered out
through her smeary spectacles
when will it stop?
she said
it's not near
you said
you have to count
the seconds
between the lightening
and the thunder
and that should tell you
how far away it is
she took off her glasses
can you wipe these for me?
so you took the spectacles
and wiped the glass
on the end
of your shirt
until clear and clean
and handed them
back to her
and she put them on
that's better
she said
peering out
at the rain
and the puddles
on the cobblestones
of the short road
and the bomb site
nearby
you counted
after the flash of lightening
and the bang of thunder
10
you said
it's 10 miles away
she peered out again
at the grey sky
and pouring rain
seems right above us
she said
you gazed at her
standing there
drowned looking
with her hair
hanging over her face
and stuck
to her head
her dress clinging
to her tightly
her shoes sodden
you felt heavy
as if you'd swam
in a lake
and climbed out
fully dressed
with your jeans
and shirt wet through
clinging to you
I'm cold
she said
her teeth beginning
to chatter
her knees knocking
she clutching
Battered Betty
you put an arm
around her
and held her close
smelling the damp
the rain
the peppermint
on her breath
come
you said
let's go home
before we catch
a death
and you took her hand
and ran along
the cobblestones
stepping by puddles
and down Meadow Row
her fingers becoming cold
her hand wet
and slippery
and she beside you
clinging on
to her doll
by its swinging arm
making its one
good eye open
and close
like one feeling sleepy
wanting to doze.
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 2:44 PM UTC
I struggle with the seatbelt in your car.
You express passionately,
"You'll have to stay with me forever."
You don't understand how much it frustrates me that I love you.
Because I know the whole unadventured world lays ill at ease outside your smeary windows.
But the safe sentiment of your vehicle leaves me wrestling with myself.
To be free or to be unassailable.
Jan 27, 2018
Jan 27, 2018 at 7:19 PM UTC
In the early sun, a dew soaked swing set basks in rust as we play
I find your eyes at the window watching.
Smiling.
I am safe. I know this.
Concrete paints my knees red.
And you totter over with peroxide and a hug.
I am safe. I know this.
You'd find a path to the sun if only it stretched my popsicle lips into a smile.
I stalk home past midnight; a stomach gurgling with liquors I can't pronounce.
I find you on the couch flipping channels as your eyelids turn weak.
You approach me with a slap I was expecting.
Then a hug
Then a slap
Then a hug.
I am safe. I know this.
I'm panting with worry. My mind racing. Each thought like a poorly aimed bullet.
But you somehow find a way to extinguish them in your fists.
Until my smeary wet mascara stained cheeks swell into a laugh.
I am safe. I know this.
It is winter and you sense my eyes so flameless, fragile.
I am restrained by the presumptions of my fate.
My arms have been ripped from my sides so naturally you tear off your own limbs for my use.
Your appendage helps me to climb.
I'm out of the ditch. Because I am loved.
I am safe. I know this.
It is industrial where the stringent work. I cower at the mass of its stolidity. But even then I find you, the earths drippy clay molding to my quirky nervous and dissatisfied self.
Everywhere else.
I am safe. I know this.
And my dear mother.
You are loved. I hope you know this.
Jul 28, 2016
Jul 28, 2016 at 11:18 AM UTC
She cries tears of mother's ruin
"Look at me!
It's been so hard
All of my life
And I've had to fight
For my own patch of light
Still, no-one ever looks at me"
He turns his eyes to the floor
Saying nothing
Feeling stupid
And his words burst like bubbles in his mouth
He is desperate to say something
Anything to make her happy
But he cannot turn disappointment
Back into youthful optimism
Or bitterness back to hope
As she sinks into smeary sobs
Wet and bleary loss
He takes her home
He undresses her and puts her to bed
Then he holds her as she cries
And he holds her as she sleeps
He hushes her when she stirs
And calms her when she starts and cries out
When the dreams become too real
And he shall never be more than this
Never more fulfilled
Caring for her is his only purpose
Making her happy is his holy grail
Willingly trapped within her pain
He is nothing else at all
By Phil Roberts
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 2:05 AM UTC
Helen's hair
hangs dampened
by the rain
as we wait
underneath
the hawning
of a shop
on the way
home from school
her thick lens
spectacles
are smeary
so I can't
see her eyes
will it stop?
she asks me
I hope so
I reply
don't fancy
standing here
till bedtime
I look up
at the sky
grey and black
rain falling
I'm all wet
she mutters
even my
socks are damp
in my shoes
let's run then
I tell her
so we run
through the rain
splashing through
deep puddles
on pavements
she clutching
my wet hand
semi-blind
in her smeared
spectacles
rushing past
the shop fronts
our passing
reflections
in windows
quite ghostly
as in dreams
thunder claps
above us
from the sky
and Helen
loudly screams.
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 4:15 AM UTC
hand on the smeary glass pane,
staring out this window ~
separating me;
refusing me my right to freedom...
the sun shimmers, golden,
like a bright, hot, cruel joke
I feel my pulse racing;
chest tight with anxiety, despair
these butterflies squirming in my gut,
making me nauseous...
I cannot have what I most want;
that which I most painfully need
- denied what my heart so desperately craves ~
shivering, sobbing in cold anguish;
spirit shrieking in piercing agony...
soundlessly, I plead for time to sew up my wounds
- I don't know how much longer I can stand to watch them bleed:
just oozing forth from my desecrated insides,
as if my soul is slowly being drained...
Lord, I beg of you,
help me overcome this plight ~
alone, I'll never find enough strength;
unable to rid myself of this grief,
powerless to shed this burden, this weight,
and all my life's joy would be lost ~
just wasted, neglected, thrown away...
so please, lift me, carry me,
for I am only human
- and I am so very weak,
so very weak...
Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 10:32 PM UTC
The milkman
let me and Helen
ride on the back
of his horse-drawn
milk wagon
through the Square
stopping here and there
to deliver milk
and eggs
and orange juice
Helen had got caught
in a downpour
of rain
and her thick lens
spectacles
were smeary
where she had wiped them
on her dress
her hair
had been plaited
into two plaits
over her shoulders
soggy looking
ought to
go back home
and change out
of the wet stuff
I said
or you'll catch
yourself a cold
Mum's out
Helen said
gone shopping
up the Cut
with the others
the milk wagon
moved on
the horse trotting
slowly forward
the man with a boxer dog
walked by
and gave us
a stare
sitting there
you could go
to my flat
my mum'll
find you
something dry
I said
I’ll be all right
Helen said
I'll dry out
the milkman
stopped again
and we got off
and walked through
the side
of the flats
and crossed Bath Terrace
and into Jail Park
you sure
you're all right?
I said
your dress
is clinging
to your legs
she pulled the dress
from her legs
I’ll be ok
so we went
into the area
where the swings
and slide were
and got on
the swings
for big kids
and pushed ourselves
high into the air
holding on
to the chains
at the side
our shoes trying
to touch
the grey clouds
then we went
on the slide
but Helen got stuck
half way
because her wet dress
held her there
so she climbed down
and we walked back
to my flat
where my mother
got her some
dry clothes
of my sister's
and put Helen’s clothes
in front of the fire
to dry
and we watched
the steam rise
from them
into the sitting room air
as we sat
on the sofa
with our bemused stare.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 4:50 PM UTC
dry ****
dry heave,
dry eyes -
all on me.
I'm a picture
I'm your paint.
Smeary me, deary
to show that you love me.
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 8:50 PM UTC
She cries tears of mother's ruin
"Look at me!
It's been so hard
All of my life
And I've had to fight
For my own patch of light
Still, no-one ever looks at me"
He turns his eyes to the floor
Saying nothing
Feeling stupid
And his words burst like bubbles in his mouth
He is desperate to say something
Anything to make her happy
But he cannot turn disappointment
Back into youthful optimism
Or bitterness back to hope
As she sinks into smeary sobs
Wet and bleary loss
He takes her home
He undresses her and puts her to bed
Then he holds her as she cries
And he holds her as she sleeps
He hushes her when she stirs
And calms her when she starts and cries out
When the dreams become too real
And he shall never be more than this
Never more fulfilled
Caring for her is his only purpose
Making her happy is his holy grail
Willingly trapped within her pain
He is nothing else at all
By Phil Roberts
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 5:49 AM UTC
Thought you weren't
going to come
Helen said
she stood by Baldy's
grocer shop
her thick lens glasses
were smeared
by recent rain
her plaited hair matted
had chores to do
at home
you said
you looked at the sky
guess you got caught
in the last downfall
you said
she nodded
brushing raindrops
off her green raincoat
with her small hands
then wiped
her smeary glasses
with damp fingers
where are we going?
she asked
you looked at her
standing there
her wet features
and clothes
raindrops falling
from her nose
best go back
to your place
to get out
of your wet clothes
you said
don't matter
she said
it does
you said
you'll catch a death
she looked at you
I’ll dry
she said
no
you said
best go home
your mother
will let you changed
out of the wet things
while I wait
she pulled a face
OK
she said
so you both walked back
to her place
she talked
of her mother's
chesty cough
and you talked
of the silver looking
6 shooter
your old man
picked up
at some junk shop
once you got
to her home
her mother moaned
but let her changed
out of the wet clothes
and said to you
want a cuppa?
sure
you said
and so she poured you
a mug of tea
and a biscuit
and after while
she ironed some clothes
she asked about
your mother and her legs
and if
they were any better
no
you said
they' re just as bad
the tea was sweet
and milky
but you drank it
and nibbled the biscuit
and watched her iron
her plump hands
at work
her huge bust
swaying
to her motion
then Helen
came into the room
in dry clothes
her hair unplaited
and hanging
in long strands
you look
like a drowned rat
her mother said
I should wait here
if I were you
until the rain stops
Helen looked at you
then at her mother
ok
she said
I can show Benedict
my doll collection
you smiled
it could be worse
you thought
drinking your sweet tea
worse things
could happen to me.
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 4:18 AM UTC
We met by Dunn& Co
the hat people
on the corner
of the New Kent Road
Helen had a faded green dress on
and was carrying her doll
Battered Betty in one arm
her thick lens glasses
were smeary
her brown hair plaited
what are you going to show me?
she asked
have you seen
the pie and eel shop
up the road there?
no don't think so
well this guy stands inside
the shop by the window
and he takes an eel
and cuts its head off
then slits it open
then scraps out its guts
then cuts it up
into pieces ready
to be cooked for pies
I said
she pulled a face
is that
what you wanted
to show me?
yes it's very interesting
and helps you see
how it goes
and is kind
of a biology lesson
without the crabby
old teacher moaning on
I said
Helen was not impressed
I’ll be sick if I see that
he really cuts its head off?
sure he does
and quick and clean
no messing around
and scraps it
into a bin by his feet
Helen held her doll
closer to her chest
and slits it open?
yes he's a quick worker
one slit and all the guts
are scrapped out
enough already
she said
she put a small hand
to her mouth
I hate eels
I hate eel pie
she said
between her fingers
her doll leaned over her arm
its arms hanging loose
so do I
but it's interesting
to see these things
not to me it isn't
she said
ok let's go elsewhere
I said
where?
we could go to The Cut
and look at the market stalls
and maybe get a drink of pop
and an ice cream
she looked down
at her scuffed shoes
I’ve only got 3d
she said
I’ve got 2/-
that'll be enough
I said
she looked at me
through her glasses
her eyes like marbles
ok but we must make sure
Betty gets a drink too
she said
sure
I said
she can share mine
so we set off
from Dunn& Co
at a steady pace
Betty looked unimpressed
bouncing along
in Helen’s arms
one eye hanging loose
her blonde mattered hair
and I listened
while Helen
talked and talked
all the way there.
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 5:00 AM UTC
Gefen said
that girl you like
that one
who stinks somewhat
and looks as if
she slept in a barn
is in the girl's bog-house
crying
I looked at him
and flicked
my cigarette card
against the wall
of the playground
it wasn't near enough
to win I didn't think
why's she crying?
I asked
how the ****
would I know
he said
just saw her go in
and heard the sobbing
I watched
as another kid
flicked his card
near touch the wall
and fall
ok you win
I said
and walked up the steps
from the playground
and walked
to the bogs
and listened
with ear to the door
that you Enid?
I asked
no it's Coleman
what do you want?
I said nothing
and wandered off away
and there was Enid
by a window
what's up?
I said
she looked at me
through smeary glasses
not here
she said
not what here
I said
I can't say here
ok where then?
I said
so she beckoned me
to follow her
along a dank passageway
(there were many)
until we came
to where the cleaners
kept their brooms
and buckets
and such stuff
and she sneak inside
and pulled me in
beside her
well?
I said
sniffing the air
of disinfect
and soap
and yesterday's clothes
can't sit properly
she said
and she lifted
her dull grey dress
to reveal a red weal
along her thigh
and beyond
it hurts when I sit
and I can't say why
and it hurts to sit
she lowered her dress
and looked at me
red eyed
and dripping nose
your old man?
I asked
she nodded
and looked around
the small room
her eyes vacant
say you've got a boil
on your backside
and ask for a cushion
I did last term
when I had boils
on mine
she looked unsure
really?
yes really
I said
I'll ask
old ma Murphy
if you like
she's got loads
of cushions
Enid looked at me
her eyes dull
as dishwater
ok
she said
she kissed my cheek
and followed me out
and along
to Murphy's room
uncertain
and unhappy
as if facing
death and doom.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 10:04 AM UTC
I can't say I have many friends,
So I glued faces to my ink pens.
They lend me words where people fall short
And sort these emotions to thoughts I've absorbed, see.
I've become rather smitten with comments that are written
Because while the pen is mightier than the sword
It's my teeth to my tongue I have bitten
So while my words remain sitting in front of my screen
I reread and delete them and make them more terrific for an audience to read.
Still I over think causing my thoughts to seep and the ink still bleeds.
But I'm getting ditracted, this is about my friends, the pens, not me.
Mr. Bic writes quick with his thoughts in a rush
And Sharpie goes deep but tends to make my words gush
Uniball makes my mind think unclearly
as my hand runs across making words all smeary
Lastly, a rainbow gel pen who is such an old friend,
Her name was lost long ago.
They are flawed by their nature,
Still they remain the closest friends I know.
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 3:45 AM UTC
She cries tears of mother's ruin
"Look at me!
It's been so hard
All of my life
And I've had to fight
For my own patch of light
Still, no-one ever looks at me"
He turns his eyes to the floor
Saying nothing
Feeling stupid
And his words burst like bubbles in his mouth
He is desperate to say something
Anything to make her happy
But he cannot turn disappointment
Back into youthful optimism
Or bitterness back to hope
As she sinks into smeary sobs
Wet and bleary loss
He takes her home
He undresses her and puts her to bed
Then he holds her as she cries
And he holds her as she sleeps
He hushes her when she stirs
And calms her when she starts and cries out
When the dreams become too real
And he shall never be more than this
Never more fulfilled
Caring for her is his only purpose
Making her happy is his holy grail
Willingly trapped within her pain
He is nothing else at all
By Phil Roberts
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 1:12 PM UTC
She cries tears of mother's ruin
"Look at me!
It's been so hard
All of my life
And I've had to fight
For my own patch of light
Still, no-one ever looks at me"
He turns his eyes to the floor
Saying nothing
Feeling stupid
And his words burst like bubbles in his mouth
He is desperate to say something
Anything to make her happy
But he cannot turn disappointment
Back into youthful optimism
Or bitterness back to hope
As she sinks into smeary sobs
Wet and bleary loss
He takes her home
He undresses her and puts her to bed
Then he holds her as she cries
And he holds her as she sleeps
He hushes her when she stirs
And calms her when she starts and cries out
When the dreams become too real
And he shall never be more than this
Never more fulfilled
Caring for her is his only purpose
Making her happy is his holy grail
Willingly trapped within her pain
He is nothing else at all
By Phil Roberts
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 3:32 PM UTC
her assets,
I don't judge her as she tells me
her daddy taught her how at ten.
She looks at me different
is all I know,
because all I do is love her.
I don't try to get in her,
or know her secrets,
I don't have to.
When she feels guilty,
she pours them all over me,
I reassure her.
That, no matter what,
unconditionally, it turns into a sensual thing, her
eyes look at me , and I know she is happier
then ever,
I love her.
And she goes to her job stripping,
and I take care of her eight year old son for another night,
and I kiss her cheek, tell her to be careful.
Everyone, I think needs something.
I need her somehow. And she , uses me.
I smile though when she comes home at seven A.M.
bleary eyed hair mussed makeup smeary.
I just kiss her and she goes to bed.
and I happily, make breakfast for her son.
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 10:56 PM UTC
She cries tears of mother's ruin
"Look at me!
It's been so hard
All of my life
And I've had to fight
For my own patch of light
Still, no-one ever looks at me"
He turns his eyes to the floor
Saying nothing
Feeling stupid
And his words burst like bubbles in his mouth
He is desperate to say something
Anything to make her happy
But he cannot turn disappointment
Back into youthful optimism
Or bitterness back to hope
As she sinks into smeary sobs
Wet and bleary loss
He takes her home
He undresses her and puts her to bed
Then he holds her as she cries
And he holds her as she sleeps
He hushes her when she stirs
And calms her when she starts and cries out
When the dreams become too real
And he shall never be more than this
Never more fulfilled
Caring for her is his only purpose
Making her happy is his holy grail
Willingly trapped within her pain
He is nothing else at all
By Phil Roberts
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 4:02 PM UTC
You were a smeary bruise,
your eye hysterical,
cut from white twill
in the brumal March;
I slipped my blues,
to a blonde chorale
in your room, on the hill
gushing with larch.
We practiced slow,
while black cones bled
coffee. Your breath
came in little throws,
your heart in parcels of red,
that led to our little death.
Feb 7, 2021
Feb 7, 2021 at 9:53 AM UTC
She cries tears of mother's ruin
"Look at me!
It's been so hard
All of my life
And I've had to fight
For my own patch of light
Still, no-one ever looks at me"
He turns his eyes to the floor
Saying nothing
Feeling stupid
And his words burst like bubbles in his mouth
He is desperate to say something
Anything to make her happy
But he cannot turn disappointment
Back into youthful optimism
Or bitterness back to hope
As she sinks into smeary sobs
Wet and bleary loss
He takes her home
He undresses her and puts her to bed
Then he holds her as she cries
And he holds her as she sleeps
He hushes her when she stirs
And calms her when she starts and cries out
When the dreams become too real
And he shall never be more than this
Never more fulfilled
Caring for her is his only purpose
Making her happy is his holy grail
Willingly trapped within her pain
He is nothing else at all
By Phil Roberts
Nov 28, 2016
Nov 28, 2016 at 4:27 PM UTC