Ready

Musik: Anywhere - Evanescence
Klieden: PJs, not gonna lie
Filme: The Shining (Kubrick) - yes, again
Buchen: Any of the numerous critical essays I have to read...

I've been reading a bit of Wordsworth recently, so this poem was kind of inspired by that. The idea of using normal, everyday language and putting oneself in the position of the average man (or woman). I'm not sure if I agree with Wordsworth, but I'm experimenting nonetheless. It's called Ready.

I am ready.
A sticky kitchen floor,
Plates piled high, rotting food, cans and bottles,
Fluorescent strobe lighting,
Damaged, moth-eaten sofa,
Photographs of ungainly youths,
Faces plastered to each door.
Stained clothes corrode the carpets,
Unmade beds from the night before,
Mismatched décor, personal and impersonal,
Solitary latrine, laughing darkly,
Bugs in the shower,
Sopping wet towels from leaks…
My home.

Yes, I am ready.
My high heels peel off the floor,
As we walk out the door.
Tonight I am not dressed so much as displayed for all to see.
Long legs ending in a point,
Breasts pushed up from under my tiny dress,
Face covered, a virtual art exhibition.
I hobble to the place I ought to be,
Am presently, pleasantly met with a throbbing vibration;
I let it flow through my body, let the beat carry me,
Along with a few cheap vodka shots.
Soon my mind is racing, heart beating ten to dozen,
Here, the floor is sticky, too.
Flashing epileptic lights,
A thousand sardines all crushed into a can,
So hot all you can do is keep on, keeping on.

He’s rubbing up against me
But I’m too far gone to care all that much.
He buys me some cheap shit, very alcoholic
Which I down with a grimace.
Still, he won’t let go,
Movies his face close to mine
And I let our lips touch
Because yesterday I saw my One True Love
Give it up to some jumped up slag.
This is revenge.
On that note, I follow as he leads me from the room,
I’m not ready;
But I know what to do.
Only, everything’s so different with him…
I whimper as his fingers roam
And I get no pleasure, only pain,
Try to make him stop
But I’ve gone too far.
His breath is ragged, close to my ear,
Stinks of tobacco and green,
Hands are rough, coarse,
Tugging at my dress,
How am I lying down?

It’s so dark, but he is everywhere,
Invading my every sense.
My brain won’t function, can’t think straight
God, he’s not even using a condom.
Bastard’s going to knock me up.
Oh, it hurts so much when you’re dry and scared!
Let it stop, let it be over
He’s so heavy,
Didn’t look so heavy
I lie back, try to think of better things;
The One I Love.
But that only makes me cry.
Seems like forever,
But he finishes.

I turn over, can’t even speak
Want to die,
Make-up running like some tortured clown,
Dress God-knows where,
Need to get home,
Cannot move,
Crawl slowly off the bed
And I perceive that he is gone.

Now I am alone.

The cold light flickers on:
Shit, my own room.
At least now I can give into it.
I curl up, foetal
Howl like a new-born.

I am ready.
But the only thing I feel ready for now is the end.
They’re here, they’re back;
My flatmates.
Can hear their laughing, jeering
Drunken singing
Smell the stench of sweat and urine,
Don’t ever want to meet their eyes again.
They can never know.
With one final sniff I lock this up inside.
Stumble over to my desk, wipe the crap off my face, brush my hair,
Pull on soft cotton pyjamas and pad into the kitchen.
Sticky floor on bare feet,
Cups of tasteless tea.
Listen as they recount the stories,
Speak none of my own.
Now, I’m ready again.