Tried To Win My Heart But It’s Taking Time

I can’t think of a man who didn’t overlap with the next, or another, and it’s not disrespectful to any of them and I don’t count Jesus in this list and the clarification isn’t stupid because there are some that save themselves and even then he’s in the room and if I wanted to be watched I’d pick somebody hotter or available in ways he isn’t and it’s not blasphemy if you’re born into it and I prayed for unalterables to be true and a self-brainwash is similar to a communal, but knowing your own mind isn’t an option, in fact I’ve been punished for it and the questions weren’t career-breakers, couldn’t crush my crush on John, or dampen Jack (yes, I was wet enough), or undo what I did with Jenny. Biblical rules are ancient like Marathon bars, or the album Lindsay Lohan recorded in 2005, 6, before she tore shit up.

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Winning You With Words There Is No Other Way

The long contract’s an easy sign and even your story, you agree to it being sellable and don’t care what kind of package it is they put you in as long as it’s not taffeta or green, and someone prepared what you’d say and each judge purposefully willed failure, willing you to win, encouraged TV confidence which you had in the mirror when you were 13, but the millennia’s an estimation which never worked mathematically, because the impact factors are complex, and potential’s stayed the same level since 2004 and it’s easy for millionaires to say, “You need a little confidence,” and, “We all want you to win,” with no actual comprehension, and I promise you, scene-stealer, there are movies about the skin on your ribs, elasticine is, and if I could contort I’d understand the flatness of each eyeball and straighten your toes out and tell you this once-a-year charade is a sickness and people coming twice are a zombie start-up and you’re better than that. You’ve bested it.20120924-101347.jpg

Sucking A Lemon

My sister reminds me on holiday I’d take roadkill pictures, that’d end up blurry, a self-censor, because the after’s not something you can capture. Not explainable, adequate or photogenic.

Then, death was a make-believe marvel that Bible stories disproved or made points of, and it was an other person place which the pocket of my stomach was yet to inhabit. Similarly, I’d take fairground rides, awe-full, off-peak to queue skip, without bolts and seat-fittings invading eyespace. And if dad said it was okay it was okay.

And my bravery is a moment push now, a fluttery seat belt turbulence, in which I sometime regret analysing Genesis, John, Jude, with a graduate skepticism, until close-read passages were unworkable poems evidenced as undo, don’t do, did.

There’s solace in the nothing. But where does the skin go?

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Taken Time

Something will move you more than the movie Titanic and you’ll be unprepared as you were then: only hoodie sleeves and the cheapest mascara, pocket money bought, smudged like cartridge pen ink.

Now, you’ve a between takes make-up artist fixing marks left by an emotional on camera quell, and you explain a resonate, a simple get, but any resonance owes a month’s before performer who only knows what the thing was first place about. And Adele is anyone’s guess.20120923-233110.jpg