Friends who steal things
Friends who don’t work
Friends, friends, there are no friends
Friends who think you’re an idiot to work
Friends who scab off their friends
Friends who talk endlessly about their lives
Friends who never tell you what they really think
Friends who love to be around
Friends who need you when they are lonely
Friends who forget you when they are happy
Friends who answer your texts sometimes
Friends who mostly ignore your texts
Friends who study at uni
Friends who work in call centres
Friends who can’t decide where their lives are going
Friends who are in love with people who don’t love them
Friends who are rejected
Friends who like strange music
Friends who think I’m boring
Friends who like the pub
Friends who need to bitch about each other
Friends who like a drama
Friends who love their animals
Friends who want to watch TV instead
Friends who can’t always be bothered
Friends who disappear
Friends who reappear
They are all my friends.
The small and fragile mind.
Not infinite, as one would wish.
Reading these poems
I am struck by how limited they are
My trite observations
All my poems really start to sound the same as each other
My limitations as a human
Are the limitations of my work.
Well, we always aim for greatness
But usually fall short.
I’m certainly no different there.
Today at work I did personal emails for 1.5 hours.
No one even busted me.
I can type very fast now.
Thought about emails unsent.
How the medium of email is shit
But the medium of spoken word worse
Managed to learn to use Microsoft Outlook
Even stick a flag on the occasional email
My status in the world is changing, shifting
What with the weight gain.
And being able to afford nice meals.
For every positive, there’s a negative.
The Bitching Hour
It’s dead on midnight
Here in bed
Feeling the accumulating layers of fat on my stomach
With the bedroom door shut.
At this juncture in time
I am perfectly content.
There are no others around for me to be pained by
No strained attempts to connect and be understood –
I can’t stand people.
So now you know.
Leave me alone, if you care.
And in this bitching hour
I am finally relinquished of all the needy souls
Who take up the day
With their constant demands, agendas and crap
Daily, I endure non-specific events that fail
To stick or stand out in memory
Days, weeks and years that may as well never have occurred.
Today, and what it consists of: emails and calls and texts and door knocks, housemates needing something,
Responding to trivial duties,
Other tasks requiring completion.
Burn my CDs,
Yes, take my nailpolish and money.
And I am forced to meet the dullards I encounter at their level
Their feeble mental level determined by a dull world
Parameters defined by their limited and boring natures.
And I am required to communicate
Cajole, manipulate, charm and persuade
And ultimately convince them of something or another
Basically that I care and understand.
I must survive in a hostile environment
And listen and attempt to care
About their lives
For Fucks sake
Is this what life is all about?
Nobody told me when I was a child.
I think it was a Tuesday
When we were at the café having coffee in our lunchbreak
Me and all the office ladies
I happened to mention that I was an artist,
And one of them said ‘Oh I just love the way she says that.’
And they all giggled amongst themselves.
I said ‘My days at this hole are numbered’
(And I still mean it,)
And they all just kept laughing.
I have never seen them all laugh so much at me
Or so meanly, and really enjoy it
And all get along like a house on fire.
And not one of them could actually look me in the eye.
And as for you, my little male co-worker,
You may dislike confessional art,
But I hate a disengaged
Pretending to have a clue.