Strange White Male

Some words die yet still retain their dignity.
For example, my mother fits the slattern mould,
wandering from room to room in a loose bathrobe,
or dressed in swimwear at dinner, so that we had
to see her pubic hair stick out all through the meal.

And as for me, I trap myself in words as much
as any narcissist. Born too late for Portnoy,
Freud, and all the other members of the Blame
It on Mummy Brigade, my own special brew
of Mr Kiplingís White Manís Inadequacy fermented

in the noughts. The age of Jackass, Pop Idol,
the overriding ethos that you could be saved
with an audience vote. Struggling to learn ourselves,
we either bought this lie or that, populist fizz-pop
or edgy teenage S&M. Adults would tut like adults do

at boys impaling themselves on gates
for early YouTube videos, and girls refusing sustenance
until they looked like Cowellís favoured chickadee.
But in the end itís always words, with which we form
and fail ourselves. And Iím as always still forming.
Written by Casted_Runes (Mr Karswell)
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 2 reading list entries 0
comments 3 reads 75
Commenting Preference: 
The author encourages honest critique.

Latest Forum Discussions
Today 2:36am by Phantom2426
Today 2:26am by Indie
Today 2:20am by Indie
25th September 2022 11:34pm by Nizana
25th September 2022 8:16pm by Casted_Runes
25th September 2022 4:32pm by JiltedJohnny