Holy Shitballs!
Tonnes of writing advice tells us that we should read our writing out loud to see how it feels and reads. Let me tell you what’s better than reading your writing out loud – getting someone else to read your writing out loud. To that end, last night, during my husband’s weekly Art Night, I asked my little cousin to read to me a new poem I wrote over the weekend. Wow! The kid is so sweet, so when she read back my I HATE poem, it was truly something. Here it is. Read it out loud or down low. I don’t mind.
I hate the rain
I hate umbrellas
I hate the sunlight when I’ve forgotten my glasses
I hate parents who scream at their children
And let them run around my table.
I hate sound
I hate memory.
I hate bikinis on skinny bitches
I hate the sound of airflow outside the window
I hate maths
I hate the sound your damp finger makes as it turns another page
I hate your success
I hate ordinariness
I hate our normality
Sometimes I hate the cool water pouring from the tap and want to cork it so
I hate the moon on a cloudy night
I hate those piddly wooden benches in the park and wish they were deeper
I hate cowards who didn’t tell their truth
I hate sprinklers left on during a storm
I hate your throat.
I hate repeating the same thing over and over
and over again.
I hate the colour blue, the way it cloaks you at night.
I hate missing you.
I hate breathing.
I love the water on my neck when I shower
Deglazing me.
Pouring me, drop by bloody drop
Down the drain
I love to be debris, cast out to sea.
Out to sea.
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