Alone with poetry

Yesterday was a good day. Me and Mum got drunk together and we shared my room, she hadto sleep on the floor cos we were too drunk to blow up the blow-up bed. It was funny. The next day I showed the delights of Kingston high street and we gushed over Lush, this perfect shop full of handmade soaps that look like cake and have magical contraptions like shower jellies and the original bath bombs that make your skin smooth. We then went to this three story bookshop and I showed her the delights of Haruki Murakami who I rave on about to anyone who'll listen because the man's a genius.

I hate eating. Yet I get hungry. It's a natural instinct, yet I feel betrayed everytime someone makes food for me. It's as if - You know I don't want to eat!? Can't you hear me retching at whatever godforsaken time?! Damn You!!! And its really hard, it almost makes me cry. I guess I'm at a delicate stage in my life. I have nothing to do, so all I do is drink. It makes going through the day much easier. Makes the day speed past just a little bit more, because all I want to do is keep racing throgh so I cannot contemplate how I'm ruining my life. I think about it everytime I blog. Like, how many days in my life, like today have been wasted like this? Just wanting to escape. Wanting to sleep in until August, September, Christmas, Deathday. Whats all of this doing to me right now? Silly me. There's nothing I can do about it. And anyways, I just wanted to post a poem. Maybe someone will comment now. Or maybe no one cares about the schizophrenic bulimic depressed self harming "gifted" virgin 17 year old black lesbian poet. Each year I get more of a mouthful. I used to be just Betty. Now I don't know me anymore and hide behind adjectives.

How strong minds fail. Here's a poemI wrote, like, 20 minutes ago. It hasn't even been edited. My inspiration was Pete Doherty, so I guess the rough, edgy shit is in some sort of tribute even I don't put him up on some pedestal at all. Just respect, self destructive poet to self destructive poet.

I call this poem... Not Only The World (Stands for News Of The World) Please comment or bitch or something this time.

Here you are you fuckers
Here's exactly what you paid for
You begged and begged didn't you
Always clawing at me for more.

Well, did you get exactly what you wanted?
Was I perfect enough for you?
Did I smile enough, was I off the cuff
Should I have sworn a bit more?

Cos I'm trying not to care about what you think,

I'm trying to prick my peak
And have all the talent bleed out of me,
It'll be cool to burn out bright,
To black out and leave society in darkness
I'd like to remembered, something like that.
Perhaps.

Instead everyone sees my fuck ups
No one cares, or they laugh.
Mostly they've already looked away
I'm a failure I'm full of temper
My talk just crept up on ya
And you patted me on the head
And said I was real.
Something special.
Slighty gifted, maybe even talented.
Where's the love?
Why wasn't I enough?
I'll guess I'll just have to toughen up
And you won't hear from me anymore.

I don't care about pricking my peak now
I'll just let my blood screw the floor.
And I can leave this world in desperate self delusion
That I left you begging for more.