there are some creations that sit there, almost fully formed, for months and months just waiting for that crucial tweak, that will shove them into the land of publication. This is one such creation

There are days
When my love is limited
(‘No love songs for a week’, said the
Decidedly demented doctor)
My glass of empathy
Growing cold
Unwanted on the windowsill

While outside, a storm builds quietly
Untroubled by time
And the ants, and the people
Dashing about to get somewhere
Be somewhere
Trying on poses as they run indoors

Aloof (oh yes I like that)
Forthright (don’t I just GLOW with stability)
(Look at me Ma! Untouchable, and neat, almost invisible in my conformity)

And I cannot seem to care, today anyway

These are all just words and clothes we put on
We say this is this, the speeches tired but rehearsed
We are but mirrors, reflecting the ones we admire

And try to impress
Those that may throw us a kind word
Instead of the usual
Ignoring us completely

I don’t get it
I cannot be bothered
To get it

It’s like some old corrupt fuddy-duddy types
(With their underpants on too tight)
Trying to waltz polite
To a punk song