Let’s try to make this semi-regular, until I run out of poems!
I was wary about doing nothing but write poems about myself, but I think to an extent I have anyway š OH WELL.
This one’s about hayfever. It’s also a bit long, sorry.
Love Your Enemy
The earth grows out her summer coat,
lets up her hair garlanded with flowers.
a trillion spiders crochet caps for her
and all of the ants in the world
brush her hair a thousand times before bed.
summer is for manicures
and trims.
she submits to shaving as though you’re
doing her a favour.
she has rebellious streaks,
growing out her leg hair and armpit hair and eyebrows
because fuck you that’s why,
and if she wants to rock this row of surface piercing wind turbines
then she will,
thank you very much.
you’re not her mother.
maybe we’d get on,
for a while at least,
before I drove myself mad with resentment
and inadequacy.
ugh it’s just that she’s the whole entire earth
and what have I ever done with my life?
I can’t keep a houseplant alive
and have you seen the rainforests
they’re just
ugh
and between you and me,
I can’t stand her perfume.
she sprays it on so thick
it makes your eyes water.
you leave your house and find
yourself in a tart’s boudoir.
I’m not trying to be bitchy.
I mean,
the bumblebees go mad for it.
you know.
if you’re into that kind of thing.