Frank Ocean > The Weeknd

(N.B. Wish we could all brag about being ” that nigga with the hair, poppin’ pills, fuckin’ bitches and livin’ life so trill” but some of us have to pay the bills to see the sun rise one more time, and as if glorifying ecstasy hasn’t been done before, ugh. I just wanna feel the pride Ocean’s mother felt when he got his Grammy).

Run that mouth into the ocean.
I used to have these values,
They bleed into the sea.
Rubbing cocaine on your gums n’ teeth.
Pretending my ex still loves me.

But watch the world drown and of course,
3 rolls of parma violets later,
I’m dragging myself to L12 at 3 am hearing somebody sing “Can’t Feel My Face”
For the fourth time this week
And I think I’m sick.

I put Frank on because A. His hair’s not trying to be something its not.
and B. I like stories and truths and fantasies
And not singing about feeling sorry for yourself.
Meanings of RnB,
That’s why I say
Frank Ocean > The Weeknd.

But trust, none of that actually matters in this poem
I just wanted a title that sounded genuine to this generation
Because if I had called it “The Fresh Green Hills of Yorkshire”
And put a gif up of a landscape
They wouldn’t have looked, so y’know.

I did give The Weeknd a try though.
But somebody should pass a law which prohibits the use of the word “trill” in songs.
Back to how I feel.
The values rolling into the tide, the vowels spewing the foam,
The emotions curdle and I kiss the sand,

I brush his arms with the syllables of every wave rocking into the coves,
But where’s the absinthe to blow away the memories,
Because nothing else works on me, and say what you like,
Its dangerous
And we need it, Frank drinks it in ‘Pyramids’. I love his sweatband.

Nobody can blow up squares or inject drugs harder than some of the Fine Art students I know,
“What if my mother came over?”, mate, she’ll join in.
I want 3 mugs of green tea, a labrador and a bag of sugared almonds to get me through this flu
All the while the Atlantic coast smothering my ankles with its saliva.
Teeth gnawing.

I remember when all I had was my mother,
And she dropped me into her pool of love and I got brushed into the car
And swept away under the Moon and somewhere far from responsibility
I grew up under a rainbow where childhood never died,
For rainbows to form, it has to rain somewhere.

And my Dad gave me his word
And I mine, that all Earth has to do is show me the way
And somehow the bouncers’ll let me into paradise.
I write and the words bubble and I drink them like poison,
Hearts melt like butter, I stutter at the breeze carrying his smiles

He brushes past in the air
And for a while I am distracted until the night pulls in
And so the tide rubs it salt onto my gums
And so the flat mates rub cocaine onto their wounds
And so the weekend ends and there are oceans of absinthe to drown in,

I am a Fresher and there’s nothing fresh about this experience,
so it becomes a party, soured with separation anxiety, and a distaste for Weeknd lyrics.

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I Can’t Give This Poem A Title

(NB. Logic I find is probably where humans feel the need to detach themselves and become objective in their approach to things in life, and my answer to that is that its unnecessary. I’ve been at university for 3 weeks and my A Levels literally don’t matter anymore, I’m not even kidding, feel inclined to disagree).

You turn the tap on,
Hot water, lather up in bubbles,
Too hot, where’s the cold?
Make it cold.
Make it ice. Frozen to the artery.

Some people are born with icicles for bones.
And their heart’s cold pulp, glaciers in their brains.
Tell em’ to fall in love
And they’ll refuse the words like God’s existence.

Tell yourself that you should go to Cambridge
And spend your days referring to people below yourself as the ‘common man’
We do it for our middle class wits
And our ice age world,
Pick up the phone and isolate yourself on Instagram.

Nobody’s listening, darling.
So what do I have to say to somebody like you?
Can you pick up a pen and write a poem
About how much it hurts to heave the air into your lungs,
To anchor yourself to the soil
But the world is being dragged out from underneath your feet.

Try to talk but you can’t,
You have a thousand cherry stones in your mouth
And you lack the confidence to spit em’ out.
Poor you,
Objective with your 3 A*s and not much left to go on,
I love your wisdom,

Riddle me this.
That when you cover yourself in your 13.5 tog duvet every night
And Mummy’s put the phone down to make a roast dinner
Do you choose to wash away your feelings about the one person you love
Off like watercolour?

Who’s your canvas, who’s going to paint you?
Your life was painted a primary colour,
And nobody cares for casual blue,
I want to start seeing the cerulean in you.
You don’t feel the clouds drift over your skin during the day,

You don’t stop to appreciate,
The Sun on your back, heat as hard as though God were stubbing his cigarette butt in you.
You’re his ashtray.
You think poetry’s all about “the morning dew on the grass and lemons in your basket”
But its actually about HIV and prostitutes drinking apple juice at 2 am.

You think I could care less about my exams,
Oh dear, my CV’s just not good enough for somebody,
Dog eat dog, well I’m a wolf,
I’ll devour you.
I’ll squeeze you like a toothpaste tube,

Vomit your minty fresh grades all over my sink,
I’m scrubbing out your words from my flesh,
Honey I won’t do my best,
You don’t deserve it,
Wanna come round for just Netflix?

We all want to be powerful,
But I wield it with my tongue and I whip it into your faces,
If it was really all about the money
I’d be off to Cambridge living my bog standard life too,
I wouldn’t be dissing and kissing and drinking and “sleeping about”,

Wishing I was 1000x better than I am now,
Wishing my material was good enough for The Rialto (HAHA)
Wishing I would one day be good enough for The New Yorker (HAHAHA)
Wishing one day Meryl Streep would read my work and make some philosophical quote about much she loves me,
(Now that, I do want)

But I spend my days putting this up for free,
Wiping the dick off my mouth,
Trying to taste him, remembering what its like to be in love again,
Reminding myself my Nana’s ill still,
And how she loves me less now, less than her pills.

And if I didn’t have wordpress they’d be trailing the depths of my diaries,
I don’t care if you read them,
Walk into my room and throw yourself into it,
I would say work hard and get your A*
But what the hell does anybody who’s started Year 12 at Bolton School care,

We’re all just too scared to hand the report paper home to our parents,
And some of you will get a new car for smoking weed on week nights (as so many of my year did)
And don’t give me the bullshit about “I’m doing this for me”
You’ve been conditioned to think that making money is all you really need,
My answer,

Well,
Go ahead and lose yourselves.
Come back at the end of your life on your deathbed
And tell me you wish you’d make a couple extra zeros on your cheques,
Or that you’d fallen in love harder with someone who wasn’t on a contract,

That what the world needs is more Vuitton
And less love,
And the belief that our icicle bones won’t thaw
Whilst we believe what the government tells us
And that nobody really saw 9/11 coming,

And that all Muslims believe in ISIS,
And that Labour left the country penniless
and that the Conservatives really give a shit about your Daddy’s money,
and our economy and austerity and fidelity to the taxpayers of Britain
It curdles my blood just to think about it,
But suck it up through a straw,

This is my homemade soup,
And you’re about to drink,
And I won’t have anymore of it,
I’m angry damn it,
HOW MUCH DO YOU LOVE YOUR LOGIC?

Strange isn’t it,
The way we stick shards of ourselves into our savings accounts
And promise the numbers’ll get bigger, better,
And we won’t be making curly fries in the oven forever
For post-drunk nights out,

And you know how important you are,
Shaving the stars into your eyes,
Cosmic galaxies for you to find,
Drop you into the oceans,
And realise,

You’re more than this brain, this body, this £65 A-Line skirt from Topshop.

Turn the cold water off.

Go be vulnerable. Disarm yourself, dictionaries and guns don’t help.

Wear you naked.

Girlfriends

(NB. I belong to somebody. I can’t diss anybody without dissing myself, I put myself in danger).

I do.
Well I do, I do very early in this relationship very much indeed.
You know its the pizza boxes left over from the Co-op
And finding your head on my chest
That makes me a girlfriend, I’m somebody’s, y’know.

I don’t need it,
Wait, what, do I need it,
Do I need these organs swelling with vulnerability,
Its futile I swear, well somebody should hang me,
Somebody should hang us,
I’m one of these girlfriends dedicating to living, thinking, breathing him.

I put myself up in the air, I wave like a flag
And it’s all white, it’s all white,
Do you remember the time that we first looked at one another
I can hardly remember the start
she said you liked me and I didn’t like you back
And it was futile, it was pointless,

Now my chest’s hammered to your lips,
Now I know how you sleep,
If I had to make the oceans disappear then I would,
And if you flooded my world with your love
Then I’d be blessed and I’d be dead,

I’m a girlfriend and its my job to get so jealous
That I grow worms within my ribs and they start to eat away at my bones
Its my job to suffocate myself so much with possessiveness
And mistrust that it kills me,
Its my job to grow some balls and to get the fuck over it
And to treat everybody like a threat,

I do not have to apologise to you,
Somebody so as easily corrupts me,
Bitch I’m angry,
You love your liquor and your friends, but do you love me?
Course you do I’m just so hurt by own hands that I don’t love myself
And if I can’t love myself how can I believe anybody else does,

I’m one way, then I’m the next,
I’m your best friend and your favourite double standard,
I’m a double message, I’m a double D,
and just cos I take your D doesn’t mean nobody else will
Somebody should hang me, somebody wants me,
And its a shock horror fact,
That when I drag my tongue across your skin in bed
That you shiver under my eyes

I’ll knife you in bed with my stares
And kill you with kisses
Its all in the name of love that I do this for you,
And its not meant to be so intense
But what if I told you that these feelings are as old as my damned soul
And I’ve sold you and I to the sky

And I wanna drift with you, alone,
I wanna buy candy floss from the clouds and pretend we’re the only humans to exist
I wanna live on a star,
I want my own planet and build a theme park the size of Europe on it
Girlfriends,
Somebody should noose em’
My ex best friend can’t live without hers
I’m my ex best friend,
I’m a loss to understanding

That I’m young and I’m broke
And I’m a privileged white girl with first world problems
With only Daddy to blame
We’re both passionate people,
Maybe that’s why I feel deep this way,
And that’s why when I step into the windows of your eyes
You bathe me in everything you’ve ever given to me,
You’ve given me everything
And its guilt as wrecking as this I find
To tell you “He’ll be just fine”
But what’s best for him is me, what’s best for me is him
And I tie us to the mast
And look out over our ocean, over our world,
Somebody pass me the bong I need to smoke out my problems
These issues are bubbling like fish inside my organs

I was not high when I wrote any of this,
It takes me a second to realise it
But how much more of the scarred over wounds can I take being jabbed at
Oh it aches.
It aches so much.
That somebody took me from being a girl,
And made me a woman because of it,

And that’s why we go back to the pizza boxes
And the DVDs left out of their cases
And our clothes on the floor
And wishing that somewhere we’d be reunited in that same hall again,
Do you see what I’m saying
Its futility, vulnerability
It proper scares me

And the worst part is
We don’t know what we actually want
We cling onto you because you’re the closest thing to finding out
And if we lost you
Well,
We’d probably lose ourselves.

Don’t Pretend

(NB. After a while, I get exhausted of heaving my heart into his mouth. And I do it anyway).

don’t pretend honey,
taking your heartstrings and strangling me around the neck with them
I rubbed myself down in the baby oil
and posed on a balcony in a halterneck
don’t pretend you love it,
don’t pretend you love me,

who’s ballin’ up the weed,
I am,
don’t pretend you don’t wanna fuck her,
don’t pretend that the world’s in your hands,
don’t pretend you’re my man,
I swore off reading the Bible at breakfast

I rubbed myself down in the cocoa butter
and you pushed me up against the bathroom door
and took me for a spin on your lips
who kisses skin as copper as this when you can’t touch it
when the beach is miles away
and we don’t pretend that we’re stuck in other parts of the world

don’t pretend with me,
I’m that girl who needs the sunshine to breathe and your freckles
to tattoo me
don’t pretend, just don’t say that I couldn’t hold you down
and glow all over you
its raindrops in the morning and sweat in the evening
we’re covered in each other’s tears

I don’t want to leave you,
I don’t want reason to go from the place
or to pack up my suitcase, I don’t want the smell of us to dissipate
your voice as deep as the ocean
your eyes as thoughtful as the sand
I’ve no reason to be caught in your throat
and instead of choking,

you pretend that you’re bonding to me,
I sit in your throat like a ball of hardened honey,
I smoke the air, I smoke my body,
don’t pretend that what I’m saying isn’t true,
when somebody loves you this hard
and the grey in you soaks me through

when I wrap my legs around your torso
I have the entire world to myself
and I pretend that this is us,
that forever’s starting now,
that I fell in love and sponged the seas dry with words
I say don’t pretend we’re sleeping in the same bed,

but let’s pretend.

Change

Well it’s tough shit to be this much of a dick,
Wipe your tits and throw caution to the wind
Cos love comes out of you like piss
And people change where the tide moves em.
Feel them.
You’ve every right to be at university,
Lemme say it quite comfortably,
You’ve got to give the impression you’re cool so get drunk
Because you’ve inhaled all the world’s characters into your lungs
And it’s difficult.
None of this change is wilful,
The mornings on the high street and the taste of last night’s kiss,
This is a hard life,
Life isn’t fair, and it comes at you in spades
And threatens to burn your family in your sleep,
I no longer eat,
I’m that body just breathing
And feeling no difference.
I do myself no favours,
I let emotion corrupt my stomach
Like vomit corrupts flavour
I take the time to savour the opportunity
But it’s not working out for me,
And I could change,
I’m angrier,
I’m harder,
I’m tougher,
Here’s my thick skin
It’s chaving
And I’m chasing something better than my dreams.
Thing is I just don’t know what.
I blow hot
I blow cold
The stress is making me old,
Today has to be better
Mum I’m feeling so under the weather,
I’m trying to deal with leaving Cornwall,
One foot in one uni, another in the other,
Trying to fit in living at home cos it hurts too much right now to live alone,
Finding somebody to pay for my tuition
Because the government just won’t listen
And students are finding it hard to make a living,
Tryna deal with the conversion of Ben
From being joined at the hip
To miles and miles away dealing in different business
And overcoming the hate when he drinks surrounded by other kids
And I go to bed in tears and he gets younger in years
I have no clue anymore,
I haven’t got an idea of what I want
Or where I need to be,
I want the arms and hugs of people best in company
And next weekend when I see him it’s make it or break it,
I’ll either still love him
Or can’t do it, it’s tearing me in bits,
Because having all of your life ahead of ya is hard
And people tell you that
But then tell you to live in the moment
And one day I’m going to be something,
I swear of it, and if I’m not I will make sure of finding another way around it,
I’m gonna love myself,
I’m gonna tell myself it’s worth it
And fuck love or change if it’s getting in my way of finding true happiness
Truth is I just don’t know what my kind of happiness is yet
But I like to think if I could turn the clock back
To being a kid and glad
Of just sunshine and orange juice
And my brain being soundproof of self-hatred,
That I would be the best
And moving down to Aberystwyth
Might sound like a good idea at the time
But I would sound unbelievably pathetic,
And all I really want is my mum and dad,
My childhood,
For him to stay in love,
Being 18 is complicated
Because you’re still a kid,
Even though the world’s telling you you’re an adult, so grow a pair Lyds
I feel bitter,
And don’t trust anyone with my heart,
I take drugs to make myself better
And for the rest of it I starve,
But seeing two magpies every morning
Makes the day feel more promising
I’ve no friends,
None left to love,
But “LYDS YOU’VE GOT ALL YOU COULD EVER WANT”
Dry these tears of a clown,
I’m proud to be privileged and not feel like I have it all,
I’m gonna do what I’ve gotta do for me,
I’m going to deal with change like chewing stones
But eventually I’ll swallow
Eventually this shit will get better
It always has to,
And as much as I’m exhausted,
I know what I’ve had to forfeit,
But give me a taste of this new world and be good to yourself, girl,
That at the end of the day he’s just another boy who you’re crazy about
And they’re your parents who’ll support you no matter what,
And Hannah and Swathi will love you,
Honey you’ve got yourself the lot,
And adjust and in time it’ll come soon enough,
That change can be great and change can be shit,
But throw yourselves into it,
And love it,
That if it’s meant to be it’s meant to be,
And if not you’ll one day get over it,
So pull yourself up and let you shake you by the collar,
This is life,
This is change,
And nobody,
And nothing,
Stays the same.

i know you’re gonna fall out of love with me, so I just

go cold
you know when pluto became a discontinued product of our solar system
well that’s who I became
when you started to grow up

i know you’re not gonna want me one day, so I
have to lock my car from the inside
and the keys are in here with me
i’m not coming out of here

you’ll meet a cuter chick and there will be a new poetry collection
there will be slit wrists
and there will be shower rails wet from my blood
but don’t worry yourself…

“i’m scared of what people can do to me”
that’s because of what they already did,
and its no use feeling sorry for yourself
or talking about it

because its never going to make the skeletons crumble
in your wardrobe
someday you’re going to fall out

and it will be, it will be
and someday you’ll say you’re in love with what you had,
not what you have,
the glimpses of late night weddings

where we’re the only ones invited
and the moon’s our vicar
someday you’ll take the stars
you’ll take the sun

And this woman’s body will live on the empty land
and in some crater you’ll take a peek
and see the withered bag of limbs she’s become

i know you’re not gonna want me one day, so I
must be the shield, not raise it
i must lose myself like keys

like beads of sweat, lose myself as water does
so maybe there won’t be slit wrists
or wet bloody shower rails

there won’t be massacres
i won’t have my heart and head blended into a heartache smoothie
but know the loss

has to be this
a child beating it’s mother
the cliffs breaking down in my ribs

my mouth filled with toad poison
injected with every bruise god has ever felt
injected with every wound satan has licked

when it gets to that point
i’ll know, and i’ll have been wound up into a knot
and i will be pluto

i know i’m not forever to you
and if you ask me about my life or what its been for
even when you’re gone

i’ll say it was all for you.

First Term

(NB. Somebody important once told me, “Not everyone is ready to move out at 18”. Who is really ready to leave childhood? Who, being provided with money and family and being loved, is ready to provide?)

‘Every man to himself’.
Well I’ll bet, the Tories hit it.
Student or not,
I’m struggling. I worry.
This new life,
Its torn me apart like drapes.
And I’m the cookie that’s crumbling.
Let chips fall where they may.

I used to make friends sitting by the swimming pool
In places like Tunisia,
But its no longer a holiday destination since ISIS.
I have had heat sew itself into the beads of sweat
And sunlight stuck in my pupils,
Tell me Bolton School,
Am I excellent enough for you? Or was this new life not good enough for you,
Should I be pimping myself out on the streets
Or freeing out shards of my heart to WordPress
Or selling my soul to making this career of mine work,

They say poetry’s not in the money
But I’m after the paper in books, its the fire in me
That’s spreading flames over my tongue
And its catching onto the ends of words,
I write, and my biscuit body is burning,
I’m hard enough now that nobody can crack me in two.

And in this new life,
I do not make friends just by sitting at the pool,
I have to die twenty times,
Smile at the same person 40 times in a row in the same place,
Initiate, speak, wrap the small talk around my teeth,
Kiss them a compliment.
Say I’m something that I’m not.
Wear Gucci at school.
I’m a chicken, and humans are pulling out my feathers.

I can think of a few liars who have fake Gucci at school.
And fake Emerald rings.
That pretend they know about things,
With research bagged in their brains.
As I lock my safe,
I dash the parents and the dog and the kitchen table and the A Levels
Somewhere deep into that hole.

It’s Sunday.
And I’m alone.

To Feel Accepted

(NB. For those new Year 7s, whatever they’re doing. And for the Year 7 Me, who would know).

Square peg, round hole.
What if everybody were a round hole?
And I was a dodecahedron peg.
It’s grinding when you can’t draw a line in the sand.
Hold hands with your man,
Tell him your glad,
When you’re a dodecahedron peg.

And by and by the smiles I paint run dry,
But one day there’s not going to be any paint left.
It grills me like a pork chop,
I’ve not got a lot,
And it burns my skin when the people I meet are botched
With accepted souls
As normal as round holes.

I’ve got strong legs,
I stand on my own,
I can cut the waves, handling the force is easy,
Its the balance that chokes me.
I’m sure there’s an equation out there to feeling accepted.
Where humans look past the big nose and the strange dress
And kiss your weirdness,

That’s the meaning of feeling accepted,
Some kids,
They make daisy chains alone.
Take them home,
Only mother will appreciate them.
The grass is tall, the magpies are in twos,
The conifers are singing and the winter bites,

The tidal waves do get stronger
And the beginning of every academic year
Means they’ll be another new dodecahedron peg.
They’ll try to fit rounded mentalities.
But somehow it just doesn’t work.
I’m not sure why,
Or how dislike materialises.

But I know its the big nose, the many sides
To the shape of personality I have.
To feel accepted takes intuition like no other,
The kind of sixth sense a mother
Would know.

To and fro
From the groups,
From the days spent in a library cloaked in self-sorrow,
Loneliness,
Its hard to feel good when you don’t buy dresses from Topshop.
When you don’t look like a shop assistant from Hollister.
Its hard to grow old being a dodecahedron.
Or a polygon, or a triangle,

Where the world changes its fashion
In some desperate attempt to look cool
To feel accepted is to dash away your originality
And being “true to yourself” is the kind of advice given by celebrities
Who’ve sold their souls to make it,
And it isn’t the kind of advice that anyone can take,
On a spherical planet that tells you how you should be made.

To feel accepted is to wear Hunters,
To pay money for names.
To feel accepted is to dye your hair
Get a bunch of tattoos, piercings,
To look different but be the same,
To go to Leeds festival, or Creamfields, or one abroad, any of them
To marry yourself to drugs or to alcohol,
To go to Malia, Ibiza, go to Sankeys,
To fit the round hole.

Every school will tell you that.
Everyone will tell you that.
The world will tell you that.

Boyfriends

Somebody should noose em’.
My ex best-friend can’t handle life without hers,
Tell me girls,
When did you get so attached?
When did you stop caring and throw down the hatches
And despair at your friendships,
All for a little droplet of this, all for a little droplet of sex?

You know something,
Here’s why she can’t shake the wine out of her hair.
Her boyfriend put his kisses there.
And when mistakes were made, she’ll throw shade
And pull out her diary for a show.
“Here’s when you messed up Lyds, and here’s another time,
And here’s another one”.

Too bad I’m too long gone.
Boyfriends.
Oh they damage things, the tie her and him have is so sweet
And yet how can this be so bitter in my teeth,
Can I ever be happy for you,
When he dealt the cards and when I drew
I had nothing to play for?
I fold.

Y’know, your simple-mindedness is getting old.
I’m tired of talking about contemptuous crap. Recent purchases on Amazon,
“OMG WHERE DID YOU GET YOUR PURSE FROM?”
Get real, I want to talk about where’s God come from and have real talk,
I get tired of not being able to have a conversation.
Sometimes I lose direction with you,
Here I was, lying asleep, until my brain went POP!
And I began to feed,
Off the recent damage I’m trying to delete.

I cannot offer Britannia and anal sex,
I cannot buy you in with cocktails and go condom-less,
I cannot take you in my arms and turn you on, toss you,
Like coins and light switches.
I am not an experiment.
I don’t care for anal beads, plugs or scissoring each other.

Is that so hard to believe
When I’ve been jumping from man to man begging him to promise me the world?
You’ve got a boyfriend
And its stinking the place up like your bad breath from his tongue,
You’re sticking my fists together,
And I’m ready to throw one at your jaw.

Tell me girls,
Is he really worth it?
When you can’t be fully free, without Mummy getting you on birth control,
Without Daddy wanting to burn his body at night time,
Without your friends feeling lonely and insecure,
I can’t imagine the sadness you have to go through
When you try to act adult and cool,
On date night.

I’m going to put you down because I can.
You put a pedestal on your man.
Shame him, treat him like shit,
Create an argument and craze him hard till he loses his wits,
And he’ll always apologise and you know he’ll never leave you alone,
But bitch, you still ignore him so you can feel in control.

And yet he dominates your world like a pandemic.
You’re ill.
You can’t find it in your swollen heartbeat to be entrusted with my secrets,
You have to tell him,
It is never understandable,
Just because he is your ‘Boyfriend’,

‘Boyfriend’ or not,
I don’t know him.
You think you can switch these palms and I won’t know who’s done it?
You think that its a happy mistake my Tarot cards tell me you’re a bitch?
It’s half 3 in the morning
And I am so fucking resentful.

That after 16 years its me drowning in the Sambuca just to impress you.
I don’t feel loved anymore,
I don’t think you see yourself and you’re not gorgeous,
I swear.
Your manners, your hair,
Your dress,
It’s all about him.

Whenever you’re in trouble
I drop whatever I’m doing
And here I am to help you.
Too bad when I’m hurting you sit there bubbling with no responses
Like your fat old goldfish.
How hard is it?
To just throw an arm over my shoulder and hold me,

How hard is it just to try?
You mess up, nobody cries.
Everybody still thinks you’re Prissy Perfect with straight As,
I came to tell you today,
That its not about what you know,
Its about WHO you know,

And it looks like humans apparently “exhaust you”
Good luck at uni then.
Tell me girls,
When you did get yourselves so attached,
None of you can get him unlatched
Off your collarbones,
I smell his aftershave on your cheeks,

And its your new scent of the week,
Of the month, of the year,
Its becoming real clear
That when your friends can’t hold your secrets
As though those things were sacred,
To you,
She acts like a fool and tells him before she gets in the mood

To blow his lead pipe.
Who loves you anymore?
Not I.
I can’t get the stench of the “New You”
Out of my nose,
People change, I know,
Doesn’t mean I like it.

And I knew this was coming way before she knew it,
This bitch knows I’m psychic.
I know girls my age,
They twist shit,
Arguments over iMessage,
Put your iPhone down and ring the guy,
Act like you’re not in a virtual relationship,

Oh wait, sorry,
You met over Tinder? Well that’s fucked it.
I spit at you.
Man I try, I tell Ben I’m not gonna cry,
I sure as hell won’t make him number one in my life,
God knows only my Mama could take that spot forever.

But these ‘Boyfriends’…
They change women. Manipulated,
By a person tugging on your heartstrings,
Puppeteering it around Blackpool Pleasure Beach
Buying your heart candy floss and chips on the pier,
Feeling this alive,
Then going home to tell him you saw him throw a stare at the waitress at Frankie’s & Benny’s

Well I for one,
No longer care.
For these “Boyfriends”,
Not when she’s the least trustworthy person in the world I know right now.
Second, actually, only to my uncle.
Since I left school I’m chewing everybody’s flesh, and it tastes good,
Didn’t you know I put the ‘bit’ in ‘bitch’,
And took it to a limit where I’m supposedly “Out of Line” (we’ll get to who said that in Personal Problems, Six)

I can’t live with the air strangling me,
Where trust is only valid if the person forgets you told them something private nowadays,
You are not my destiny,
I am, I drive myself, I’m not in the passenger seat,
Hand me the car keys now!

Shedding tears over a fella,
Feelings are what I write for Liv,
But don’t come for him if he’s telling you you’re not worth it,
Some of us gots to stop expecting more stuff from guys when we’ve already uncrossed our legs.
Its just because sex is worth an hour with you
And I’m not saying for every guy its true,

But when they’re young for the most part its all they ever wanna do.
And you’re manipulated and moulded and shaped
And you don’t control your fate
And you end up like this girl here sobbing because she’s “vulnerable”
Well don’t fall in love then if you want to be strong!

Or just accept it.
You’re weak because you love them.
You’re strong because you love them.
But I don’t have to deal with your changes,
Don’t keep me just to deal with your bleeding,
Maybe that’s why my moods change like these goddamn seasons.

Somebody should noose em’.
Keep my friends from being too much like “typical women”. Like the ones portrayed in black and white movies.
Sobbing uncontrollably. She’s the definition of derision.
I’m a second wave,
So I don’t mind people who criticise mine or any other woman’s personal decisions,
It’s called taking responsibility.
No I’m not outdated.
But if you think I am, well I kinda like it.

4 am.
Bring this one to a close.
Don’t think I’m finished.
But I am about that close <> from walking away
In my white Choos.
Boyfriends, somebody really needs to noose em’,
It’s getting on my wick, she’s making me sick,
And I’m not going to fix any of this damage.

Party’s over, kids.

Personal Problems: 5th Account

(NB. Did you click the fucking link again? How stupid can you be? I want you to listen very carefully. I’m in trouble. I’ve gone to hell and I’m stuck here. I have Judas on speed dial. I can contact the dead. Things are getting crazier. Unless you love decapitation and medieval torture, go away right now. If you do, well today you can open Door No. 5 on your Personal Problem Advent Calendar. I had an endearing thought whilst Satan was carving out my insides. I thought about what my Mother would do. Mothers are, in most cases, the most important relatives you will ever have. My mother is my own personal God in some ways, and that there is no equal or better equivalent. There’s a lot of women out there who need to be killed. Including mothers, too.
Especially the ones who belong to your partners, are as real as the Anti-Christ. For Nana, wherever she is).

I have a fuckload of these.
I have no words for the expulsion.
Do you think my mother knows about my tattoo yet?
If you think you know which mother I am dismembering here,
Give yourselves a round of applause.

But make sure you pay attention.
I am about to peel her face off and slice it with a bread knife.
I am going to spread my words over the skin-loaf like marmalade.
I am going to pluck her lips off her flabby face, and place them on her gravestone.
I wonder if she can carry on gossiping then.

Here lies all the women I can kill.

Tonight I am red.
And my martini is in my hand,
And in my black Cavalli gown I am holding the black dial phone,
I am the Holly Golightly that every Mother wishes she still was.
And I am sobbing, once more.

I have been put on hold by the pearly white gates.
Disciple Peter says to wait.
And I am calling Joyce.

Tonight I am making a deal with she.

Nana,
How are you? Is paradise everything you ever dreamed of,
Do you not count the pennies anymore?
Nana, poverty is a blessing, when you’re so cut off from the world,
You’re not aware of what you could have.
You’ve never seen the people that I have watched at school,
Swaggering in their new clothes.
Because they can spit £45 at a flimsy shirt from Topshop,
And still look shit.

Nana, tell me something so innately personal
Where the feeling of pain is so real,
You are resurrected from the dead.
And walk the earth again with your soft palms.
And wrinkly elbows.

It is so painful and so real
That your vessels flow with blood once more,
That you can boil potatoes again,
Just like you used to.

You’re going to be thinking for a while, and the line here crackles a little when neither of us talk,
So I’ll kick off with something personal of my own.
My ex’s mother.
She’s a godless woman.
She’s got the worms writhing in her eyeballs.
She speaks and maggots drip from her tongue.

Its this mother who believes she’s superior
Because she purchases her furnishings from Next.
And we all laughed and laughed at that.

Nana, this woman,
She used to shave my hair with stress.
She used to shave my skin in flakes, with unworthiness,
She used to vomit into my mouth, and make it rain pus from my teeth.
She was a godless woman.

Not fit for paradise. Not fit to shake the pearly white gates. Tell Disciple Peter to watch out.

For a fish out of water, I did well for a while.
“She’s very pretty, isn’t she?” she said to her son about me once,
Funny what words can do
When they uppercut the surface of the skin,
And bleed,
The liquid bubbles on the white shirt
Until you are crimson all over.
That is blushing.
It is more violent than simple scarlet fish swelling and swimming in your capillaries.

Well when I blushed,
I bled into my cheeks so hard I committed suicide.
Because I know Mothers.
Protective of their sons and daughters.
Judging. Hard to know.
Their shield has no heart.
This mother was like no other.
She was not fair of face.
She was as real as the Anti-Christ.

I want to bomb that entire family.

Ka-boom!

She calls my father a terrorist,
Little does she know she’s looking at it.
I’m the one with the words, these bombs, I’m the one that can drop a nuke
On her world and she’ll burst,
And I’ll scatter pieces of her like bird feed.

Nana, what do you do with mothers who love their sons for their own personal gain?
What do you do to women who make their children pursue the wrong careers?
I give you reason.
To kill.

I don’t give a shit anymore.
I thought that people who I didn’t love were worth it,
And they’re not.
Humans are told to isolate themselves over Instagram
And throw a cloak over their cove of family and selected friends

Even if we are able to make small talk over the shop counter,
Strangers are stranger and we’re so self-conscious it’s all about danger,
So back to Twitter, Generation Y must forever carry on liking Ruby Rose posts.
And my best friend is bugging me like crazy, her introverted bullshit is worthy of me stabbing her in the chin,
Can’t be bothered to have a real conversation,
So when I go home tonight I’m going to condemn these people to hell,
I’ll transform into another soul, revisit the witch in me,
And soon enough I’ll grow horns,
I am the Devil.

That is the thing with women,
With Bolton School, with bitches,
With money,
You become a live wire, fizzing like cherryade,
Filled with the belief you’re better than everybody because you owned a Toywatch in Year 7
And soon you’re an atheist who pops drugs at Leeds Festival
And you’re making big mistakes like shagging the guy who wears tweed suits in sixth form…

Nana, I couldn’t stay a virgin till marriage like you.
I wish I had.
I spend up all of my new experiences in youth.
Where I can forget them like kisses.

I know godless women,
Mothers who buy cakes and eat and eat and eat
Until Size 10 is no where within their reach.
Until their son’s girlfriend is so pretty,

That it carves into their heart,
They strip the walls bare and still their wrinkles stain their chests,
The insides of their walls, it stares at them in the mirror,
And their stomachs turn inside out, like cockroaches.

I want to bomb that entire family, Nana.

I am dismembering here Nana, the bleach is in the bathroom.
I can smell her.
I’ve canned her hatred like chicken broth,
And I’m done here, to the blue bin to decompose.

I will never be a good mother!

Nana I’m not going to hell for this.
But I’m going to burn them all,
And I’m going to take them to the cliffs and make them watch their mothers fall
Deep into the ocean.

Break their families like bourbon biscuits.
Break their children like the fast.
I have the night sky on my side, and the Devil’s nodded,
But God’s not turned up to the meeting,

So if you could ask Willy Wonka to slip a gold ticket into heaven for me,
Through a prayer, or maybe through a bowl of Special K,
My soul might be saved, but not hers,
Not my ex’s mother.

Nana put a good word in for me.
God knows I’ll need it.
That she used to plant weeds in her son’s brain,
And they used to grow,

And then he overthrew me because I had those eyes,
I had eyes of a clown,
A mentally-ill patient,
The stuff I’m saying is crazy Nana,
But here me out, because I’m running out of martini here,

And it’s costing me £20 a minute to ring you,
This will be worth it, don’t hang up,
The breeze held you on the day you were buried,
So reunite with it and hold me too.

Hold me forever.

The Anti-Christ is dead.
And I am a horrific young woman.
My own Mother’s eyes are rolling over and over, doing cartwheels in her brain,
She sees me and the dread floods her like cancer,

She is dying when she is seeing me.
Enough of the cruel women Nana,
The adults are even worse,
They’re infected with bitch.

Can you book a Chevy and God to drive me into the bottom of the universe,
Where Jesus is crushing cups of my ex’s mother’s blood with the Devil,
Can you get more saintly than that?
For now I am in swimming pools.

Clear blue and magic.
You can read Voltaire through this water.
She is tossing in her fire,
Meanwhile the blue bin’s got a funky smell.

The chemicals like her decapitated head a lot.

Nana I’ve said my piece,
You’ve had enough thinking time,
If you’re around when I head off to Cornwall, stop by,
Drop me a kiss as I sleep in this scratchy bed.

But we owe each other for all the days of each other’s lives we have missed,
So tell me your biggest pains Nana,
I love you, you remind me of hibiscus flowers in Granada,
And thick gravy, and Youth Dew,

So tell me over this dial phone,
I promise Disciple Peter won’t hear,
Tell me loud and clear,
Your voice filled with glassy tears, let yourself bleed like a grapefruit,

Because it’s your turn now.