I don’t particularly want to talk about you,
But I’m under strict instructions to do so
By my Pride of friends and family that parade
Your swollen, bloated head on pinnacles of honesty.
I would say that they are baying for your blood,
But in reality they are searching for your soul,
That soul you lost along your way.
I’m sure it must have existed once –
When you fell in love with the Power Rangers and called yourself Sam,
Or when you turned your first backflip and found your fierce calling –
It must have flipped with you.
But some time in your privileged and emotionally fettered life
You told it to go home because you were convinced nobody loved you,
And I am the fool who almost did and spent 2.5 years
Cradling a soul that wasn’t your own – one you had
Borrowed from a beggar, perhaps, stamping on his
Heart to close the deal.
And Satan wrapped you up in cotton wool and told you you were damaged,
While you listened to his whispers that no one else would hold you –
Maybe that’s why you decided to hold as many as you could.
Was it because you were abandoned by your mother that you fucked those other brunettes?
and was the pain of your adoption the justification for your deceit?
I remember your mouth would spill over with ugly,
Ugly lies, and we both know you cannot make something
PRETTY CLEAN with ugly.
Gradually your bullshit tasted like rainbows,
rainbows my stomach couldn’t stomach, and
I tried to force that borrowed soul into my own,
As you danced with the knowledge I thought no one loved me enough, either.
I was your prized possession – shiny on the outside and dark on the inside,
Much like that ring you gave me,
the image of your manhood – which, FYI, didn’t feel so magical,
(especially after it bent to the right).
You wanted everything your black-sheep fingers could stick to- familymoneyrespectlovemoney-
And I was your meal ticket.
I suppose I can hardly describe myself as intelligent after this.
Although now I can describe myself how I want, finally.
‘Kid’ you used to call me –
Turns out you were as just as selfish as my father.
But wait, here’s the punch line-
you Broke Up With Me
Because you were : “cutting out everything that isn’t necessary”
“focusing on my career”
And because I was: “losing me contracts”
“not listening to me”.
I was trying to listen but it was hard through the tears and the
Screech of your world turning on its axis away from me
To orbit “me”.
I’m embarrassed you ended it when I should have never let it begin,
And I’m embarrassed I swallowed you and let you sit on my heart.
But, Monster, at least I can say I don’t give up.
I don’t quit,
And I certainly didn’t fail.
Just now I know sometimes winning takes a failure for disguise,
And so I won’t slip up again.
In fact, I didn’t even let my entire self slip entirely into love with you
– which you knew, and hated –
So after my initial tears six days ago
That, and all my other, Puppy-induced panic attacks melted into relief.
You remember no one is more resilient than I,
And you are the weakest of them all –
Mirror mirror told me you failed your degree (the real reason you lost your contracts, no?)
And now you mute your Commonwealth dreams as you realise
You’re not quite good enough,
Just as you were never good enough for me.
I don’t particularly want to write about you,
But as I am- grow up, Tiny, and I wish you good luck,
God knows, you’ll need it.
As my grandmother daintily put: you’re just a glorified handyman.
And me? I’m a freely fucking poet.
There’s the truth, (as much as it hurt, I was never afraid of it), and
There’s it setting me free.
I’m done writing about you.