I've been tumbling about in old paperwork, when i found some poetry books. Plath? Sexton? Blake? Even maybe Poe you ask? No just me... so i thought i'd share.
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So easy to make mistakes.
I drink to forget you and you blame me for trying to run away.
I'd rather be laying in the cemetery or on the living room floor, however far i can make it.
Happy the boy with a smile.
Sad the girl who sits alone in the kitchen sink.
1990
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Happy Endings
Was it ever love?
even close
leaving the nights on the ground
close my eyes
feel your touch
your slap would even be a welcomed warmth
i turned into a mug in your cupboard
and we all settle down to the comforts of a happy ending
which i have yet to see
1990
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Moving up the hill,
past the spring trees.
As the cafe grows quite,
this is where is all began,
maybe where it will all end.
Sometime.
In the gloom of loo a likes
and coffee cups,
the children come in waves...
Black cotton fabric and silver earrings.
Little grey bells dangle from the tips
of their curled shoes.
Humming Cure songs under florescent lights.
They whisper quietly,
almost silent,
hoping not to smear their red lips.
They gripe and laugh, about the conformity
surrounding them.
1990
I don't know which is worse, Joyce - that you had the guts to post bad poetry from your teen years, or that it's actually quite good! I especially liked the last one.
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