I’m a musician
I work in a shop
I love too easy
My heart won’t stop
Giving itself to men who chew me up and spit me out again
Like I’m gum that’s lost its flavour
A grey lump of emotion that’s fallen out of favour
I’ll try too hard to be cool
To understand you
I could go for months just watching the kind of shows you’re into
Listening to your stories
Sucking your cockamamie bullshit
And when we go to sleep in the dark I’ll sit
Motionless when you recoil from my touch
Emotionless saying I want it too much
As you brush me aside like crumbs from the bed
Repeating the lies that I tell in my head
And pulling me deeper into your pit
When all I ever did to you was
Give a shit
But yeah I’m cool…
I like giving massages
Kneading concrete like dough
Until it slowly
begins to soften
Feeling tension flow out through your fingertips
Feeling your breath on my lips
I want you to consume me like air
Pull my hair
Push me against the wall and kiss me like you don’t care
if people are watching
Or taking pictures with their phones
As we publicly bone
Or if that’s not your thing
We can sing until our lungs are sore
Drink wine you can’t find at the liquor store
Just as long as you don’t sigh about how much I snore
Or roll your eyes
When I open the door
Fuck have I scared you away?
Or can you take more? Ok…
I want a man who’s in touch with his feminine side
Who can remember without shame the last time he cried
That speaks of both his success and his failures with pride
Who is loyal and honest and patient and kind
Who knows what it is that he’s looking to find
And is seeking with earnest to know his own mind
Who loves science but respects those who seek after more
A feminist who will open the door
For a lady or man
Who can cook like a chef
Reads books about everything
From magic to death
To poetry tripping the tongue with its metaphor
Ripping the plaster off
Bleeding out petals or
Planting the seeds
And watching them grow
Pulling the weeds like
A watercan flow
And flooding me
Drowning the thoughts in my head
Till all I can hear are the words he has said
But please don’t be a paramour
Have a vice or two or four
Drink or smoke or store
Body parts underneath the kitchen floor
Just as long as you are kind to me
I will remind myself that your faults
Are vital threads in a tapestry
The cracks in your pottery
Are scars like mine
And they shine
Like gold
Claire LeMaster 