I can let things go. Release them into the air like a butterfly; blow them away like a dandelion head. Words aren’t boomerangs, they aren’t sticks or stones or invisible forces like the arctic wind. They don’t come back and bite you. At least not if you’re holding them close.

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I remember Geography class. Springs becoming streams, streams becoming rivulets, rivulets becoming rivers, cutting through land like knife through butter; because they have to, an essential part of nature. Because in nature, some things have to get cut for the world to go on. And sometimes that thing is you.

People’s faces change when you start kissing them. It’s hard to explain, but they do. You don’t realise until you look at an old photo of them, and it’s the same lips, same eyes, but there’s no knowledge in them; no experience. People’s mouths change shape when you’ve been inside them.

I crossed a road without looking. Nothing happened- not a swerve, nor sound of a horn, no danger to me whatsoever. But I couldn’t help thinking- if disaster had struck, the bottle of wine, ready meal for one and pack of ibuprofen would have scarcely done my life justice.

Yeah I love you

An empty love

One with no meaning

Not tied to a feeling

Blind, plucked dove.

Floating. Unseeing.

Yeah I love you

If that’s what love means

And there’s no trap door

Nor any hidden scenes

Then I love you, yeah

If it’s just acting out

Then I wouldn’t doubt.

But if that’s love, there

What it’s all about

Then let’s be clear,

Does anybody truly care?

This is for me, is it? Just because it’s pink

Rounded sides no sharp edges, did you ever think

That maybe I don’t want the same as every fucker here

Maybe I have thoughts as well, loud and crystal clear

Maybe I don’t ascribe colour to objects

Through a chance assumption of sex

Personification has gone too far

Boundaries and lines criss-cross like a scar.

 

Because you may have assigned the sheep to white,

The leaves to yellow and green

But from where I’m standing, from my sight

I do believe I’ve seen

A whole array of crayons before me

A whole lot of empty blank spaces

So tell me who are you, sincerely,

To officiate on all these cases

 

So I can paint the star yellow if I want to

Or green or pink or blue

Because following reality can be fun

But fencing it around won’t do.

 

Tell me why I’m fed this shit

That plastic and buttons and microchips

Can replace a face in the slightest bit

And I’m not stuck at home, getting to grips

With why all my friends are names and pics

And little bits of text, humorous licks

And I scroll and scroll and that’s kind of it

How fun I seem is being willing to sit

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Show off my wit with the odd diatribe

Keep up to date, and know the facts

Stay up too late, then hear me wax

Lyrical on this subject I know nothing about

All cos I have a keyboard and a motor mouth

 

This hole is for speaking so why am I thrown

Into using these digits like mindless drones

My life’s now a series of zeros and ones

Text-speak slang and speaking in tongues

Has to be proof or GTFO

It’s Broadway, darling, it’s all in the show.

I’m told don’t remember, no, record-

For posterity, friends, or whenever you’re bored

To relive in flashbacks, snapshots, stored

For whenever you want, that’s your reward

For having your phone out like antenna

Being obsessed with your own agenda

It’s poisonous, toxic, oleander

But good for the goose, good for the gander.

 

Well I can’t grasp this. Can’t have that,

Walls covered in phony, posturing crap

I want frames and photos, memories man

Disagree? Do your worst, unfriend me. Damn.