Just words
I wish that I could make you cry,
that you would pity me my
childhood. Or smile
at the past's perfection.
I could pretend all this.
Write my past, my life anew.
That's what poetry can do
- isn't it?
Make mum an alcoholic,
dad victim of some incurable disease.
Myself abused,
a sister dead
- some car accident or other,
and my brother? In a foster home.
This would be a poem to move you,
reader.
Something to remember.
Your page folded,
a note beside:
'I can feel her pain'
Can you?
Really?
What do you know of me?
Only what I write on this page
posted by Becca @ 11:29 pm
6 Comments:
Hey Becca. Wot r u on?
Aren't you meant to be WORKING? Love you too! Dr P. Millward adores this poem. It is all about poetry itself apparently and the way in which we ourselves construct childhood as adults. It asks the question; is poetry a true construction of reality? Much love x
Hi chuck. Who is Dr P. Millward when he`s at home then? + no I wasn`t meant to be working . Its called time off in lieu for working Tuesday evening. Poetry is little words that like each other steetheart. Lots of love and kisses from mwa xxxxx
Well look at you, Dr Dad, with your own thesis on the concept of poetry. Dr P. Millward - Peter to his friends was my favourite lecturer at Durham. When did you start writing in text language? Don't - it is vile! Love you though x
I think this my 4th favourite of all your poems. I have them all on a little chart. I have lots of little charts detailing aspects of your life. Some might consider this stalking. I like to think it shows I care.
A stalker who cares. Love it. At least I know that you would never hurt me..... I have a book containing all of your deeds. Last Wednesday's entry makes especially interesting reading. My 4th favourite thing about you is the expression you have on your face when you are typing. Love you x
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