waiting on the arrival of a friend who bought me the Saki cups from Japan.
Outside, shining Sun,
hipsters, I’m wearing ugly jeans.
Tainted nails, the bottle that broke,
my pencil case beside me,
games with words, people hide.
A strong cup of coffee, gentle breeze.
I wonder if they are who they say they are, happy excited.
Some people prefer to dominate conversations with idle chatter,
traffic passes, people say I’m gonna.
She doesn’t belong here,
the lady who passed,
her eyes darted, she came from the commission flats down the road.
Her expression said more than she needed.
I hunch, I cant help it, like her
that’s the scar, the price I pay
for being too far in and too far out.
If I was right handed my little finger wouldn’t hurt so much
when I put words down on paper.
No one cares about poetry
and everyone cares about wearing trendy thongs on a summers day.
We pretend it doesn’t hurt the inside of our feet,
between our toes.
People talk shit, they could help it,
but they don’t care for silence.
Just sounds, pet sounds.
I thought I saw a mouse pass out of the corner of my eye
but when I looked it was gone.
It wasn’t there.
Without a trace, again, without a trace.
Light passing, that’s all fashion is.
We all live, eat, shit and die.
All these artists and nothing or very little to justify their cause.
Just words, I’m still waiting.
Those are the three words that I find myself repeating
every time I put pen down to paper.
The chance to put pen down to paper without a cause.
I’ll read this to you later, you wont like it.
Perhaps you’ve already asked me how much longer it goes.
And I’ll tell you to go fuck yourself and then
I’ll read on. I’ll make you hear me.
You will hear me.
I’ll scream, I’ll shout or I’ll make you laugh.
Give you what you want so I can give you what I want.
More thongs, flip flippety flop.
Shutup bitch with your “crazy” story.
Do you even know what the words means?
People use words without effect,
They don’t really know the meaning of the words they use.
Exaggerations, stupidity, ignorance,
no respect for words.
Utter, utter, utter.
“Everyone is soooo free!” Ha!
At the next table the faux hippy who lives on daddy’s credit card
is telling the quiet man that he is free to make decisions.
What about the lady from the commission flats?
The one who didn’t belong here?
Is she too free to make decisions or are her decisions limited?
I cant hold the thoughts, I have so much more to say
but I cant cut out, tune out, hide from the constant pet sounds,
There is no way out, there is no exit.
Just some place where people like me
with hunched backs, with anger, with hurt
with overactive minds and under active integration belong.
Now is it too dramatic to put an end to the word outside?