I don’t see old-fashioned poetry
Poetry, prose, it’s all the same
Don’t come to me for any of that stiff upper lip stuff, I abhor it, wouldn’t know how to do it, I despise norms and forms – fuck the struc-ture.
When I read,
I want to feel the sun, I want to fear the shadows,
I need to see the trees leaning in, close, too close so I can’t breathe…
show me the depth of the dark, how far does it go…the light, is it blinding or merely hopeful,
were you screaming when you wrote it? Crying, laughing, what was it?
If you were bored, I’ll be too. Show me your heart, exposed, magnified by the glass.
Push me to the edge, step by step if you like…or fast,
will you save me or will I fall?
I have to feel raw, powerful, weak, choked, and any of the things in between.
It’s like sex, after I’m done with you I should desperately need a smoke (even though I quit)
You need to make me feel something
The number of people I’ve read over the years, offering structure and intricate wordplay…with otherwise sterile content.
No, no and no.
It’s not my thing, and please don’t criticise me for it.
I write what I am, it’s all I can do and fair enough if you don’t like it. Just…don’t try to change me or make me feel small somehow – each to their own.
Image credit: Alan Rickman in “Les Liaisons Dangereuses” @Fanpop