So I would collect my handful of coppers, silvers, golds on a Friday evening,

One papery note is no fun,

I secret it in my pillowcase until Saturday morning,

Then I wander down to the shop,

Buying one magazine,

Not a girly-princess-book,

Scary, adult, surgery-scene, murder-files,

And a packet of sewing pins,

To punish myself for my mistakes,

To make the bullies pay through my pain,

Then I skip back home as if nothing was wrong,

Hide the pins in the hollowed-out body of some unfortunate teddy-bear,

Stick the magazine in the pages of a Big Book Of Fairy Tales,

That make me yearn for blue eyes and blonde hair,

So I can have my happy ending,

I know my ending already,

It isn't happy...


The End

0 comments about this poem Feed