Slut

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

at me.

And then he kissed me

And I liked it.

And I wrote it down

Unashamed.

I have a fetish for you

Is it a fetish

To want you to adore me?

To kiss my entire body

And tell me every

Minute detail about it

Is beautiful.

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

I mean

Find someone who can do both.

Self-respect.

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?

Saying important shit

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

Psyche.

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.

Token, Smithfield, Dublin 7

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

Without you.