If there is something left to say,
I do not know how to say it.
Words as pretty as a nosegay
cannot conceal my life is shit.
But equally, a verse so blunt
that it offends the ear is no
way to make my point. A cunt
would state the best job is a blow.
Monday to Friday, nine to five,
I sit here; half my mind on work
and half on how to stay alive.
To find the right lines and not shirk
the honest truth is a task set
to test my skill: One not yet met.
Comments
Bradene | October 6, 2008 - 18:18
I'm not usually a fan of cursing in poetry but having said that I've recently come across a woman on another site who explained the reasons why it can be a good thing and not necessarily vulgar with such conviction she convinced me I could have been wrong all these years. Having read this I now realise she was probably right. In this piece of poetry I recognised someone who is quite close to me and it seems to me that this is exactly how she feels about her life too. A fantastic write I have to congratulate you. Well done. Val