July142009
Notepad writing.
I can’t sit near those pretty people.
There’s safety in wrinkles and that kink in your smile,
makes you seem worthwhile.
I want the ripped and broken, nasty ill-spoken.
Let me stitch up the wounds, bruises
with my cocoon, womb arms,
just a little tighter, nail the catflap
shut.
And turn off the lights and a…
Don’t leave, as i whisper goodnight.
I snap my teeth with extra bite.
Oh please, please. Mother Teresa on her knees,
as she walks out the door, old clothes on the floor
and leaves me waiting -
Please Sir, can i have some more?
