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Poetry

Friends

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. 

Limited

  

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

Slightly upwards

What with the weight gain.

And being able to afford nice meals.

Jeeze.

For every positive, there’s a negative.

The Bitching Hour 

It’s dead on midnight

Here in bed

Alone

And Honestly

Thank fuck.

Feeling the accumulating layers of fat on my stomach

Peaceful.

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.

Workplace Relations

 

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

Pop-culture hating

Philistine snob

Pretending to have a clue.