Stressed out mum,
                              spoiled little princess sidling next to her.
                              Princess sees something,
                              cries, yells.
                              Mum snaps,
                              mum slaps,
                              strangers talk crap.
                              
                              Perfect people tut and chastise
                              under their breaths.
                              Politely
                              staring and judging.
                              Scummy mummy,
                              council estate junky,
                              shouldn't be having kids.
                              
                              Sterilise it.
                              Cauterise it.
                              Clean out the infection
                              from society.
                              Not that it’s selfishness
                              on society’s part,
                              no.
                              
                              It’s for her own good,
                              yes,
                              the only way she can be
                              truly happy.
                              Cure her
                              of her filthy motherhood,
                              filthy womanhood.
                              
                              As a bonus
                              curing society
                              of a sickness.
                              A burden bearing us down.
                              Eating our money,
                              drinking our resources,
                              breathing our air
                              
                              We’ll ask consent when she’s
                              in the right mood.
                              If she refuses
                              we may have to be rude.
                              She’ll never guess what we’re thinking,
                              stupid, stinking,
                              animal.
                              
                              A poem I wrote for one of my A215 assessments. Actually the first "proper" poem I wrote, beyond a nonsense rhyme at school and a couple of haiku. Unsurprisingly got a crappy mark for it, haha. Every time I tried to make it follow any particular form, it felt like it lost something important, so in the end I left it largely the way I first wrote it. Unfortunately this did not show my tutor much of what I had learnt from that unit.
                              Still, even if my marks were bad, I'm glad I gave it a go. I would never have thought I could write poetry, even the pretentous twaddle I post here. That's a new side to myself I discovered, and even if it's a rather silly one I feel happy for finding it.
                                      
                                          
                                   
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Second Thoughts
PoetryCollection of random poems I think of from time to time. Thought it might be better to collect them into one, rather than having lots of separate files. No particular theme, and the poems may or may not be completed.
 
                                               
                                                  