words that i love the sound of.
.
assonance, equilibrium, perpendicular, hog, slut, giddy, listless, racquet, gimp, pedophile, click, lick, flick, theatre, tylenol.
‘waiting’ implies that i am wasting time in order to obtain a greater goal. yet, i am not.
yes, i sit here in this musty room with barbie pink wallpaper older than me and chairs that feel like they are eating away at my spine. there are magazines that tell me gossip that i forgot months ago and other people in the room who already feel like family. we dont like each other but we’re stuck in the same room and i occasionally glance around at the delicate mix of diseases.
there is a man who is a bona-fide hypochondriac, with his white mask strangling his face, his hand sanitizer that he constantly smears across his hands, and the “book of common ailments” resting beside him.
next to him is a man who was coughing at rapid rate that was being mentally calculated by the hypochondriac. his noise was worn away by an overuse of tissue and he constantly would turn towards the hypochondriac, blowing noisy germs all over him. eventually, the man in the mask moved two seats away, glaring at the flu ridden gentleman with a stare that could pierce metal.
then there is the single mother of two, who was shoving yellow trucks and stuffed bunnies at her children to avoid responsibility. you could tell she would have given anything to go back to the night of conception and said ‘no’ like all those youth aimed posters tell you to. but now she was stuck with two miniature twins who were squealing “how much longer mummy, how much longer…”.
i could see a man with acne as skin; he kept touching his oiled face and you could see that he had tried to hide himself by growing his mustard coloured hair long enough to wrap around his shoulders.
i didn’t feel sorry for any of these patients. they would get their fix of drugs and dose up on flu tablets, pimple cream and condoms. but i did feel sympathy towards the middle aged lady sitting aimlessly behind the reception desk. she wasn’t going anywhere and i could imagine the last thirty five years being a never ending hodgepodge of sneezes, fevers, limps, pokes, prods, the elderly, the young… all wanting to get better right now. she’d probably seen all the common sicknesses in the world and no-one had ever thanked her for taking the patients name and asking them to take a seat. she looked divorced by the hopeless glint in her eye, but i was just guessing.
despite my feelings towards this lady, i suspected i would turn out similar: my future goal didn’t expand past swiping groceries with a frown on my face at Woolworths.
i’d been working there for 26 years and was getting every single employee benefit imaginable. discounted groceries, my own locker, a specialized name badge, my choice of what register to use and even a minute portion of Woolworth shares. i guess i liked it there, the sheer lack of responsibility and the very appealing green checkered uniform. i had my friends there who i’d see outside of work at christmas parties but apart from that, i didnt know anyone in my town.
.
to be continued.
I want to be this man.
.
.
his thick legs clasped to his worn out denim like sausage mince trying to squeeze into its skin. his arms were infected by red scaling masses which, in the summertime, would weep underneath his white sweatshirt. the lucky viewers of this body could admire the fleshy yellow liquid leak through the cotton, leaving marks of his bodily liquid in a pattern of voiceless disgust. he walked with a limp, not because of an injury or ailment but because of his trunk-like thighs which would rub against each other in a sweaty fashion.
.
and beside him stood a girl as see through as a jellyfish.
im starting to realise that i know nothing.
.
my new challenge – write lots of poems.
starting right. now.
you can try too… if youd like. heres my poetry prompt, in case youre listening — use the word Pattern in the first line and/or the last line of your poem.
.
.
.
the pattern of your heart
is like a sky full of stars
mismatch me, mismatch you
ive never quite understood what you meant
when you said you loved me
you are a wonder and i am the beast
yet your heart is a string of words that doesn’t make sense
it’s not worth it
if i always end up
lying naked
underneath your kaleidoscope coloured heart.
savage gardens are gods.
.
.
remember that and you will be eternally happy.
yes.
“Men were eternal and God was death.”
i have an itchy back.
.
and i guess my hair isnt very nice today either.
but im pretty happy. and bored.
can those two thing co-exist?
i respect that boy who spends his days alone working towards the greatest piece of artwork that was ever created. but no one will see it, mr recluse. you will have no one to show. and once it is complete, you will have to drink cups of tea to soothe your nerves. you will sit and stare at that thing. the thing youve created. and you will hate it. you always have hated perfection.
thats why you hate me.
no, thats a lie. im not perfect. my legs are too long. and my eyes are too blurred. but why cant people just start fuckin believing that theyre perfect? just do it, okay. stop reading your meditation books and philosophy of life books.
JUST BE PERFECT.
it couldnt be that hard. and we wouldnt be able to ever doubt ourselves or worry about that HUGE pimple that is growing under our freckled skin.
.
“It was quite easy to be alive. All you had to do was be there, standing on the earth, breathing and staring vaguely at something. All the rest followed…”
.
Can you be what I stare vaguely at?
Please.
i feel nothing but how can i feel nothing?
how how how.
,
is this why people murder? to feel the neutral nothingness that follows.
NOTHING.
.
no, the capital letters still dont make the nothing something.
you can never make nothing something.
.
nothing.
everytime i have the urge to waste time, i think i shall abandon going on facebook and talking crap with people about what we just did together and i shall come on here and talk with myself instead.
Structured poem (CINQUAIN) .
.
Her dress
Worn only once
It cost a whole weeks pay
Now it’s hurled in the gutter
with her.
.
.
————————————————-
.
.
Still thinking of a title for this one.
.
I walk past
a man standing alert
staring out of a closed window
His right eye
swollen
and holding a faded shade of bruised red
His cheap business suit
worn away at the knees
He doesn’t move an inch
and his manner
aches of violence
I look back once more
And regret my curious decision
His mouth opens and I see his tongue
dripping with desire,
followed by a wink of his eye
I think of my mother
and brother
and all those who will miss me.
Once I am gone.
