deepundergroundpoetry.com
And it was personal.
And it's about time I wrote something to do with me.
I am the ever branded ‘Bee’, not by myself.
I’m young, and free, and all that hot air,
But I’m still incomplete. I’m wired
To blow, to catch fire, and you don’t know
That I’ve forgotten last week again.
Gracious. My magic number must be twice my age by now,
I just don’t remember John. Or Luke, or Matthew,
But I’ll always remember how to cook,
How to put the oven on. The very statue
Of a statue of a lady.
The girls I’ve been with can’t paint a picture like me,
The guys were dumb as mimes, most criminals,
The first was a robber.
I’d turned off the light, into sheets,
And He saw that it was good.
And there vidi, vinci, venti.
I remember the time I was on TV,
Cameras pointing at me. Ordered to smile,
Pick up and set down a tray of homemade cakes.
I wore a gorgeous dress, floral and floaty, low cut,
The first time I’d worn short sleeves in eras.
They cut out the scene, and told me over the phone
They'd found the scars on my arms and wrists inappropriate,
But they left in the scene where I’m cooking,
And I’m the very statue of a statue of a lady.[/font]
I am the ever branded ‘Bee’, not by myself.
I’m young, and free, and all that hot air,
But I’m still incomplete. I’m wired
To blow, to catch fire, and you don’t know
That I’ve forgotten last week again.
Gracious. My magic number must be twice my age by now,
I just don’t remember John. Or Luke, or Matthew,
But I’ll always remember how to cook,
How to put the oven on. The very statue
Of a statue of a lady.
The girls I’ve been with can’t paint a picture like me,
The guys were dumb as mimes, most criminals,
The first was a robber.
I’d turned off the light, into sheets,
And He saw that it was good.
And there vidi, vinci, venti.
I remember the time I was on TV,
Cameras pointing at me. Ordered to smile,
Pick up and set down a tray of homemade cakes.
I wore a gorgeous dress, floral and floaty, low cut,
The first time I’d worn short sleeves in eras.
They cut out the scene, and told me over the phone
They'd found the scars on my arms and wrists inappropriate,
But they left in the scene where I’m cooking,
And I’m the very statue of a statue of a lady.[/font]
Published 4th Mar 2010
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4th Mar 2010 9:52pm
...as a collage, which I guess makes it all the more intriguing. I wasn't sure where we were going, enjoyed the journey and now I'm unsure of where I am. Ergo it has had an impact which is in itself thought provoking.
4th Mar 2010 9:57pm
Heh, thanks. Yeah, I thought I'd base it around that TV show because it was recent (ish) and it stayed with me. It reminds me to not try to get into that type of work again.
Anonymous
8th Mar 2010 2:23am
with some truly spectacular metaphors, like the repeated one regarding the statue. And the scattered rhyme sheme really keeps things ticking along.
18th Nov 2010 7:16pm
The dress just gave me an image of a happily oblivious 50s era housewife. Or at least it seems that was the intention by the "producers" not wanting the scars visible. It paints such a clash of ideas: happy on-camera and misery behind it. Like trying to form a facade and no matter how much you try to cover it up the truth just glares at you. The statue metaphor was just perfect.
