Poetry Blogs (transgressive poetry)

Pretender in my birth-suit;

living and yet not quite alive.

Every other guy

can thrive just fine.

What they are

is obvious to the eye.

Easily categorised,

flowing with the tide.

Body and stature

matches soul and mind.

Jaded and green-eyed,

wishing it were mine.

Every moment ensnared

within the wrong design.

The pretending must end;

I’ve served my time.

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A poem I did for the first time at Jibba Jabba in Newcastle yesterday night. I was a little nervous of doing it given the subject matter, but it seemed to go down quite well.

She’s that girl in every film you’ve seen,
hair tied up and eyes cast down,
books held to her chest, looking geeky-serene,
the skin above her glasses wrinkling into a frown

as she sucks nothing but her...

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