A poem I wrote for dad a few months ago...

I am a box of matches,

I am old

I am tired

I am rusty

I am solid

I am stubborn.

I am woods

and feathers on trees

I am children's fingers

I am you

I am me.

I am in pain

I am not free

I am me

I cannot Fly

I feel conquered

trapped

and raped? Is too sour for me.

I feel like an escapist.

I feel like a fighter wearing blue.

Eating ice cream

Rusting veins out of my head.

I am serene.

I am uncomfortable

I do not play, I forgot too long ago how to do that.

I am unreal searching and dismissive.

I am a clown and pauper

A stream and a singer

A vision and a spy

A wish and definitely not a miracle.

I am so bitter and old.

My splinters used to heal but they forgot to.

I used to be romantic but now my belly is cynical

it farted.

I cared about the world but now the world has lost me.

Simple in the plain

A snake in the forest

A power that burns me out

A wishful dreamer

An optimist

in aligators skin.

And the veins on my writers forehead.

I see anger in your viscous destructive anger.

The kind I saw when you turned angels in to demons

Pigs in to chickens and stuck pillars in to the earth and forgot that you could have roots, forgot that you could fly and just hated.

I burn and expire

Burn and expire.

How is it with one word you can take all your wisdom away and with two bring it back to me.

It started to rain

shliuosp

sh heleeep

shemep shemep

SHEMEen

showaN sTROCKKCOK

SHROOP DSHO SIMMA

SIMZA ZIP SLIP still slow free

whispers.

I am your hypnotised piece of recycled card board grey soaked piece of fury

and fuck your anger and fuck your pride.

Fuck you.

Fuck your anger

Fuck me

And my pride.

Fuck you fuck your anger fuck me and this time I rhymed.