He slapped me across
The face once,
And then again, straight away.
Pulled me up by the scruff
Of me collar.
Squared up and got
Straight up in my face
Forehead to forehead.
‘You’re a dirty little slut’
He spat through his teeth
And then he kissed me
And I liked it.
And I wrote it down
Is it a fetish
To want you to adore me?
To kiss my entire body
And tell me every
Minute detail about it
I heard somewhere that
Was an actual fetish.
I want you to shower me with
Words of affection
And not just piss.
They’re not mutually exclusive though
Find someone who can do both.
My self respect
Is not around my ankles,
I’ve kicked it off.
With me knickers.
How fucking dare you equate
The number of people I’ve rode
With the level dignity I demand?
And what is the acceptable number
I should confine myself to
To make you happy?
How is it right that I could fuck one person twenty times
But to fuck twenty people all at once would be a disgrace?
I’m too coarse to be a poet.
Like Polaris keratosis
On me arms in summer
And my skin just outta the shower.
I want to easily articulate the
Innate truths and fundamental
Universalities of the human
But my tongue is too heavy
And my accent’s spattered with cunts and fucks.
How am I gonna escape the escape, the system of inequality
That relegates working class women’s opinions,
That regulates what we say and how we say it.
What if I don’t talk like a nice lady?
Paint me like onea your Clontarf girls.
Is it so cliche
To want flowers to bloom
From my empty mouth?
Stick fingers down my throat
And try to fish the rainbow out
Make that almost vomit noise.
I ache under the weight of
My contemporaries words.
I eat, sleep, and breath cliche.
My pre-used and once loved words
could never expose the inner workings of the working class experience.
There’s a pub in Smithfield called Token
Where you can go play on retro arcade games
Like street fighter, dance dance revolution, and tekken.
We went a long time ago, on a date.
You wouldn’t go on the dance machine like a loser,
And I kicked your arse
Because I am the fucking queen of tekken.
I found a little golden token from the machines
In the corner of my room the other day
When I was clearing out bits and bobs.
Absolutely useless to me,
Chances are, I’ll never go back.
I wonder how many others,
Have kept junk disguised as mementos.
But I put the token away in my safe spot.
I kept it, even though I’m not usually sentimental.
One day I might let you know I still have
This little token of my affection.
Or I’ll just go back
And play the game