egotistic satchelbags and heels

you don't deserve glittering french
and vintage hugs.
neither do i, but the way your
satchelbag, highheel mass of pretention
seeps and leaks into all of our postcards
makes my eyes tarnish and my
memories stain immovably.

it felt okay travelling on seemingly perpetually moving buses,
but i remember having a cheap headache
that thursday, and this thursday
it's just drilled to the entire core of me.
it smashes and clashes in my head
like a discus.

i collect insults in my mind;
it makes me feel infinitely better
to hear that someone called you arrogant.

i feel like an unsettled sky, waiting for
a storm or a moment of milky relaxation.
for the time being it's dissatisfations, it's
the echoing ocean, it's
shivering lies and cries.
i want to block it all out, or
kill all your selfish, laced smiles
that catch onto the ignorant.

the grass that has grown over my lips,
my eyes, my cheeks - every part of me -
is shuddering as i move beneath.
i am what lurks under the ground you tread on,
any moment i could spring up and
crush you like you've crushed me so many times.
i swallow gritty earth.
one day i will have to slit my stomach
and empty it of all your leftovers,
all your narcissism which became soil and grass.

every time you step where i am buried
i am compacted and dirt is forced
into my mouth. i will break free.

you don't deserve ripped jeans
and sticky kisses.
i don't; i think all i deserve is dusty markers
and stormy ice chunks.

some day though, i'll deserve all that you have,
and maybe late-night words like sunflowers,
sprouted from where i was once buried.
written: Thursday 2nd September 2004, 8:08pm.