i want to give myself up, be caught red handed.

i say outloud the things that are supposed to be unspoken, 

because i need to hurry, i need to hurry up. 

when she knocks over the last paper cup and i have to clean it from the carpet.

down on my hands and knees, unashamed and angry. 

staring through my legs at the boys whilst they go on not caring about my legs, 

or the carpet. 

when you drink whiskey like your dad, and youre funny like your dad,

and the suns still up at 8pm. 

you wait till sundown for the loss of grace.

but sundown arrives and i am sitting there drunker than ever before, 

muttering about female poets, and feminist prose, and TV shows that only men like. 

and i have to reach for the hug, and he smells amazing but even the girl with the boyfriend is more interesting,

than my slogan tees. 

you refer to yourself in the third. 

you call him beautiful in your own way.

pretending youre calling him beautiful for a cigarette, and a joke.

but youre calling him beautiful because he is.

and i can't make jokes.

then stupour knocks. 

i hear him laugh at someone else and my morals betrayed.

so i leave, i taxi a call.

you sob on your way, furious that even my begging didnt work. 

begging to be loved, fucked, hated, felt, kissed, smelled, looked at. 

begging to be believed. 

the cigarette i rolled rips, and i feel my heart go with it.