Be good

“Be good” those are always
my father’s parting words.
And so I will.
Just like that.
That man has
a girlfriend at home.
She can’t see me
but trust me,
she’d hate me.
I won’t kiss him.
He won’t bury
his head into my collar.
One drink after another
won’t alter that.
I’ll think how she’d
feel if she saw us now
and it’ll change how I act.
I’d be so good.
The next day and I’m sick;
disgusted, ashamed, hungover.
The orally wedged
pubic hair tells
another story.
Curly black hair, extracted
I’ll be good now,
just like that.

Advertisements

Stumbling

So get me drunk and watch me unfold.
Loud, obnoxious,
confessional.
funfunfunfunfunfunfunfu
nfunFUN
was all I wanted.
Sorry. All we wanted.
They just found it
elsewhere. Before I did.
drunkdrunkdrunk I’M DRUNK.
Drinking for the fun.
Of it. All of it.
Drinking to enact
my sober fantasies.
He wants me entwined.
Ssh he can’t have me.
I think I’m playing the game now.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
Silly boy.
Oh god, I’m cackling.
But it’s so funny!
Queen Narcissi
sits on her throne again.
They’re all bowing before her.
Men. Grown men. Bowing. HA.
And look at him. Think of him.
He is a beautiful man.
And I’m crying.
What do I see.
BEAUTIFUL.
I think I’m going.
I’m left alone again.
Stumbling to my unknown.
Stumbling home.
I think I’m going
to be sick.

A Fantasy: 2) Confession

My fantasy was all self-made.
I guess all fantasies are.
These fantasies so quickly manifest.
I spoke to him finally and
24-hours-later-or-less-
I was his world. And I loved it.
A secret indulgence perhaps.

And I’m sorry,
Firstly for intentionally
misleading you.
And secondly, obviously,
I am sorry for coupling him
with me, an unfortunate match (for him)
so degrading, he tenfold my better.

I think it’s boredom
and a fear that I will
make the same mistakes.
I thought I just needed someone new.
(Perhaps my need is for pills?)
This new figure was not him.

FLY INTO A FURY WRITER.
THIS IS FICTION.
All FICTION, so WHY
can’t I lie.
Make people believe me.
I just can’t.
I confess, I can’t amount to my words.
Unless they are true.
Oh writer, we surmise again,
you are narcissistic.
You always make yourself the subject.

(The second part to Regret)

A Fantasy: 1) Regret

You were the boy in the lecture,
With a cheeky look, and an obliviousness
I conjured you, I willed you speak to me.
A soppy narrative perhaps will follow,
I am ashamed but still I proceed.

It all happened so quickly,
Sat at the kitchen table,
You pulled me close,
And we were kissing,
Rapidly and harder,
And it went somewhere else.

As suddenly as that,
we were dating.
Self-described “dull”,
You were a love I’ll never find elsewhere,
More importantly you were an assailant,
You were that place I wanted to find.

You enthroned me goddess,
And in turn I absorbed you.
I feel so childish, girlish (?)
Describing all this. Past.
But our love was the best.
You were there, you understood.

A few explosive rows
and we I was done.
It’s never the same the second time.
(A lesson I’ve finally learnt).
Fear of a repetitive past.
Stopped me trying again when you asked.

I think this is the worse thing,
I’ve ever written.
Some details fail me.
Alas, words so material
Could not define how I felt about you.
How you felt about me.