Own

I mean… I don’t mean to complain
But I guess lately It feels like I’ve dropped in your priorities
Like an old wooden beaded bracelet
Brought from an old gypsy stall
And handed down to you by a summertime lover
Once you found a way to fit me in
No matter the outfit or the weather
But I’ve fallen down the side of the bed
And to the back of your mind
You never really paid me heed since then

That was until you caught a glimpse
Of the girls who received my bracelets in summers past
Your eyes light up, I imagine like a housewife’s
Who’s discovered their fine china has a 4 figure worth
And suddenly you act like my new necktie
As you caress the base of my shoulders
Not unlike a fox skin you shoot the offenders a dead eye stare
They can’t second guess; is she wild or tamed?
Would she ward them off in heroic defence?
Or would the murderous intent of pride overtake her senses?

If I ever questioned your devotion before
I had no doubt that I was your man now

*Written For National Poetry Month 12/30*

Recollection (Prelude)

I’ve known guilt and then I’ve KNOWN guilt
But I couldn’t even begin to put the term into human tongue
When you tap my back, in the middle of 90’s britpop chants
And you greet me holding a gargantuan tome
Containing your photographic memory
Try as you might to rekindle a recollection within me
As you recall the times we strolled down your road arm in arm
I hate to break your heart twice over but it only brings static

I couldn’t say I have the foggiest
I don’t remember being enamoured with your frame before
Walking down abandoned docks, eating white chocolate magnums
Was that with you? With the blue bow and dolly shoes?
I can’t think of a face nor a name
Did we kiss by Dr.Chippys? Did we make love after the fireworks show?
Did you ever lie to me that Ollie Sykes could sing, by the river?
My pockets are overflowing with snapshots, but nothing to connect them

I’ll just have to take your word for it
Guide me with your palms and make me recall

*Written For National Poetry Month – 11/30*

The New Life

To throw away old childhood heirlooms
Those cob webbed covered conduits of nostalgia
Into the incinerator never to act as the gateway again

That’s exactly what your demanding
When you hold out your hand by the garden entrance
To pull me away from another month spent reminiscing

But what of all the loose ends?
The stories left unfinished like a figurine catalogue
My fair murderer she’ll be left wandering in the crib

Oh what concern is it of yours?
If they want to pacify themselves on old dish water
In the face of the new life

I’ve grown soft from the old life
Where once stood armour lies a one street to my heart
That’s before I consider all the new information fed to me

Different names to scream
During the tail end of the journey to the north street light
And to express gratitude to midst a flood of impulses

Different wounds to lick
When the horns sound from the capital signifying their boredom
It’s reached it’s peak before I could even get used to their pillows

Oh what concern is it of yours?
If they want to pacify themselves on week old cherryade
In the wake of the new life

*Written For National Poetry Month – 9/30*

Read the epilogue to this poem here:
http://thetartanprelude.tumblr.com/post/84360470482/the-new-life-epilogue

The Symbolism Of Silence

I think the public image of personal growth
Has been incorrectly portrayed in the confines
Of a catch up conversation between disconnected pen pals
And with it brings a very venomous drawback indeed

Oh it shows when I’m sat slouched in my chair like quicksand
Playing Glass Harmonicas with my coffee mug
Trying to pass of asking about the rotas at your work
As a deep, meaningful and interesting conversation

Like the ones we had 5 am outside the abandoned estates
Putting the world to rights, as we deconstructed and dissect
The flawed expectations of outdated mindests of all the grown ups
But now I struggle to find the words to ask how you are

The person I long to talk too they’re dead and gone
Do you agree? Do you think the same things about me?

We were lost souls in a sea of possibilities
Being barked at from every angle to breast stroke
But young lovers will always be content
With laying on their back and floating in the ocean

But now we’ve both straightened up and fallen in line
Did we lose it? The only thing that kept us nattering for hours?
Was our sense of anarchy the only thing that binded us?
Now our paths are off in opposite directions, the distance only grows

Did you forget how to give people that look in your eye
Or do you keep it on reserves just for the next one too see?

*Written For National Poetry Month – 8/30*

Our Activity

The clock strikes around 40 minutes past 4
And so comes to end another shift as the canvas
For comrades to project their insecurities onto
Being born with a flawed blueprint, it’s the perfect excuse
Oh lucky me I’m to be greeted with an offering of h2o
Delivered from the heavens above personally

I know it sounds surreal, but their was something sweet
About being greeted with the biggest smile
Clutching your brand new set for handcuffs
It brings me right back from the soaked walk home
Shall we play cops and robbers for tonight?
Get the toppings and play DIY chef in the kitchen?
Put on the body suits and go a round of play fighting?
Or take a trip to the green in just your skirt?

I was never good to expressing myself with words
I can’t think of sentence that begins to describe
How good it feels to have a life in my life
Who can forgo all sense of verbal communication
No misunderstandings, No excess of words
Any reassurance for your daily allowance
You got in excess from our bodyflow
The only time I’m understood

And now I’m stationary in my room
Gathering moss on my flesh
Even if their words were never true
And they were planning a getaway
For the next day
Just a night to partake in our little activity

*Written For National Poetry Month – 7/30*

Thick (W.I.P)

After our friends fuck off for a fag break
We find ourselves standing side to side
With our backs to the receding wallpaper
Under the second hand Maplin spotlights
It highlights the dread in your golden eyes
No matter how many times you lick those lips
You can never reach out and claim what’s rightfully yours
You can never let a good thing just be a good thing

You stare down at your feet, looking quite forlorn
You lament how they used to call you thick
The kind of girl that couldn’t solve 2 x 4
While stuck in the middle of a Casio showroom

I know you’d rather pass a kidney stone
Then to hear about how your the apple of my eye
But god every second I see you stuck in the dumps
It sucks away my spirit like strawberry milkshake

You stare down at your shoes, like I hit a trigger
You recall how they used to call you thick
The kind of girl that receives the sniggers
While stuck in the queue at the cafeteria

Please listen to the gospel that I’m shouting
Stop using what the dregs used to say
As an excuse to not shoot for what your wanting
I’m on my knees, please baby just embrace me!
I want to tickle your toes in the bathtub
Feed you strawberries by the lakeside
Trace circles on your palm during the book club
Turn you into a god when the confidence has died
Feel you hold my arm when your overcome with fright
To see you stamp your feet when I don’t pick up the slack
Kiss you on the head and make-up after a fight
Gnaw on your neck while you leave slashes on my back
Please darling I’m fucking begging you now
Just listen to tremors coming from my chest
Put aside all them nasty scowls
And just fucking accept me for everything I am

Before I start to grow callous
And my heart turns into dust

* For National Poetry Month – 6/30 *

A Pack Of Mayfair By Any Other Name

Never you dare judge a book
By it’s tatty #yolo hoodie
And two sizes too small discount jeggings
These are the teachings of mine mother
Oh Kerrinequia-Jane-Willow Faith
They always misjudge your radiance
When they hear though the grapevine
You took that bottle of cola from the cantine
And took yourself to heaven in the bushes behind smokers
And they think they somehow know you
But I know behind the scales under your eyes
The gob splattered on the streets like breadcrumbs
And screeching Charlie XCX as you walk home
Lies a heart of gold, waiting to come out
I see it when you kiss your pet staffy
When you cry after dropping your new iPhone
When you tear the hair off a bystander
For daring to eye up your mans new Reebok’s
Oh what must I do to get you sat on my lap?
On the curb outside of the corner shop
And stealing my nuggets to get some fags
Smokin’ them all before mummy gets back
Cos I hear your fella’s in the dog house
For dealing in front of Go Banana’s again
Thank the skies above, now’s my chance!
To swoop in like a seagull to a discarded bag of chips
I’ll run my fingers though your faded ruby locks
Pushing all the dandruff to the centre of your scalp
Come on babe lets put these fingers to good use
I heard they left the disabled toilets unlocked again

*For National Poetry Month – 5/30*

An Attempt With The Dating Scene In Colchester

I’m really interested in hearing about your favourite TOWIE moment
I’m really interested in hearing about how much you hate your manager
I’m really interested in hearing about your unique reasons
Of why the latest American Hollywood series is ‘tops’

I didn’t think you’ve heard off any activities to get your heart burning
I didn’t think you’ve heard off any song to evoke a feeling inside
I didn’t think you’ve heard off anything to catch your interests
Outside of reality show tidbits to fill the silence at the water cooler

Of course you look lovely tonight
Of course you look pretty tonight
Of course you look gorgeous tonight
Cos’ you all look so similar

What do I think of your personality?
What do I think of your personality?
What do I think of your personality?
I can’t say I spotted one

Sulking all on your own
Leaning by your skull
On the promotional material
For NVQ 1 graduates in Albeton live

Seeing all the chickens in this coop
Clucking the same old meme’s
Bragging about taking the same old drugs
But look at them leaning on each others chests
Yeah, must be nice…

There’s no point in fighting fate
In fighting the inevitable
There’s no migrating with the herd
No integrating with the school

And if you could take back
A pretty young thing back to your pad
Would it be worth the taxi fare
If conversation dies after you offer a cup of tea
The next morning

*For National Poetry Month – 3/30*

Shackled (W.I.P)

thetartanprelude:

Another Wednesday night spent in solitary confinement
With the soulless drones that regulate the beer stained stools
Clutching my nectar with one hand
Sinking my fingers in L’Oreal tinted forests with the other
It’d be around this time I’d of gotten your call
Bet all our wages in on branded mental…

Oh hey, this was the poem I preformed tonight with words in front of real humans, shit was fucking scary man! Went down surprisingly well for a more soppy one 😀

*For National Poetry Month – 2/30*
I WROTE IT WITH MY WORDS AND TONGUE IT COUNTS

Shackled (W.I.P)

If That’s How You Feel

I can’t say it doesn’t hurt
When it dawns on me I’m not the first thought of the day anymore
I can feel the stress of a stress relief weighing you down
As the distance between us only grows
Even when at arm’s length from each other
When you consider; locking fingers through suburban shortcuts
In competition to scrapbook filling crawls through the neon
It doesn’t take a philosopher to propose the theory
That your eyes don’t illuminate the dance floor
When you get a little love note form me, not anymore

If that’s the way you feel
Then hey that’s how you feel
I can’t change the way you feel
There’s nothing I can do about how you feel

I’d hate to start playing the blame game, as a way to cushion the blow
I don’t wanna call you a liar or that say you were untrue
But I’ll say you had to be exaggerating just a tad
I know it’s easy to carried away with a fresh out the box muse
To liken lazy days, tying our limbs together like shoelace knots
To the celestial phenomenon that blesses our skies every millennium
I bet you thought I was just getting carried away
I only wish that were true and that I didn’t mean every word

But hey if that’s the way you feel
Then that’s just how you feel
I can’t change the way you feel
There’s nothing I can do about how you feel

I bet even if the circumstances changed
And a blossom of blanks paraded your cache
You still wouldn’t feel a thing for me
That’s just the way they all feel

*For National Poetry Month – 1/30*