- 29th
- February
- 2012
When I look at you, these are not
My eyes. These are the eyes of
Other girls, who I pretend I have
Forgotten; tainted, the iris, another hue
That is not mine.
I try, I try to hold your gaze
The way I ought, I want to do
But their faces always intervene.
They stared me down
With eyes harder than diamonds,
Walking miracles in flesh-coloured tights,
Whispering visions with perfectly-painted nails,
Some behind, lagging a little, but all
Slight variations on each other
Slightly built
Slightly ill
Slightly deluded on cigarettes and rumours and the art
Of collecting boys to wait by the school gate
Two stick legs
Dancing down the netball court,
Two fat As
Arriving on my desk,
Did not stop the longing
To throw a brick through
Their favourite shop windows, their vapid lives,
Burn that sideways fall of sugar-blonde hair
Feed them chunks of lardy cake through a tube,
Shoot reality into their bright blue veins.
Their glossy facade will crumble with the years,
And yet they shall still be there,
Their laughter made cold by a seaside breeze
Echoing behind my eyes
When I look in the mirror.
