This scares me. Not the poem or Ms Pacman, but the fact that I have a live recording of my work that I can share on the internet.
So, this was a poem I wrote for a special Geek-themed variety night I was part of last year. It’s one of the few poems I’ve memorised, and a bit of a staple in my sets. Does this mean I’m going to retire it any time soon? No, it’s comedy gold (I’m not up myself, I swear). I hope you enjoy!
I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt.
Were you expecting me to say
Something more fitting,
More form fitting,
Something more pretty?
Or would you rather I said
I was wearing a shirt and tie so
You can fetishize my school uniform
To try and justify his actions
And make the victim him and not me?
Were you hoping I would say
I was wearing nothing but
My sexuality on my sleeve
And leggings so you could say
“They were practically begging”
And then pin the blame on me?
Then go on to say that I was
“Preying on his fragile masculinity”
Twisting the situation and implying
That the problem was me?
Because the truth is
I wasn’t wearing anything that would
Let you dress consent as a foregone privilege
Instead of a basic right.
And the only reason his
Arms and ego are bruised is because
I tried to fight back and tried not to
Not let it happen but I was
Too frightened and pinned down
With brute force and fear.
I still feel his hand
Over my mouth,
Forcing my screams
To back down my throat.
I am forced to wear scars
Carved by his nails and I’m
Stained with bruises that
No shower can wash away and
No knife or razor can cut out.
And I’ve tried.
No noose or antidepressant
Can change the way that
I have been changed.
And if you think,
If you believe,
That I would ask for this,
For my life to be hollowed out,
For my body to be mutilated to the point
I don’t recognise my reflection,
Then you are just as much to blame as him.
I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt,
Now they’re stained, tattered and torn
And strewn amongst the shreds of
My dignity and innocence and
Shards of shattered dreams that
Have given way to nightmares that
Don’t let me sleep
And broken-record memories
That play over and over and over,
That remind me the victim was me.
I have a threesome every day
And I’ve been having threesomes
Every day for what seems like
My entire life.
I don’t expect you to know
What that feels like but
Let me tell you,
It’s exhausting.
It’s a constant barrage of
Twisting and tossing and turning
And pushing and pulling
And burning and biting
And clawing and cutting
In a never-ending search
For happiness.
A happiness that never comes,
Much like myself because
I am too generous,
I am on the receiving end of
Two toxic partners working
In discord and out of rhythm and harmony
To give me the best worst fucking
Of my life.
Partner A:
Definitely built for speed and not comfort
And when I say speed,
I don’t just mean in terms of firing rate.
I mean the drug, because
He lives at a million miles an hour,
Never slowing, taking me by the hand,
Taking me to the brink,
Taking me on a rollercoaster ride
Where there’s no safety bars,
Where there’s no speed limit,
Where there’s no means of self-preservation,
Only self-destruction and sado-masochism
Partner B:
They like to take it slow,
Painstakingly, mind numbingly slow.
And it’s not so much sensual
As it is sensory, with a blend of
Substance and pain,
Blood play and asphyxiation,
Everything is a threat and a challenge,
Like waking up or doing literally
Anything because she leaves a mark on me
Brandings of bites and bruises
And cuts and cigarette burns.
Like I’m her property.
My bedroom is a BDSM dungeon,
A Bipolar Disorder and Sadomasochism Dungeon,
Where I’m locked in my bed and my head
With two lovers who love to fuck me
At every given opportunity.
And it would be fine to
Take them one at a time,
Treat each of them with the right
Time, dedication and medication
But unfortunately, I often find
I’m locked in a situation where
They’re both fucking me at the same time,
Tearing my body and mind apart
With thoughts that cut like a knife
And fingernails that run
Over and under my skin.
I have a threesome every day
And I’ve been having threesomes
Every day for what seems like
My entire life.
I don’t expect you to know
What that feels like but
Let me tell you,
It’s exhausting.
Question from Michael Clark from Facebook
There were flashes of darkness
In between the whirring of electric lights
And the hunger pangs of newborns,
In between the screams of neon sirens
And the late and live music of whisky and wine,
In between the negotiations of mice and owls
And the hard labour in the room next door.
Which might not amount to much,
But even a little of a good thing
Is better than nothing, right?
Well, merci beaucoup for the offer,
But I’m afraid I must decline.
It’s not that I don’t find you attractive,
It’s just that I don’t have the time
Or money to make this worthwhile
For either of us.
Ma’am, look, I’m sorry,
But I’m afraid I’m not that way inclined.
I’m sure if you put in a little more effort,
I didn’t mean it like that, I swear you look fine,
Just go look for a straight man,
They’re not hard to find.
No, please don’t get your brother,
No, just, here, have some wine.
I’m not fucking with you, I’m just not fucking you,
I’m sorry for this but you’re wasting your time,
Stop fighting, I’m asexual,
Is that such a crime?
I got hit on by an escort in a nightclub once, they wouldn’t give up. It was awkward
I won’t lose my dignity.
Even though everything is gone
And I’m left with just mistakes and chronic emptiness.
Even though I’ve sold my soul and guitar
For the sake of pipe dreams and smoke and mirrors.
I won’t lose my dignity.
Even though I’ve wound up alone
Except for the ghosts of the voicemail machine.
Even though my life has been repossessed
And I’m now in receipt of income and life support.
I won’t lose my dignity.
Even though my skin is so weak and discoloured
That I can’t recognise my own ethnicity.
Even though I’m sweating ice cold bullets
And my eyes are leaking like warm battery acid.
I won’t lose my dignity,
Even though I’m bound to this hospital bed
Like I’m in an unpayable life debt.
Even though I can’t hold my head high
But I know I can rely on this mountain of pillows to do it for me.
I won’t lose my dignity.
I’ve already lost so much.
I’ve lost my money.
I’ve lost my friends.
I’ve lost my mind.
I’ve lost my weight.
I’ve lost myself.
I’ve lost my will to be an addict.
I won’t lose my dignity.
Even though my grip
Is barely strong enough to hold a needle
Even though I’m here by force,
It’s only because I’ve forced myself to do this.
I won’t lose my dignity.
Even though I probably could or should
Because it would just make sense.
I won’t lose my dignity.
Because I won’t let it go.
Because I refuse to lose the one thing that’s keeping me strong.
Today’s question comes from Jonathan Larson’s ‘RENT’
It could be all matter of obscenities
And extremities
Which could be the source
Of my stickiness.
It could be the beer,
Sweet and sticky
And definitely
The wrong choice for this party.
It could be their breath,
So close it leaves condensation on your eardrums
And so heavy it drowns out the techno.
It could be the sweat,
Dripping, glistening and refracting
Looking like a perverse fancy dress
Where everyone wears glass.
Realistically,
It’s all of the above but
It’s mostly semen.
Question from my favourite li’l pervert, Arzoo.
We thought it was a mutual agreement
When we were taking our hearts back.
Words fell like knives,
Sharp, precise, and exact,
Cutting the weights away from our souls.
Why waste our time letting love go to waste?
Your tears turned your eyes
Into stained-glass windows,
Tinted, tainted and crystalline
Never letting us see each other.
Or the truth.
I never broke your heart,
It was always kept safe,
Cushioned with silk and cottonbuds
And locked away in a box.
I was too afraid to break it,
So I never looked at it.
When you gave back my heart,
It was used and half empty.
Cracked and fractured,
Love leaking like
Tears too scared to fall.
Too afraid to be lost forever.
You always said
You could get drunk from me.
And though that may have been the case,
You didn’t like the taste.
I was the worst thing for you.
But you were my addict
And I didn’t want to be alone.
So we saw the world through rose-tinted glasses
Not knowing love and codependency
Were the same colour.
We never poured ourselves out to one another,
Maybe if we had, things would have been better.
Experience and taste each other,
Getting a flavour of sweet reality and real emotion,
Taking the time to find out what love is supposed to be.
Or maybe it would only make things worse.
Trapped in a vicious circle of reliance,
Wasting each other, taking us for granted.
Drinking to make ourselves feel better
Until we were both empty.
Until we were two glass hearts,
Afraid to beat because
Trying to love each other
Would only make us break.
When love is gone, it goes to waste.
But love wasn’t there.
We just wasted away instead.
Question from Katja P. from Facebook, and Arcade Fire.
I don’t tell a soul.
I just breathe a sigh as I
Look into their eyes
A private moment,
Awkward, erotic, secret.
This is ours to keep.
As the moment ends,
They leave, confused and hungry.
They don’t tell a soul
Question from Michael Clark from Facebook
Mxcellany - Poetry, Music, Art 